Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (28 page)

“Ah, life does age us at different rates,” she said, her smile fading. “I do hope, however, that you take advantage of the life ahead of you. You may feel old, but you are too young a man to carry such weight, and as a dying woman, I have the right to say as much.”

Henry let his smile fall, she could not see it anyway, and looked at his hand holding hers. He rubbed his finger over the paper-thin skin, corded with blue veins and rounded bones. “I am trying to live above the burdens I carry, Mrs. Craigie,” he said. “I assure you.”

With her other hand, she fumbled around until she could place it over his. “I know that you are, but you have spent far too many years pining for that woman. It is time to let her go.”

How many times had he been told that very thing? How many times had he believed he was done with Fanny Appleton, that she no longer held his heart hostage, only to see her or hear of her or think of her and have every ounce of energy he had ever felt flood back to him? When others gave him the same advice as Mrs. Craigie, he made a joke on good days and ignored it on bad ones. There was no reason not to be entirely truthful with Mrs. Craigie, however. She had watched the tragedy from the sidelines for all these years.

“If it were decision enough that would ease my heart, I would have chosen such a course long ago.”

She patted his hand and closed her eyes though she remained alert. They had begun as landlord and patron, eased into an odd friendship, and now he felt as close to her as his own family. “I only want you to be happy, Henry.” She didn’t often call him by his given name, and the familiarity touched him.

“I thank you for that,” he said. “It is not that I am unhappy, just not wholly so.”

“And you will never be wholly happy until Fanny Appleton loves you as well as you love her?”

Henry considered that a moment and then continued on the course of honesty he had already chosen. “I fear that is exactly what it would take.”

“Will you try to find another way?” She turned toward him and opened her eyes. She almost looked as though she were focused on his face, though he knew the best she might see is an outline. “Will you promise me, a dying woman with few wants left in mortality, that you will try to find happiness without her? You are not a better poet because your love is refused, and after all this time, I fear Fanny Appleton’s heart will never change. Promise me you will try to let her go?”

Henry took a deep breath. He did not take promises lightly and would not be dishonest to her, but he was thirty-five years old. Would he give Fanny his heart and his hope forever? He felt something crack within him, just enough to imagine a thin line snaking through his resolve to love Fanny all the days of his life. It frightened him, but perhaps like a chick breaking out from its egg, or a walnut in need opening, this crack would lead to something good. Something better. “I will try to find happiness.”

“Without Fanny Appleton,” Mrs. Craigie said. Even in her final days, she had not missed his omission.

“Without Fanny Appleton,” he repeated and wondered—perhaps even hoped—it might possible.

“Did you not say she is in England?”

“Yes, until the fall sometime. She and Tom went to visit their sister. I received a letter from Tom a few weeks ago. They met Carlyle and saw the actress Rachel on the stage.”

“Ah, two of your greatest loves.”

“Rachel, perhaps,” Henry said. “But I would not call Carlyle a great love.”

Mrs. Craigie laughed only enough that he could hear it and patted his hand again. “The house is settled. Worcester has agreed to rent you the eastern half indefinitely. It will be strange to have a husband and wife living here again.”

Henry ignored the stab of painful memory. Three years ago he had thought Fanny would accept his proposal and be the first wife to live in the house since Andrew Craigie had left his wife a widow in 1821. It was not to be, and now John Worcester would be the one to change the occupancy.

“They will love the house and care for it well.”

“I’m not sure they love it like you do, Henry,” Mrs. Craigie said. “I did not
sell
it to him as I hope that one day you might be able to purchase it. Of anyone who has lived here, other than myself, you have loved it best.”

That Henry would one day own Craigie House was his own dream as well, and if his writing continued on the same course it was on, he might be able to do so in a few years’ time. Worcester had already told Henry he hoped to build a home of his own so he did not have designs on keeping the house for himself. Only, it would be strange to live here alone.

“I appreciate the consideration,” Henry said. “I hope it will come to pass.”

“You must promise me something else,” Mrs. Craigie said, closing her eyes again.

“Yes?” Henry said when she did not expound immediately.

“You must promise me that seeing an old woman in bed will not turn you away from marriage completely.”

For an instant Henry was shocked by her joke, and then he laughed, loud and rich and heartfelt until tears streamed down his face in both mirth and mourning. Mrs. Craigie laughed too, as much as she could, and soon tears were leaking from her eyes as well. Henry got control of himself and handed her his handkerchief, not bothering to dry his own eyes.

“I shall miss you, Elizabeth,” he said in a trembling voice.

“Oh, Henry,” she said, her own chin quivering. “I shall miss you too. Please come read to me again before I go. If you can.”

“As often as I am able.” He rose from the chair and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on the old woman’s forehead. “God bless you.”

She answered with a squeeze of his hand.

He didn’t bother to turn down the light as he left; her nurse would check on her throughout the night, and the light would not pierce the darkness of Mrs. Craigie’s eyes. He closed the door softly behind him and paused a moment, reflecting on the gift of her life. He hoped that in some way the house would always stand as a legacy to her kind heart and good will.

