Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (16 page)

Fifteen

An Open Heart

Henry skipped up the steps of Craigie House, checked his watch, and then went directly to the dining room. It was five o’clock, and he’d told Mrs. Craigie he would be attending dinner before his evening’s recitation—Italian on Thursdays. He entered the room and nodded a greeting to the other lodgers at the table.

Jared Sparks was a former pastor and the McLean Professor of Ancient and Modern History at Harvard, so they interacted a great deal. Sarah Lowell reminded Henry of his maiden aunt, Lucia, who had helped his mother raise ten children. The two were good company on every front, and Henry was in the mood to fully enjoy his time with them.

“Good evening,” Henry said as he took his seat beside Sparks and across from Miss Lowell. “How are we this fine day?”

“Apparently not as well as you,” Sparks said. “You are in a very bright mood.”

“It is Thursday,” Henry said with a broad grin.

“Yes,” Sparks said with a nod. “Of course, why did I not realize the happy nature of a
Thursday
?”

“He gives lessons to Miss Frances Appleton every Friday,” Miss Lowell said knowingly. They had spoken of his tutoring over their shared breakfasts of toast and tea. “This shall be your fifth lesson?”

“Indeed,” Henry said, reaching for a roll from the basket in the middle of the table.

“What kind of lessons?” Sparks asked.

“German,” Henry said. “You know I met the Appletons in Europe. Well, after I parted their company, Miss Fanny and her sister took French lessons in Paris, and she would now like to learn German. It has been a most invigorating experience.”

“What a strange girl to want to learn German.” Sparks grinned as he looked over his spectacles. “Is she a lunatic?”

Miss Lowell laughed, and Henry shook his head. “Do try to contain your envy that a lovely young women is interested in my work, Sparks. I know it shall be difficult.”

Sparks hooted at that, and Henry went on to explain the nature of his tutoring while dinner was served around the table. Beef stew, a simple meal but one of Henry’s favorites.

“If you ask me,” Miss Lowell said a few bites into their meal. “I suspect the lessons are nothing more than a screen to hide the true intent of these meetings.”

“I have only just learned of these lessons, and I agree with you completely, Miss Lowell,” Sparks said as he broke open a roll. “No one gets this excited about tutoring.”

Henry smiled into his bowl and then wondered what reason he had to deny his feelings. He looked up at his companions. “Miss Fanny is a most remarkable woman. She is smart and witty and so very self-possessed that every minute spent in her company is a moment of pure pleasure.”

“Oh, goodness,” Miss Lowell said. “I think you are quite smitten, Mr. Longfellow.”

“Completely,” he said with a nod.

“And when shall you confess the depth of your feelings?” Sparks asked with a single arched brow. “So that Miss Lowell and I might wish you happy.”

“I have yet to determine my timeline for that,” Henry said. “We have had four lessons thus far, and two dinners with her family, but I asked her to walk the Commons with me last week and she refused, claiming she was unsure it would be appropriate.”

He caught a shared glance between Sparks and Miss Lowell and hurried to alleviate their concern. “I think it is because she has been rather beset with suitors since her return to Europe and worries that being seen in individual company with me should set up an expectation with other men who would like to pursue her.”

“She has
many
suitors?” Miss Lowell asked, a crease between her eyebrows that he did not feel was warranted.

“
Would-be
suitors,” Henry clarified, using another roll to sop up the stew in his bowl. He had such energy and knew it was because of Fanny and the light she brought into his life. The hour-long lessons in her company felt as though time stopped completely. And last week! Oh, the glorious moment of discovery when she felt the fullness of what poetry could do. It had been as invigorating a moment as Henry had ever experienced. That ability to feel a poem would now be a part of her, and it would paint the world with colors she had never seen before.

Each time Henry made his way home from Beacon Hill following their Friday lessons, he was already eagerly anticipating the next week. Saturday was his longest day, knowing he was six days away from seeing her again, but his anticipation would build each day, stronger and stronger, until Thursday when he was ready to burst. He would count the hours—twenty-four hours from now, eighteen, sixteen—then he would wake up Friday and know that in seven hours he would be knocking at the door of her home and ushered into sunshine all over again.

“And she is not troubled by the attention of a poor college professor?” Sparks asked. “As I understand it, the Appletons could buy the whole of Boston if they were of a mind to.”

Miss Lowell laughed at the exaggeration but did not correct him.

“I do not think Fanny cares for such things,” Henry said. “She understands my work and does not put on airs. She has been encouraging of my attention.” He paused and reflected on a deeper level of his feelings before looking up at the faces of his friends. “I have not felt such invigoration since the early days of my marriage to Mary, and I never expected to feel such again.” It still hurt to talk of Mary, but not as it once had. “I thank God for extending to me a second chance to feel such happiness I once believed was lost to me.”

The teasing left the faces of both of his companions, and Miss Lowell reached over to pat the back of his hand. “Such love as that is a gift, Mr. Longfellow,” she said reverently. “I wish you the best in your pursuit.”

