Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (10 page)

“He didn’t,” Fanny replied. Mr. Longfellow had been such a comfort, especially the last day he’d spent at William’s side, and she imagined the balm his words could give to her now as she struggled to make peace with her family’s loss. Beyond her desire for solace, though, Fanny missed the way he talked to her and the way he listened to what she said. As the carriage made its way to the center of the city, she looked at every man they passed, wondering if it might be him, even though she knew it was improbable.

The hotel was full, but there were some guests preparing to leave, and so the Appleton family was directed to the salon where they could wait for their rooms to be readied. Fanny was tired and hungry as she fell into a seat near the window and took off her bonnet. It had been a long day of travel. Father buried his face behind a Paris newspaper while Molly and Fanny watched the street outside the hotel window. It was a fine day, and there were a lot of people about.

“It seems that
Norma
will be performed at the Paris opera house again beginning next week,” Father said after a few minutes of silence.

“Shall Fanny and I get a new opera dress?” Molly asked, turning hopeful eyes toward her father. “You did say we could have some new dresses for winter.”

“Yes, of course,” their father said with a nod. “You must have some winter dresses, and another for the opera, too. We shall find a reputable dressmaker as soon as we are settled in the city.”

“I would like a new coat in the French style,” Tom said, betraying his love of fashion. “I did love Henry’s fine red coat. He gave me the name of the tailor who made it for him. Perhaps the tailor would have a reference for a dressmaker too.”

“Very good, Tom,” Father said. “I shouldn’t mind updating my wardrobe either. I am not too old to dress like a Frenchman.”

Molly laughed and the sound lightened the mood considerably. How long it had been since any of them had laughed, even Tom who was the most lighthearted of them all? “What else shall we do once we arrive in Paris?” Molly asked.

“I am looking forward to another tour of the Louvre,” Tom said. “I plan to spend a week at least this time after Henry helped me realize how much I had missed.”

“I should like the additional art classes we discussed,” Fanny said, joining the conversation. She stripped off her gloves and flexed her stiff fingers. “I should like to do my own rendition of a classic painting before we leave. It is all the rage to bring home your own interpretation, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Father said. “I shall see to those lessons. I would also like both of you girls to improve your French with a tutor. As we will be in Europe for some time longer, it would be a credit to take full advantage of the educational possibilities.” He paused for a breath. “Hearing Mr. Longfellow speak of how learning other languages expands your ability to learn all manner of things intrigues me. He attributes his own intellect to having learned so many languages in his youth. As you both learned French in school, I do not think it would take much to restore your skill and increase it to that of conversation level. I’ve already sent ahead to our boardinghouse to see about a teacher.”

Fanny considered this revelation a moment and wondered how it had come about. Her father hadn’t shown interest in his daughters learning the language when they were in Paris the first time. “Did Mr. Longfellow
tell
you to have us take French lessons?”

“Well, he recommended it,” Father said as though nothing was strange about Fanny’s question. “We had an interesting discussion one afternoon where he spoke of the importance of education, even for women.” Father did not say it the way Fanny
knew
Mr. Longfellow would have. “The more I thought on what he had to say, the more I realized that women with greater education are well-suited wives for educated husbands. As I only want the very best of men to seek out my daughters, it is perfectly reasonable that I should educate both of you in such a way as to improve your appeal.”

“Won’t men find it intimidating for us to be educated?” Molly asked, her eyebrows pulled together as though sorting out in her mind what kind of man would be intrigued and what kind would be intimidated.

“Which is why learning French is the perfect solution,” Father said with a note of triumph. “Most men of our class learn French, as Tom and Charles did when they were in school, and so to speak a language men already know would not put you above them in any matter of intelligence. It would, however, keep unsuitable men at a distance, I think. And what better place to learn French than in Paris?” He said
Paris
like the French did—
Pairee
—and Molly laughed again.

Fanny smiled politely, turning her gaze back to the window and her memory back to her conversation with Mr. Longfellow regarding education for women. Not once had Mr. Longfellow asserted that the reason for a woman to be learned was to attract a husband. Nor did he express concern regarding a woman having a greater intellect than her husband. Rather, he had focused on how a woman could be edified by her own education, and how two educated parents—as a partnership—could then influence their children.

Remembering that discussion renewed Fanny’s appreciation of the confidence Mr. Longfellow had inspired within her. He had spoken as though any woman was capable of learning and that all women would be bettered for it. He had called Fanny articulate and well-spoken, and she had felt complimented for her own individual merit, rather than hopeful that an education would serve as an element of attraction for a suitable man.

Molly, Tom, and Father began to talk of their expectations for Paris while Fanny watched the people promenading down the
Route du Polygone.
She hoped their rooms would be ready soon. She longed for a nap—after a good meal, of course.

When a familiar form on the street outside the window caught her eye, Fanny startled and blinked. She shook her head and wondered if she’d nodded off, but then she focused her gaze more intently and gasped too quietly for anyone else to hear. The man who had caught her notice was Mr. Longfellow! He was walking with three women—one older and two younger, one of whom was quite pretty and holding on to Mr. Longfellow’s arm.

Fanny told herself it couldn’t be him. The odds of seeing Mr. Longfellow here were slim, but as he and his party drew closer, Fanny’s heart rate increased. She smiled in anticipation, already imagining the way his blue eyes would look when he would see her. She had longed for this chance to talk with him and began to rise from her chair, drawn by her desire to reconnect with his compassionate heart. Then the pretty girl on his arm said something and he laughed with such levity that Fanny returned to her seat in an instant, the warmth and excitement she’d felt upon seeing him vanishing.

