I read another:
Be thankful for your wife and realize the favour you have received from God.
Another jolt of unhappy reflection startled me and I bit my lip. Frederick was telling me something. He was speaking through these readings. My heart started to stutter, and I began to remember his many sermons on affection and love. Hurriedly, I turned to the Book of Solomon, where another crisp, white slip of paper rested:
Tell your wife how captivated you are with her body.
Had he not been doing thus, when he’d worshiped me with his tongue on those recent nights?
I bit my lip harder, blinked away threatening tears, and turned to the Book of Matthew, 19:4–6.:
Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate.
He’d forgiven me for my adultery long before I even knew it.
The guilt that had turned me increasingly thoughtless to his efforts had been worse than my original crime.
A wail broke from my lips, as I turned from slip of paper to slip of paper. There were so many!
Ephesians 5:25–33:
Love your wife as Christ loved the Church.
Love your wife in the same way you love your body and your life.
My silly, pious, stiff unbending husband! He did love me.
Is it too late? I wondered, near-frantic at the thought. I had no notion he felt this way. Was it too late to mend the damage I had unwittingly continued to cause for so long after my adultery ended?
I realised bitterly that my husband was not like those men one hears about in fantasy and dreams. He was a man who wished to feel welcomed and accepted by me, yet was too inhibited to say so directly. Of course I’d told him I wanted him in my bed, but I’d never told him I wanted him in my heart, or that I ever had any intention of letting him be there.
Because, Lord forgive me, he was suddenly there!
After six years of loveless marriage, I found my heart burgeoning with affection and concern for Frederick. Oh, why only now did I come to love my husband, when I had very possibly ruined everything?
The more I considered the matter, the more certain I was that the Lord himself was playing a wicked trick on me.
If Frederick had left two months ago, I daresay it would have been cause to celebrate. Yet now, I desperately wished for him to return home, so I could assure him I would be a true wife and a faithful one.
As he has always been faithful and true to me.
Memories of the many small kindnesses he’d shown me swung through my mind.
Was he not the same the considerate new husband who had taken his virgin wife so gently on our wedding night, and not approached again until I was healed?
Was he not the same good man who’d encouraged my learning, in accounting, the Word of God, and healing?
He was.
I looked towards the book of physiology by Pierre Jean George Cabanis that lay on my writing table and flinched. Frederick had bought it for me on my birthday, to assist my treatment of villagers when the physician was unavailable.
A sob escaped me.
Poor Frederick!
All this time, he has been listening to me, yet I have not offered him the same courtesy!
Oh, and now I fear it is too late!
Saturday, 7th August 1813
My husband is returned to our marital home, and it is with fierce determination I have set about attempting to make amends.
Firstly, I cast out all the brandy!
Thus, with no brandy, it was with a flurry of awkward emotions that I heard his carriage draw into the stables by the vicarage.
I stood by the window, uncertain and fearful. What if he had changed his mind and wished to cast me out?
It was of course a frightening possibility. To make matters worse, my unpredictable monthly courses are heavy, and it is frustrating that I am confined to my rooms at this time.
Still. I shall not delay this plan.
If it is at least possible, I wish to make my marriage a good one. Or, if not good, at least better than it was.
I only pray Frederick wishes to do the same, and there is one thing of which I am certain. Our marriage cannot be improved without dedication and determination – both of which I have in barrows full.
There is, however, the matter of my courses. It is natural that I do not like to depart my rooms for fear of unsightliness. It is with trepidation that I have made the decision today to dine with my husband regardless.
To this end, I have organised a string belt, which I tie about my waist, attached the cloth placed between my legs and suspended there. It works well indeed and ought to suffice for the length of a meal.
My plan thus far is quite a simple one, really.
Having read, and re-read, those most poignant passages of the Holy Book, I am certain that Frederick once harboured a deep, secret affection for me. It is my ardent hope that he still may. Now, in light of my recent discovery, I wish to prove my affections for him.
For many men, I realise this would mean lavishing them with sensuality. My husband is not such a man. Sensuality, I have little doubt, is far from his mind at this time.
I feel I may better prove my affections to him by showing my interest and assistance in matters that are of import to him. I think he would well appreciate my genuine interest in matters of faith, philosophy and the like. So, I shall set about proving to him that I am not at all so shallow as I have seemed previously.
Will this plan work? Does it make sense? Lord in Heaven, I hope so, and I pray my efforts will be rewarded by Frederick’s forgiveness and a renewal of his previous affections.
To this end, I am certain it will please him greatly to hear I have marked out some passages in the Bible which I feel will reflect the affection I have come to feel.
As I walked to my bedroom door I could hear my husband speaking in low, hushed tones with Mrs Cartwright.