“As do I,” Sparks said with a nod. “Would that we could all be so lucky.”

Sixteen

A Broken Heart

It was autumn in New England, and Fanny and Molly spent the day with Aunt Sam purchasing items they would need for winter and ordering those things not immediately available. The sisters would celebrate their birthdays next week, only a day apart. On October 17, Fanny would turn twenty and enter a new decade of her life. The next day, Molly would turn twenty-four, an age that was not quite as exciting to celebrate.

Aunt William had also attended them for part of the day, and they had luncheoned at the Union Oyster House. After sending the packages to the house and saying good-bye to their aunts, the sisters enjoyed a walk along the wharf, despite the cold, and watched the ships come in and leave port, each of the vessels moving so smoothly it was like they were speaking to one another.

The sisters had been back in Boston almost three months and had enjoyed every moment of the summer and fall, knowing a hard winter would be on them soon. Once the snow and ice came, they would warm themselves with memories of more pleasant days like this one.

They walked arm in arm and spoke of an upcoming ball, a past dinner party, and when Molly would next see John. He had gone to New York the previous week to assist in a business transaction for his uncle. There seemed to be no end to the virtues which Molly so easily extoled for John, and they speculated when he might propose. They both agreed that was where his attention was pointed. Perhaps there would be a wedding to usher in the New Year.

Fanny kept to herself how much she would miss her sister—it wouldn’t be the same without Molly on Beacon Street—but she was happy for Molly. Marriage was exactly what Molly wanted and deserved. As for Fanny’s own thoughts on love and a marriage of her own, she found great frustration regarding the topic.

She had not yet determined what to do about Mr. Longfellow, but after last week, she knew she must do something. She could not lead him on, nor could she risk her own heart becoming exposed. Thinking about him, and tomorrow’s lesson, filled Fanny’s stomach with butterflies, so she instead looked forward to the ball tomorrow night. She would wear one of her Italian ball gowns and dance every dance!

When the sisters arrived home, both dusk and the temperature had fallen, and they were ready for a good thaw in front of the fire. They let themselves in through the front door and were chattering about numb fingers and toes when their father came down the stairs, his footsteps heavy. It was unusual for him to be home so early, but a welcome surprise.

“Good evening, Father,” Fanny said with a warm smile. She gave her coat to Mathew and then crossed the foyer to kiss her father’s cheek. “It is such a lovely evening, have you—What is wrong?”

Father’s expression was harsh, his mouth tight.

“Molly, I must speak to you,” he said, moving immediately toward the parlor.

Molly looked at Fanny, handed her own coat to the butler, then followed their father. Fanny’s heart pounded. It was rare for Father to request a conference with either of them separately, but Fanny had certainly
not
been invited. After Molly entered the parlor, Father held Fanny’s eyes with a serious look. Whatever he needed to discuss with Molly was grave indeed. He closed the door.

At a loss of what to do with herself, Fanny went to her room and changed into her house shoes—it was cold enough that they wore boots when they were out—and checked to see that dinner would be on time. She was lingering in the warmth of the kitchen while thinking of which upstairs fire might be the best laid when the sound of running feet on the family level above startled her.

Fanny lifted her skirts and hurried up the stairs to the main floor and then to the parlor. Father stood before the fireplace, his forearms resting on the mantel and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Papa?” Fanny asked cautiously, staying in the doorway.

“I never expected my success would become such a bitter draught for my children.”

Fanny stepped into the room, feeling dread building in her chest. “Your success has been nothing but a blessing.” Had Molly said otherwise? What on earth had they discussed?

“Not in this,” he said wearily, shaking his head slowly. “Not in regard to seeing my daughters properly cared for by good men of virtuous character.”

Fanny’s mind was hesitant to interpret the meaning though the possibilities struck her cold. “What’s happened?” she finally asked.

“He is a wastrel.”

“Who?” But she knew who. Her stomach sank.

He turned, his face showing the heartache he felt. “John Peterton has accrued substantial debt these last years. Gambling, along with the costs of a woman he has been keeping in New York.”

Fanny put a hand to her mouth and felt her stomach finish the descent to her toes.
Oh, Molly.

Father continued. “He has managed to use his family’s reputation to hold back his creditors, but the word is out. I received a visit from his father this morning, hat in hand and heart in his throat. It seems courting our Molly was but a solution to the enormous trouble John has made for himself. He has moved quickly in hopes of securing her before his character caught up to him.” He shook his head and looked at the floor. “She is devastated, Fanny. I think she truly loved him.”

Silence fell as Fanny blinked back tears, imagining how the words had landed upon her dear sister’s heart.

After a few moments, her father met her eyes again. “Will you go to her? I said all I can, but what she needs is her mother . . .” His eyes filled with tears, and he turned back to the mantel. “I cannot give that to her either.”