Free The Journal of a Vicar's Wife by Viveka Portman

by the man to join him.
    By and large, this disassociation with my husband has opened the passage for deepening relationships with Mrs Richards, Mrs Cartwright and naturally, Mr Goddard.
    Do not mistake my intention with Mr Goddard. I do not love him, though I find him very pleasing to the eye. Neither does he love me, or indeed share overmuch affection. We work on an entirely convenient friendship, where physical needs are met occasionally, and nothing more. Though, it must be said, due to my melancholy, my physical intercourses with him have been less than frequent of late.
    Still, today there was a pleasant diversion. The household has been thrown into a flurry with the arrival of my husband’s cousin, Mr Jonathan Reeves. I have been looking forward to seeing him. I cannot say why I was so eager to see him, for I know our romance has long since passed, and he is not the sort to sully the trust and affection of his cousin. Still, a warm, smiling face is very welcome in this house, for here they are few and far between.
    When Jonathan arrived, a little after luncheon, he was dusty from the road. His dark brown hair, so similar to that of the Vicar, was flattened by his hat, and sweat curled it at his temples. I smiled instantly, recalling all the affections of our youth. He has grown into a fine man, indeed. Broad and strong, with the easy smile I once adored.
    ‘Mrs Reeves,’ he grinned at me, and bowed.
    ‘Mr Jonathan Reeves,’ I inclined my head and bobbed. ‘What a pleasure to see you once more.’
    ‘I note the country life suits you; you look well,’ he said.
    I felt a flush. I do not look well, indeed no, though it was very kind of him to say so.
    I heard the heavy footsteps of the Vicar approach behind me.
    ‘Thank you,’ I said stiffly, and swept back into the corridor to allow the gentlemen to greet appropriately.
    ‘Jonathan,’ the Vicar greeted his cousin. ‘Come in. I fear I have just finished luncheon, but Mrs Cartwright will prepare a repast for you if you would care to refresh yourself.’
    I kept my head demurely inclined, as he continued. ‘My wife has spent an inordinate time organising the guest room for you.’ The Vicar’s voice held no warmth.
    ‘Well, I thank you for opening your home to me, Mrs Reeves, Reverend.’ Pleasure was warm in Jonathan’s voice.
    ‘Frederick,’ the Vicar replied, ‘we are cousins, there is no requirement for formality in my home.’
    ‘Indeed, Vicar,’ I commented rather rudely.
    My husband turned and locked me with a gaze I could not quite determine.
    Jonathan coughed, ‘Quite.’
    There was an interminable, awkward pause. ‘Vicar, do you care to escort your cousin to his room? Or shall I?’ I asked pointedly.
    His eyes darkened. He dislikes it intensely when I call him Vicar, I know, for he requested that I cease it. Frankly, I take delight in calling him it, and am determined not to cease.
    ‘Certainly, you may, Mrs Reeves,’ he replied, inclining his head. ‘I shall ask Minny to heat some water so that he may prepare himself for luncheon.’
    ‘Very good. Mr Reeves, if you would be so kind to follow me,’ I ushered him up the stairs.
    Jonathan followed me silently. I could feel my skin prickle as if he were observing the back of my neck as he did so.
    ‘Do you fare well in London, Mr Reeves?’ I asked, as I opened the door to his rooms.
    ‘Well indeed.’ he agreed and stepped forth. His rooms were decorated in blue and mauve, the bed freshly dressed and the sills dusted. Afternoon sunshine shone through lace of the curtains, casting pretty shadows upon the coverlet. ‘As you know, I am a junior solicitor and have only come to Stanton so as to assist His Lordship in matters of tenancy. My father usually deals with his Lordship’s matters, but alas, is not so well, you understand.’
    ‘I had not heard. I am sorry.’ I replied, and hesitated at the door.
    Jonathan smiled, and it was soft and kind. A lump seemed to be swelling obtusely