Strolling along in front of the shops, Hattie was a bundle of happy nerves, for her wedding day was not quite a week away. Sooner than it would be believed, she would be a married woman, mistress of her own house! The thought was a pleasant one, to such an extent that her father had practically ordered her from the house to give him some rest on the subject.

As a familiar figure in a black coat appeared in front of her, Miss Foster's smile bloomed into a dazzling expression. Jonathon caught sight of her and stopped, abruptly captivated by the creature set to become his wife. Like a ray of sunshine, she spread warmth and cheer everywhere she went, and at that precise moment, she was standing before him, looking up. He basked in the glow.

"Darling Forsythe," her curtsy was quick. "How are you?"

"Quite well, Miss Foster," his smile was tender as he brought her hand to his lips. "Now that I see you, I can only be happy."

"Charmer." Her soft giggle told him how well she liked it, though. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, they turned to walk on. Leading her to a quiet spot slightly out of the way, he lowered his voice.

"Can I speak to you on a most serious matter, Hattie?"

"Of course," the reply was automatic, but he found her gaze lingering on wildflowers dancing in the warm breeze. A gentle squeeze on her arm turned her eyes to him.

"I am in earnest, Miss Foster. I must have your full attention and your word that this will remain strictly between us."

"Oh dear," chewing her bottom lip, the girl sighed. "I am terrible at secrets, dear Forsythe. I speak too fast for my mind to keep up."

"I see," disappointment threaded his tone as the vicar looked away, a far-off look creasing his expression. Hattie felt a stab of guilt and put her free hand atop his.

"I shouldn't like to deceive you in my nature, Mr Forsythe, yet, as I am to become your wife...perhaps I ought to attempt a more serious approach. If you tell me something in confidence...I promise you faithfully to not speak of it to anyone."

"Hattie-"

"Please," earnestly she gazed up at him, pink lips slightly parted. "Please trust me to do this right. If you believe in me, then I know I shall not fail."

"Very well," he couldn't deny her, covering her hands in his. "Let me ask you something that has been on my mind of late. Are you quite set in your mind to be a vicar's wife?"

Hattie paled in alarm.

"Do you mean to break off-?"

"No!" Hurriedly stopping her, Forsythe shook his head. "I intend to marry you, it's just... I began to wonder if you would be discontent if I should find another profession. Perhaps in a different community."

"Do you tire of sermons?"

"Not at all, but I am well aware of how quickly events can change. I seek only to discover your feelings on the subject."

"Shall we be poor if your profession changes?"

"No."

"Shall we be disgraced somehow?"

"No." It won't come to that, he silently promised. Her lips pursed thoughtfully as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. With a delicate shrug of her shoulders, Hattie began to smile.

"I suppose as long as we are together, then I have very little opinion of your profession, so long as it is honest and respectable."

"I promise you that, dearest Hattie."

"Does this have anything to do with His Grace's visit to you?"

Forsythe froze, shocked by her question but Hattie's expression remained placid. Clearing his throat, he frowned.

"His Grace?"

"The Duke of Essex," she clarified pointedly. "I know you believe that I did not see him leave the vicarage before, but I did. Are you somehow out of favour with him, and that is why you think of leaving?"

"No..." stunned that she should have been aware of Wentworth's visit all this time, Forsythe rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Why did you not say anything before?"

"About His Grace? Well...you said nothing of it, and neither did Seabourn, so I suppose I felt you did not want it spoken of. Was I wrong?"

"No, for I did intend it to be secret, but not because I have incurred his displeasure. We are...that is, we have previously formed an acquaintance. Many years ago."

Sky-blue eyes went wide.

"You are friends with the Duke of Essex?"

"That is a stretch," he hedged softly. "Let us simply say, we are well acquainted and on amiable terms."

"What is the difference?"

"I shouldn't like to have to explain how I know His Grace, Miss Foster. It is not a subject that brings me pleasure. So friendship is a term I earnestly seek to avoid in connection with Lord Wentworth."