Fanny had not had many occasions to see Mr. Longfellow laugh, and the contrast of his gladness when she was so steeped in mourning made her chest heat up. She looked away, trying to make sense of the instant envy and irritation she felt. She reminded herself that he did not even know William had died; Tom’s letter was waiting for Mr. Longfellow in Paris. She could not judge his lighthearted mood based on information he was unaware of, and yet a sense of betrayal took root in her stomach and sent her joy at seeing him into the shadows of her aching heart.

Fanny looked back at Mr. Longfellow in time to see him nodding while leaning closer to his companion at his side as though to better hear what she was saying. Seeing him with the girl made Fanny realize that he had rarely talked with Fanny so easily; only that one day in Zurich had he been so casual. To see him so different, so comfortable and easy, sparked both envy and embarrassment. She had thought perhaps Mr. Longfellow fancied her, and she had allowed herself to feel flattered by that perceived affection.

Anyone looking at him now would assume he fancied the girl on his arm, and perhaps he did. Perhaps he took a liking to whatever young woman was in his company at any given time. Perhaps he complimented her mind, too, made her feel special and particular. The thought left Fanny’s chest cold and her neck hot.

“Your rooms are ready, Mr. Appleton.”

Fanny turned away from the window in time to see a servant bowing out of the doorway. She took a moment to control her thoughts and straightened her spine. Thank goodness no one knew of the foolish fancy that had been growing in her since Mr. Longfellow left their company in Schaffhausen. At least she would not have to endure Tom’s teasing or Molly’s pity at having seen more in her interactions with Mr. Longfellow than she should have.

As Fanny picked up her gloves from the table beside her chair, she glanced out the window one last time. Mr. Longfellow’s back was to her now—showing the fine cut of his coat—and she lifted her chin.

It could never be like it’s been,
she told herself, following her family from the room.
And you are not a silly girl who does not understand the world. Enjoy the memory, take his encouragement to expand yourself, but do not let these weeks become anything more than that in your mind.

Nine

Reunion

Henry read the note, his heart heavy in his chest. William Appleton had passed and had been buried in Schaffhausen a week ago. Henry knew when he had last parted company with the Appletons that William did not have many more days, but knowing of his death increased Henry’s sorrow. He would have liked to have been there. He had known William for only a few weeks, but he had come to love him. Henry’s greatest regret was on behalf of the Appleton family. He understood the pain of their loss too well and mourned alongside them in his heart.

Following the revelation of the sad news, Tom Appleton had included an invitation for Henry, and whomever might be traveling with him, to join the Appletons for breakfast at their hotel. The Appletons’ hotel was not far from the more modest accommodations Henry and his company had chosen, and he felt sure that Clara, Mrs. Bryant, and her daughter would be glad to join them. Had Miss Bryant not said just yesterday that Henry seemed to have fallen in love with the Appletons? And hadn’t Clara teased him about how Switzerland and the Appleton family had been the cure for his melancholy?

Henry himself would not go so far as to say he was cured—every thought of Mary still brought with it a stab of regret—and yet his time with the Appletons had taught him a great deal. First, that he was not the only person to lose someone he loved, and second, that there was hope he could be a happy man again someday. He’d come to realize more fully that Mary would want his happiness. That was not to say he knew how he might find that fullness and joy, but he could hope for it. The restoration of his spirit would be something for which he would always credit the Appletons. He had needed time apart, with people who would not share thoughts of Mary, in order to see the possibility of a life without her. He would be forever grateful for the role they had played in that discovery; Fanny most of all. The opportunity to see her again—the whole family, of course—helped relieve the sting of William’s loss.

He quickly scrawled an acceptance of the invitation to Tom, then went around to the room the Bryants and Clara were sharing on the women’s floor of the hotel to make sure they were agreeable, which they were. Once it was confirmed, he gave the message to the clerk with instructions to have it delivered to the Appletons’ hotel as soon as possible. They would need to leave within the hour to be there on time.

When they arrived at the hotel, they were shown into one of the private dining rooms, surely the finest the hotel had to offer. Mr. Appleton, Tom, and Molly were already seated at the table, and Henry introduced one group to the other.

“Your husband is William Cullen Bryant,” Mr. Appleton said to Mrs. Bryant after the introductions concluded.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Do you know Mr. Bryant?”

“Of him only, I’m afraid. But I have great respect for his work at the
Post
.”

“The Bryants have become dear friends,” Mr. Longfellow added, drawing Mr. Appleton’s attention. “Clara and I are indebted to them for all the help they have extended toward us since meeting them in Heidelberg.”

Mrs. Bryant waved away the admiration. “It is a joy for us to spend time with our fellow countrymen, and we all got on so well, we were glad to lend the necessary company and allow Mr. Longfellow and Miss Crowninshield the opportunity to continue their tour.”

As happened frequently, Mary had become an invisible topic of conversation. Henry could not travel alone with an unmarried woman, but Mrs. Bryant had been both willing and gratified to assist, as her husband was kept quite busy and her teenage daughter was growing rather bored of just her mother’s company.

“Are you the family Miss Crowninshield stayed with in Germany?” Tom asked.

Mrs. Bryant shook her head. “She stayed with a German family so she could better learn the language, but we had rented a house nearby for the winter.”

The group continued to make small talk while Henry watched the door. Mr. Appleton had mentioned that Fanny would be joining them, and Henry’s anticipation grew with each passing minute. Part of him was frightened by his interest in the youngest daughter of Mr. Nathan Appleton—there were so many reasons why he should not feel as he did—but another part of him, the part that had come alive since becoming acquainted with such a remarkable young woman, was relieved to be so affected. Parting company with the family had only confirmed his interest in Miss Fanny. Where his particular interest in her would lead, he did not know; this feeling was too new and unexpected. He only knew he enjoyed her company and wished for more of it. As the party served themselves from the buffet and the minutes ticked forward on the clock, Henry found himself worrying that Fanny was not coming.