The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  ****

  As I look back on my writings, I fear they are not at all like the earnest lectures of Hester Chapone I had once hoped to replicate. Indeed, they are something altogether quite different, but I humbly suggest, of no less import.

  I commenced these writings searching for fulfilment and satisfaction in my position such as it was. It is through this search and through my careful reflections I have discovered something quite spectacular.

  My behaviour has not been what it should. I very nearly ruined everything of myself that held import in the eyes of society. Yet it is in this ruination that I have most certainly found my salvation too. I have discovered that so many of us live within deep self-deception, and strive most ardently to hide what it is that we most secretly desire. Thus I’ve come to realise that our feelings are not mere ornaments to be compartmentalised and placed in a china cabinet. Instead, they may be worn and revealed to those who will appreciate them most. I cannot say I would suggest to another lady in my circumstance to follow my actions, indeed not. Yet my path, ruinous though it may have been for some, has led me to discover true friendship and love. I cannot therefore deny its virtues.

  Hester Chapone once wrote:

  “Friendship, in the highest sense of the word, can only subsist between persons of strict integrity and true generosity,”

  and I must agree, for despite his other appearances, Lord Stanton has as much integrity as anyone, and I cannot fathom a greater generosity than that he has show Mr Reeves and I. He is a curious combination indeed – but a combination I must be thankful for.

  Thus it is I have come full circle; my understanding of those notions spoken of so sagely in my readings is much changed. My knowledge of life and its complexities has grown much broader, for now I have lived it, rather than merely read it. These experiences, some painful and some peculiar, have lead me to understand that piety, morality and censure are variable, and indeed flexible, depending on circumstance. The rake and philander, the woman of loose morals and the dedicated maid are not all as they appear. They are complex and unique, despite what society may believe them to be. This revelation is a powerful one for a lady such as myself. I can revel in my lover’s touch, moan beneath his lips without fear of censure now, for I have none of it in my heart. I can see the ripe affection His Lordship holds for his wife, and understand his hunger for the fairer sex without revulsion. For I know the gentleman behind those acts, and he is a kind and an undeniably generous one.

  I believe that the heart, with all its incumbent faults, often stands in need of a faithful partner to share in its cares. And thanks to this peculiar place, and its peculiar Lordship and family, I have finally found it.

  ****

  10th August 1813

  Preparations for my wedding are progressing in a most pleasing fashion indeed. Due to my delicate condition, His Lordship has expedited the process through his parish and today Mr Reeves and I visited upon the good Reverend to finalize the details.

  The day was slightly inclement, and there was a chill wind blowing. Mr Reeves had come to collect me from Stanton and we made our way via the woodland trail to the vicarage.

  I was determined on this occasion to set Mrs Maria Reeves straight upon a few matters. I had seen the lady at church and on a few occasions about the village, and she retained a sour expression when in my presence that I found both disconcerting and offensive. Though I have oft said that gossip is a vice, and not one worthy of my attention, a piece of such gossip met my ears earlier this week and has verily irritated me beyond reason.

  I heard Jenny, my maid, tell Miller that her brother, a Mr Henry Goddard who works at the dairy, had come home in terrible state the day before. He was so upset that when questioned as to what had happened, he confessed all. Mr Goddard told her that Reverend Reeves had espied him in a rather compromising position with Mrs Maria Reeves! When further questioned, he elaborated that he had been in the process of ‘tupping’ Mrs Reeves in the sitting room of the vicarage following a delivery of milk, when the Reverend walked in. Well, you can see why I have become so irritated by this particular lady, who does not practice what she preaches, or what her husband preaches for that matter, yet to dares cast aspersions at others!

  Naturally, I cannot judge over-harshly Mrs Maria Reeves’ character, in light of my own past indiscretions, but I do feel that her playing the pious wife, and humiliating myself and Mr Reeves, was unwarranted and unfair. Additionally, she has not, I may add, apologised for her undignified spying on that occasion and thus, today I wished to make my displeasure known to her, whilst my betrothed was speaking with her husband.

  We arrived at the vicarage shortly after ten, and were welcomed into the house by Mrs Cartwright, a kindly looking housekeeper of middling years. I wondered if Mrs Cartwright knew of her employer’s relationship with the milkman, but tended to think not, as she seemed a very moral and proper sort.

  We were ushered promptly into the well-appointed but modest sitting room. I looked about the room, wondering rudely where the impropriety had occurred. Upon the walls were fine paintings of a religious tone, and there was a small but full bookshelf to the rear of the room.

  The vicar bowed courteously upon my entry, and Mrs Maria Reeves bobbed a curtsy which I reciprocated gently. I allowed my hand to fall from Jonathan’s arm as I awaited his verbal welcome.

  ‘Welcome to our home, Miss Swan,’ the Reverend said. He stood stiffly beside his wife, whose pale and pretty face showed none of the welcome her husband’s did. ‘Might I offer our congratulations on your betrothal? My cousin is indeed a lucky man.’

  I looked at Mrs Reeves under lowered lashes, and Mrs Reeves’ lips tightened.