‘Is she well then?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble.
‘Yes Vicar, but confined with monthlies.’
‘Ah,’ I heard him murmur. ‘And what of her melancholia? Was it much improved by my absence?’
I heard Mrs Cartwright chuckle. ‘No melancholia to speak of, Vicar. She’s been absorbed in her readings.’
I could hear him sigh then. ‘It is as I suspected it would be.’
I wanted to curse at Mrs Cartwright for making me sound an idiot, but I could not, lest they realise I was eavesdropping.
‘Make no mistake,’ Mrs Cartwright added, ‘She’s missed you, Vicar. Said so herself.’
Had I? I did not remember such a conversation, but my irritation at the housekeeper left me, and I found myself absurdly grateful for her lie.
‘Truly?’ My husband sounded surprised.
‘Indeed, Vicar. She’ll be most pleased you returned, you mark my words.’
‘As you say,’ he replied, and I stepped from my rooms onto the landing. I leaned over the balustrade and looked down to the entry room, where my husband stood with Mrs Cartwright, who was now busy brushing down his coat.
‘Good day,’ I called, as Frederick turned to move towards the sitting room.
‘Mrs Reeves.’ Frederick’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my appearance.
Without pause, I lifted my skirts carefully, so as not to dislodge my blood catch-cloth, and walked down the steps to greet him properly.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Reeves,’ I inclined my head. ‘I trust your parents were in good health?’
‘Excellent. Yes,’ he replied, awkwardly. ‘And you?’
Relief flooded me. He was asking of my welfare when he’d already heard Mrs Cartwright’s recollection of it – surely this was a sign of goodwill and forgiveness?
‘I am well. So much better now you are returned,�
�� I said as I drew to the last step. I offered him my hand, and he took it gently, his expression guarded.
‘Are you not confined, then?’ he asked quietly, and I heard Mrs Cartwright mutter something to herself and move towards the kitchen.
Heat bloomed on my cheeks. ‘Yes, but I had thought to dine with you regardless.’ A sharp stab of fear shook me. ‘Unless you would rather I remain in my rooms?’
He said nothing for a terribly long moment, and I realised that his forgiveness may be harder to garner than I expected. Yet after a moment he squeezed my hand a little and brought it to his lips. ‘That would be very good,’ he replied.
A breath I had not realised I’d been holding escaped me, and I smiled. ‘I did miss you,’ I said, softly.
He did not respond; instead, he kept hold of my hand and led me to the sitting room. I stood by the fireplace, the warmth of flame warming me, while his lack of response chilled me.
‘I must beg for your forgiveness, Frederick,’ I said when I had the strength. ‘I have been a poor wife to you.’
Frederick looked away. I could scarce know what shame having an unfaithful wife had brought down upon him. I did not know what pains he felt, but I could well imagine, and what I imagined was horrid.
As I waited for a response, I pulled my Bible from my reticule. ‘When you left, you were angry at me, and rightfully so. You asked that I read my Bible in your absence, and this is what I have done these days since you left,’ I said.
He looked up, his handsome, dark face tortured in the flickering firelight. ‘I was very angry. But my absence has given me ample time for reflection,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I am pleased you have found the Word of God.’
His tone was distant, and another chill ran across my skin.
‘Yes, I believe I have and … I understand.’ Lord, but I felt a fool saying it. ‘I understand how you chose to let the words of the Bible speak for you, when you felt you couldn’t say these things yourself.’ I paused, gnawing on my lower lip. ‘I hear you now. I didn’t before, but I hear what you’ve been saying, now.’
His face flushed. ‘You do?’
I inclined my head. ‘I hope my discovery is not too late. I do not think I entirely understood at all until just now,’ I whispered. ‘I thought you had no affection for me …’ I faded off. ‘I see now how terribly wrong I was.’
His face remained flushed, and he rubbed his chin with his hand. ‘I am a difficult man. I know this. My parents and tutors all told me so. I have never made affections clear to you, or to anyone. In truth I do not know how. Though it is difficult to say – I will say it but once – I do not blame you for your faithlessness. I gave you nothing to have faith in.’
His words made tears prickle in my eyes. I dashed them away. ‘No. I was wrong. I knew what I did I was wrong. I excused myself of the sin by not allowing you any avenues to improve,’ I replied sadly.
I knew that if he’d been more passionate, I would not have strayed, yet could I blame him for not wanting me? No. Not really. Just as his nature had made our marriage difficult, mine had made it that way also. I’d revelled in shocking him, appalling him, and had done so with frequency. No wonder he’d thought so ill of our conjugal meetings.
It was as if he almost read my mind.
