Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (12 page)

Molly flashed her sister another grin and then headed for the stairs. “I should like to change my dress before we go to Aunt Sam’s. Are you coming up?”

“I shall be there shortly,” Fanny said.

Only after Molly disappeared through the doorway did Fanny let her smile fall. Any man would be lucky to have Molly for a wife. She had an easy nature and a genuine goodness that would only benefit the man who asked for her hand. But for all of Fanny’s appreciation for Molly’s virtues, she was not ignorant of the areas of charm in which her sister was lacking.

Unfortunately for both sisters, they were not great beauties. Fanny had come to accept it for herself, especially as her appreciation of more intellectual matters had increased. Molly, on the other hand, often regretted her plain features. She did all she could with her hair and even a bit of rouge now and again to soften her features, which Fanny felt only seemed to draw more attention to the beauty she did not possess.

John Peterton, on the other hand, cut a very fine figure. He was tall with broad shoulders, bright eyes, and a fine face. He was also charming and never lacking for female attention. Why would his interest suddenly spring up toward Molly after all these years? He had never given her such notice before their trip; rather, it was Tom’s company he sought out back then.

Fanny had come to realize during their travels how very wealthy her father was and through him, his children. Now that she was an adult, Father had explained to her the investments he had made in her name—money that belonged only to her. Her father would control her money until she married or reached the age of thirty, of course, but she was officially an heiress in addition to the significant dowry set aside for when she married. With the knowledge of her financial security also came the understanding that her money would be an attractive feature for young men.

Molly was similarly situated, and with the growing economic concerns of the time, Fanny wondered if she too felt rather conspicuous. Did she not know she might catch a man with a silver hook she did not mean to put in the water? Just this afternoon she had expressed suspicion of that very thing regarding Mrs. Wilton’s nephew.

Fanny hated feeling suspicion toward John, however, and doubting Molly’s potential to make a good match based on her excellent character made Fanny feel like a very bad sister. While Fanny questioned her own desire to marry—she had been increasingly vocal about such things since learning of her inheritance—Molly wanted nothing more from life than a husband and children. While Fanny felt the need to protect her heart, which still ached with the loss of those she’d loved, Molly’s heart remained hopeful and optimistic.

“Do not look for ghosts,” Fanny told herself, repeating a phrase her mother would often say when they were exaggerating an insult or looking for someone to blame for a foul mood.

Molly and John had known each other their entire lives, and it was certainly possible he had missed her during her absence and come to better appreciate her virtues. Fanny would not look for ghosts in John’s motivations. He was as good a man as the family had ever known, and if he were to make an offer to Molly, Fanny would be the first to congratulate her sister on a very good match.

Having given herself a good talking-to, Fanny made her way to her bedchamber, thinking of the people she had seen for the first time in two years and allowing the comfort of being home again to truly seep into her bones. She loved Boston—the richness of its history, the breadth of its opportunity, and the quality of its people.

In remembering friends she was eager to see again, she included Mr. Longfellow. There had been plenty of time to ponder on their time together once they were apart—it had been almost exactly a year since they had seen one another in Strasburg—and she was
convinced
of her full recovery from any foolish fancy she may have imagined between them. Her only expectation was that of friendship and intellectual discussions.

Fanny had seen Europe differently after having met Mr. Longfellow, searching for the influence and the beauty within the cultures they saw. She had looked at herself differently, too, and realized the fulfillment of study and learning she had taken for granted before. It was also because of him that she had applied herself so intently to her French lessons. She was eager to show him what she had learned, eager to see the pride in his eyes, confirmation that she had met his expectation—an expectation no one else seemed to hold for her.

At some point, Mr. Longfellow would be invited to Beacon Street. She looked forward to such a meeting but did not allow herself to look forward to it
too
much. Too much attention toward a reunion might tempt her to wonder if there was a deeper connection between them, and she had already made her decision about that.

Fanny forced herself to think of other friends she had not yet seen—Emmeline Austin, for instance, who had grown up just one street away but who was visiting family in Pennsylvania until next week. And Susan Benjamin, who would love to hear of all the fine art Fanny had seen. And of course there was Fanny’s dear friend Robert Apthorp, who had written Fanny faithfully throughout the entire two-year trip. So many people to see, so much history to share. And there would be dances and dinner parties and afternoon teas. Fanny had not lost her appetite for fashion and entertainment, and she yearned for the energetic company of her young friends. Learning had not deadened all her other interests.

Her maid was waiting for her in her bedchamber. Molly must have sent her; she was such a good sister. Fanny turned so the servant could undo the buttons of her dress, glad for the comforts of home all over again. Yes, it was very good to be home. Very good indeed.

Eleven

Renewed Acquaintance

Henry stood in the parlor of Craigie House—a stately Georgian mansion on Brattle Street where he’d lodged for nearly four months—and watched the front walk, waiting for Tom Appleton to appear.

Has it truly been a year?
he asked himself. Henry wished he weren’t nervous about renewing the acquaintance, then again he would be an idiot not to be.

Now that he was a resident of Cambridge, Henry better understood the Appleton family’s place in society and how it contrasted with his own. Not only was Nathan Appleton one of the wealthiest men in New England, he was also politically active, a faithful member of the Federal Street Church, and respected to the point of devotion among many. He and his partners had actually founded the town of Lowell when they brought the modern-age of textile production to the area and an entire settlement grew around it.