  ‘Thank you Reverend, Mrs Reeves,’ I answered with a smile. ‘I consider myself most fortunate also.’

  The vicar smiled again, and I watched Mrs Reeves attempt to replicate the smile, but fail.

  ‘Freddie, shall we get this business done, then?’ Jonathan asked quickly, as if noticing the pall betwixt us.

  ‘Of course. We shall be just a short while, ladies.’ He inclined his head gently. ‘If you would excuse us,’ the reverend said and left, presumably for his study. I watched Jonathan go, his broad back disappearing into the gloom of the house.

  My stomach roiled; the nausea of my breeding state oft reared its head at the most inopportune time. The sooner we married, the more comfortable I would be. It was difficult to disguise the discomfort of breeding, when one felt so vile and ill.

  I was now alone with Mrs Maria Reeves, a situation that did nothing to calm my belly. This day she was dressed in a gown of darkest blue. It was modest, and her cap seemed so large that it verily swallowed her head.

  ‘Would you take a seat, Miss Swan?’ she asked, and I gratefully accepted. ‘Mrs Cartwright will bring tea shortly.’

  I inclined my head, and there was one of those interminable moments of silence. It was Mrs Reeves who felt the need to interrupt it.

  ‘Have you got a big enough gown?’ she asked, ‘For the wedding?’

  I hesitated then; what did she mean? Did she refer to my condition? Was she attempting to slight me once more? My hand flew to my belly. Her eyes followed the gesture.

  Of course I knew that in expediting the marriage, questions and suspicions would be aroused, but I had not expected such frank questioning. I thought to be angry then, but knew I must respond with a statement of wit and poise instead. Thus I removed my hand from my belly.

  ‘Indeed, I do.’ I replied, ‘But tell me, Mrs Reeves, how is Mr Goddard?’

  Mrs Reeves’ face palled significantly. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she offered weakly, and as she did the face that had paled began to flush crimson.

  ‘Do you not? Well, no matter,’ I replied flippantly. There was a lull in conversation as a young maid came forth and deposited tea and cake on the table. There was a decadently large pot of cream that came with it, I noticed it with a wry glance.

  ‘Do you get much cream from Mr Goddar
d then, here at the vicarage?’ I asked, gesturing to the glossy fluid in the pot.

  Mrs Maria Reeves’ pretty mouth tightened. ‘Enough,’ she croaked.

  I raised an eyebrow and smoothed my skirts. Clearly she was not to offer me an apology on those matters she ought. So I decided on a different approach. After another moment of silence, I moved towards my reticule, and extracted my copy of Hester Chapone’s Letters. The volume was well-read and worn.

  ‘Have you by chance read any of the writings of Mrs Hester Chapone?’ I asked.

  Mrs Reeves sipped at her tea, her blue eyes hard. ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

  I turned the volume in my hands, familiar but out of place in my new existence.

  ‘I have always found Mrs Chapone’s writings to be an exemplar of moral fortitude. Her sage advice and discerning eye on matters of morality and discretion have guided me well. Perhaps you yourself may find it of benefit.’

  I handed her the book then. Mrs Reeves’ small hand took the volume and she looked at it, her expression confused.

  ‘You really ought to read it,’ I added, but before I could say more, the gentlemen returned to the sitting room and I rose to greet my betrothed.

  ‘Is it settled, then?’ I asked, linking my arm with Jonathan’s.

  He looked down at me with an expression of utter delight. ‘Indeed, on Sunday we shall be wed, my love.’

  His smile was brilliant. It warmed the cockles of my soul and calmed the nervous flutter of my belly.

  We departed the vicarage shortly after. Mrs Reeves stood quietly beside her husband, her face an unreadable mask.

  Mr Reeves walked me back to Stanton then, and for a moment we dallied beneath one of the pines beside the track. He leaned down and kissed me, his hands about my waist. His touch was gentle and loving, and my heart sang with the joy of it.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Swan,’ he said when we broke apart.

  ‘Thank you?’ I laughed, ‘But why should you thank me?’

  ‘Without your curiosity, your strength and your utter discretion, our marriage and our child would never have happened. For this I shall ever be thankful.’ He gestured to the woods, beyond which our home was being built.

  I smiled at him and brought his hand to my belly. ‘You need not thank me. Thank Hester Chapone.’

  Thanks for reading The Observations of a Curious Governess. I hope you enjoyed it.

  If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage vivekaportman.blogspot.com, follow me on twitter @VivekaPortman, or like my Facebook page Viveka-Portman.

  You can also follow me through my publisher’s page here escapepublishing.com.au

  Reviews can help readers find books, and I am grateful for all honest reviews. Thank you for taking the time to let others know what you’ve read, and what you thought.

  You’ve just read a book in my Regency Diaries series. The other books in this series are The Secret Diary of Lady Catherine Bexley, The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton and The Private Affairs of Lady Jane Fielding. For more information, please turn the page.

  This book was published by Escape Publishing. If you’d like to sample some more great books from my fellow Escape Artists, please turn the page.

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  ISBN: 9780857992222

  Title: The Observations of a Curious Governess

  Copyright © 2015 by Viveka Portman

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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