‘I did not wish to be a husband who mauled the wife who did not want him, love him, or take pleasure in his touch. If not your words, then your actions made it clear.’ His voice was soft, and terribly vulnerable.
My throat tightened. ‘You never were that husband,’ I said.
We fell into an awkward silence. The only sounds were the restless ticking of the mantle clock and the occasional baa from the goat in the garden.
The unhappy silence continued, and I knew it was a moment in which I should speak, and make my intentions known in a manner he would understand and appreciate.
I coughed and commenced. ‘I never did allow Mr Goddard liberties, that day. Do you believe me?’
He looked up at me, his eyes dark and troubled.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, but turned and moved closer to the window.
It was at least a beginning.
I watched him at the window, in silence for a moment.
‘Understanding now as I do your connection with the Holy Words, would you allow me to read some verses of my own selection for you?’ I said after a moment, feeling absurdly nervous.
Frederick became very still, his gaze directed somewhere out in the garden. Daylight was still bright, though the room was dim. ‘Of course,’ he said, without turning around.
I felt a nervous hammering in my breast. I coughed once more. ‘It says in I Corinthians, “if I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or clanging cymbal.”
I hesitated as I saw him stiffen. ‘We have both been those clanging cymbals, haven’t we, Frederick?’
Again he remained silent.
‘I do not wish to be a clanging cymbal anymore, and nor do I wish it of you.’ I spoke with passion. Still, he did not turn.
I waited for a response. It did not come.
I looked again at my Bible, a feeling of dread tightening my belly. It did not seem that my carefully selected words were having the effect I had hoped.
There was nothing to do but forge forth. ‘It continues to say that “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things … “’ My voice faded, and a sense of failure as acute as the interminable silence fell over us both.
The choking lump in my throat expanded. I looked up at my husband’s broad back, still unturned before the window. ‘Please, Frederick. Look at me.’
His head tilted, and I could see a muscle in his shaven cheek jump, but he still did not turn.
I was failing. Panic, horror and unutterable sadness replaced my nervousness.
‘I have made you endure difficulties many a husband would not tolerate, and I am so terribly sorry. There is no true excuse for my infidelity, whether you blame me or not. There is but one simple truth. Neither of us has been patient or kind with the other. But I wish to start, now, if you’ll let us. Together, in open conversation, we can mend what is broken. I’m sure of it.’
Finally, he turned. His dark brown eyes were dry, and deep with thought. For a moment I thought he might reject my offer. Then he spoke in a low rumble.
‘It also says in the Book of Luke, “Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned … “’
‘“Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”’ I finished for him.
Our eyes met in that instant and I held my breath.
‘You are forgiven, Maria,’ he said, and reached for my hand.
The thick lump swelled in my throat yet again. Did I need to say that I too forgave him? Suddenly, I wasn’t at all sure what I needed to forgive him for.
His hand was warm and comforting around mine, and I forgot whatever it was that I had meant to say, and slowly I moved towards him.
For the first time in our marriage, my husband wrapped his arms about me, and I sank into his comforting embrace.
I have never felt anything so wonderful and reassuring as that. My head rested against the broad plain of his jacket. I could hear his heartbeat thumping fast beneath the cloth, and I felt the stirrings of love swell in my breast as it never had done before.
I knew then, as I know now writing this account, that this marriage is a journey we travel together, not alone as I previously thought. It is with but the Grace of God that I have been joined with a man who can forgive me my sins, as bountiful as they are; and I can be the wife who understands and forgives him his foibles as he forgives mine.
I do not doubt that there will be difficulties and hardships to come. Frederick’s piety and righteousness may well
be burden as much as blessing – but this time, as not before, I have faith that so long as we travel this path together with open hearts, and even more open minds, then our lives will be good ones, from this moment forth.
* * *
Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.
Song of Solomon 8:6–7
Thanks for reading The Journal of a Vicar’s Wife. I hope you enjoyed it.
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You’ve just read the fifth book in my series. The other books in this series are, The Secret Diary of Lady Catherine Bexley, The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton, The Private Affairs of Lady Jane Fielding and The Observations of Curious Governess.
If you liked this book, here are my other books: Wicked Confessions (print edition) and Secret Confessions Sydney Housewives: Emma. There is more info abuot all my books over the page.
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The Observations Of A Curious Governess
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Viveka Portman’s latest instalment in the sexiest set of diaries you have ever read…
When Miss Martha Swan enters the fine home of Lord and Lady Stanton to become a governess, she is full of lofty ideals. Yet something is amiss in the hallowed halls of Stanton: whispers, laughter, and something darker and more wicked echoes from behind closed doors, and Martha is determined to find out what.
The Journal of a Vicar's Wife Page 12