Beyond that, Nathan Appleton stood as proof that the entire premise of the United States worked. That the son of a church deacon could change his circumstances justified the fight for their independence from Britain, who still marginalized their citizens based on the society of their birth.

Being part of a new nation, however, did not remove the distinction of class between its citizens. Born or earned, one’s situation prescribed their society. That Henry had ever been included in the Appletons’ circle—even abroad where the choice of company was so limited—was a thing to be appreciated. The Appletons were kind and accepting, and Henry doubted they would purposely reject him now that the tour was over, but he would not be a part of their social circle unless they wanted him to be.

While awaiting the Appletons’ return from Europe, he had become acquainted with additional members of their family, specifically William Appleton and his wife, with whom he shared a mutual friend. Mr. and Mrs. Appleton were polite and accepting, giving him hope of further acquaintance when Nathan Appleton and his family returned.

Which is why Henry had been excited to receive Tom Appleton’s note two days earlier, requesting they take a meal together and become reacquainted. Henry was glad for the opportunity, but anxious too. It was not Tom’s friendship alone that Henry hoped for. Miss Frances Appleton was returned to Boston as well, and though Fanny would not be joining them for dinner, she would surely know of it.

Henry had spent the last year coming to terms with his interest in Fanny and knew that the opportunity to renew his acquaintance with Fanny would be determined in part by how well he and Tom got on tonight. The awareness made him feel disingenuous regarding his excitement to see Tom again, which served only to increase his anxiety.

Movement outside the window caught his attention, and Henry focused on the handsome carriage that stopped in front of the house. The coachman jumped down from his seat and opened the door so Tom could step out. Tom said something to the driver and then moved up the walkway that led to the front doors of Craigie House. Henry felt a dash of pride as he watched Tom’s eyes take in the splendor of the house. Tom saw Henry through the window and lifted a hand. Henry raised his as well and hurried to meet his friend at the door.

Henry expected a handshake of greeting and so was surprised when Tom pulled him into a quick embrace, slapping Henry on the back. “Oh, it is good to see you again, Longfellow,” Tom said, smiling as wide as the moon.

“Good to see you as well, Tom. I cannot tell you how happy I felt when I received your note. Do come in, dinner will be served shortly. We have the dining room to ourselves tonight, which is a happy accident to be sure.”

Henry led Tom into the dining room to the right where the two men sat on the plush chairs at the far end of the hand-carved table. The table could accommodate twelve but rarely did since Mrs. Craigie, the woman who owned the house, often kept to herself for meals, and the other tenants often had their evening meal elsewhere. Miss Sarah Lowell, the only female tenant, was out tonight as well.

“So how fares the Maine-land boy exiled to Cambridge-town?” Tom asked, reclining against the back of the chair.

“Well enough,” Henry said, not wanting to expound on his complaints too early in the renewal of friendship. “The society is excellent, and I have made good friends here.”

“Oh, I agree, society does not get better than Boston.” He lifted his eyes to look around the room, complete with heavy velvet drapes and well-crafted furniture. “What a fine house. Built by that Redcoat-lover Vassall, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Henry said. The history of the house was part of what had drawn him here. Another attractive factor was that Henry felt Craigie House looked like an Italian villa. “After Vassal fled in ’74, the house was occupied by the Marblehead regiment. It even housed General Washington and his family for nearly a year.”

Tom grinned throughout Henry’s explanation, prompting Henry to remember that Tom had grown up only a few miles away. “I’m sure you know better than I the history of the place.”

“Likely not,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It is one house of legacy in a place fairly dripping with it. I did know Washington stayed here before it was sold, of course, but where else would he stay but the finest house on Tory Row?” Tom gestured toward the front of the house. “And with such a view of the Charles River to boot?”

“Yes, it was surely fit for a president,” Henry confirmed, turning the familiar phrase of “fit for a king” to one more appropriate in a free nation. “In fact my rooms are the very rooms Washington himself stayed in. I sleep where he slept and work in what was his sitting room.”

“Well then, I fully expect you to raise up an army and overthrow some nation’s repressive control within the year.”

“If only that were not so near my situation,” Henry said, a rueful laugh in his voice. “I am attempting to overthrow the antiquated regime of Harvard College and usher in a new age of linguistic merit. Alas, I am not the general Washington was and fear I may have to surrender.”

Tom’s smile remained, confirming Henry’s trust that he was a safe confidante. It seemed Tom took few things seriously enough to be offended.

“What sort of attitude is that?” Tom asked as Miriam—the serving girl of Craigie House—brought in their dinner plates. Tom pulled back so the plate of lamb and roasted squash could be set before him, but did not stop speaking. “Where would our nation be if the forward thinkers of our grandfathers’ generation had felt the fight was not worthy of engagement? I say, stay the course, Longfellow. Dig in, and fight to the death to liberate the imprisoned minds of our New England youth!”

Henry laughed out loud, then sobered enough to thank Miriam and request a red wine to go with the evening’s lamb. “You are a breath of fresh air, my friend. Now, tell me of the rest of your time in Europe. What portions did you like best?”

Throughout their meal—and the bottle of wine—they spoke of the second half of the Appleton tour. Tom’s interest had focused on the people, entertainment, and food as much as the literature and culture, but he was a natural storyteller and Henry felt transported back to the places he dearly loved. Tom mentioned Fanny with the same level of inclusion he mentioned Molly or his father, and Henry had to keep himself from asking about her specifically. What did she think of Germany? Did she ever think of the man who had wanted to serve as the family’s guide there?