"Oh," feeling as though she'd been let in on a great secret, Hattie nodded eagerly. "I see. Then...I shall indeed submit to your wishes. I won't say a word to anyone about the prospect of a change in your profession, nor your ties to His Grace."

"Thank you, Hattie," kissing her knuckles tenderly, Forsythe gave her a loving smile. "Thank you."

Her toes curled in delight at the gesture, eyes sparkling like faceted diamonds. Heedless to the subtly curious eyes observing the couple, she popped up to her toes and planted a kiss on her beloved's cheek.

"How I adore you!"

If a man could look both stunned and embarrassed, Jonathon Forsythe managed it admirably. Roughly clearing his throat despite the obviously flushed features, he stepped back.

"While I am grateful for it, perhaps a more controlled display in public would be appropriate, Miss Foster."

Oh," it wasn't disappointment on her face, but awe. Attempting a schooled expression, Forsythe nodded.

"We mustn't give rise to fodder for gossip, Miss Foster. Any shadow on your reputation would deeply grieve me."

"Yes,"

"Are you paying attention?"

"Indeed I am," she whispered reverently. "How could I not, when you-"

"Use my sermon's voice," he finished with a chuckle. "Someday I shall have to learn to control it better."

"I like it."

He spent the rest of the day trying not to let her simple answer make him smile.

Hattie's afternoon was not nearly so pleasant. In the haberdashery, she bumped into Julia Stafford. The greeting was cool.

"You are looking well, Hattie."

"Thank you." Stiffly keeping her chin up, Miss Foster was trying to find a snarky reply but Julia's gorgeous hat pin kept distracting her. Unable to ignore it, she indicated the sparking object. "That is new, is it not?"

"Indeed!" Happy to have something to talk about, Miss Stafford took off her bonnet to show the pin to Hattie more closely. "It was a gift!"

"From whom?"

"My gentleman suitor," a shy flush tinted Julia's complexion. "He brought it back from his travels."

"You really do intend to marry him?"

"If he asks me, yes! I'd be a true simpleton not to." They moved along rows of cloth, stopping at the display of silk handkerchiefs. "Lord Dashwell is a baron of some means, and I shall lack for nothing as his wife."

"Shall you be happy though, Julia?" Hattie's brilliant blue eyes were curious. "Do you love him?"

"What does love have to do with a good marriage?" Shaking her head with a giggle, Miss Stafford picked up a square of lace with an intricate pattern sewn into it. "Many a married couple make a success of life without love. You ought to know that."

"Me?" Puzzled, Hattie frowned a little. "Why should I know such a thing? I have great affection for my intended."

"I'm speaking of your parents, silly Hattie." Julia's eyes were honest and kind. "Surely, you've noticed by now?"

Horror flooded the girl's features, her pink lips forming a stunned 'o'. Julia put a sympathetic hand on hers.

"It is not unusual, and nothing to fret over. Truly, I am surprised that you never noticed how they barely tolerate one another. My own parents hardly speak to one another unless it concerns me."

"Julia," lips trembling, Hattie could barely get the words out. "Do you speak in earnest just now, or do you seek to tease me? My parents..."

"Oh Hattie," dismissive, Julia sighed, putting the sample of lace back. "You're such a romantic...I dare say you've always assumed your parents to be wildly in love, but think about it. Do they ever display any form of affection for one another? The truth isn't terrible. It just is."

"I...I shouldn't like to end without love."

"You are an entirely different matter." Miss Stafford picked up another sample, studying it intently. "I imagine it would be quite impossible for the man you marry not to have affection for you."

"Why?"

"Because you are entirely sweet, silly, romantic, and simple. An ideal wife, Hattie. Perfect for a vicar."

Distressed was too bland a word to fully describe Hattie's demeanour upon parting company with Julia Stafford. The very idea that her parents were not happy in wedlock was foreign and upsetting. Why shouldn't they be? They never argued, nor were they ever cross, at least not for as far back as the girl could recall.

Finding an empty bench in the shade of a lovely oak tree, she plopped down, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands. No matter how she thought the situation over, the nagging idea remained. How could she so happily marry for love and leave her mother and father alone together, when there was no love?