He thought back to a day when he’d come home from teaching to find Mrs. Craigie on the front porch, the canker worms from the trees she would not allow treated crawling all over her face and hands and turban. It was an appalling sight, and Henry had tried to help her in the house, but she’d refused. “They are God’s creatures,” she said, watching a worm inch its way up her arm. “They’ve as much right here as we do.”

“Indeed,” he said to the darkened hallway as he turned toward the stairs. “Indeed.”

Twenty-Nine

A Changing Heart

Fanny and Molly walked arm in arm along the pathway of Regent’s Park, located across from the court where Molly lived. It was early fall—Fanny’s favorite time of year—and the scent of wood smoke was in the air. Though it was not cold, there was a welcome coolness that tickled Fanny’s nose and made her think longingly of Boston, which heralded the seasons with more dramatic presentation than London did.

Fanny wished she could use the splendors of Boston in the fall as greater inducement in her plea for Molly to return to America for a time, but they would never make it back to America in time to see the season change.

“Harriet will have the baby in November,” Fanny said, trying yet another avenue to tempt her sister home. “And Ronald would have a playmate in William.”

Molly looked at the path in front of them while they took slow, careful steps. “Robert’s family is here,” she said.

“And your family is
there.
I know it would be hard to leave his family, especially his sisters, who have been so kind and attentive.”

Molly nodded.

“But you would not have to stay forever, just until Robert can shore up some connections and find another post. Just until after the baby is born and you are in good health again.” That was Fanny’s biggest reason to encourage a return home—Molly was pregnant again.

After all Molly had suffered with Ronald’s birth, Fanny could not bear to think of her sister experiencing such trauma again without her family, and good doctors, to attend her. True, the doctor Ronald had found through his inquiries had been excellent and had helped them all through the months that followed, both with increasing Molly’s strength and decreasing her dependence on the medications, but Fanny could not help but think better care earlier on in Molly’s struggles would have avoided a great deal of difficulty. Though she did not fault Ronald, she was also quite sure if
she
had been present, things would not have gotten so out of hand.

“The idea of traveling by boat when I feel so wretched makes me want to cry,” Molly said. “I am not as good at sea as you are.”

“But you have not yet traveled by Cunarder,” Fanny said. “It is a remarkably smooth ride and only two weeks of travel.”

Molly didn’t respond directly. After a few moments her mouth pulled down into a frown. “I know we can’t keep the house much longer.”

Fanny took a quick sidelong glance at her sister. She had made the same determination but was surprised that Molly had realized the severity of her and Robert’s financial situation. Fanny thought it wise not to comment.

“And there is talk of a post in India,” Molly said. “Mr. Rich was telling Robert about it the other night when they came for dinner.”

Fanny took a calming breath before she spoke. The idea of her pregnant sister traveling to India made her chest catch on fire. But Molly was not a child, and Robert needed a job. “Would you
like
to go to India?”

Molly looked at the ground. “I don’t think I would,” she said quietly. “But I support Robert in his career. It is not my place to make the decisions.”

“You can certainly have an opinion, though,” Fanny said carefully. “Especially regarding the child you are carrying.”

Molly said nothing, and they walked in silence until the path broke off toward the house.

“You go on,” Fanny said, releasing Molly’s arm and keeping her expression soft. “I’m going to take one more round. The weather is so fine today.”

Molly gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and moved toward home, while Fanny began walking again, this time at a more comfortable pace. Molly had to walk slowly, which at times made Fanny feel the need to run.

She was grateful for her health, for the chance she had to come to London when she did, for Tom and Robert and how committed both of them were to Molly’s improvement. She smiled when she thought of her nephew, nearly a year old now and beginning to pull himself up on the furniture. She thought about Harriet having another half sister or brother to add to the Appleton family.

Family.

Though Fanny would not say she had outgrown friendships—she had a number of people she was excited to see once she returned to Boston—aside from perhaps Emmeline, none of her friends inspired the same feelings of belonging and connection as her family did. She had seen that connection more than once during this trip as she watched the closeness between Robert, Molly, and Ronald during the day. The way Robert stood a little taller when Molly entered the room, the way her hand lingered on his when they parted company, and the way Ronald gazed at Molly with such abject adoration. It was beautiful. And a bit painful too.

Fanny was nearly twenty-four years old. Not on the shelf, but she had proclaimed her desire not to marry loudly enough that there were few men who attempted to talk her out of it. She could enjoy their company, even flirt now and again, but she felt nothing like what she saw between Molly and Robert. Between Father and Harriet. Between her aunts and uncles. All around her were married couples who enjoyed such accord. Until this trip she would have said she admired it, but now she wondered if she envied it. Did she want such a connection for herself?

She thought of Molly and could not imagine that her sister would ever feel complete without little Ronald. In fact, it was increasingly difficult for Fanny to remember what Molly had been like before she married Robert, before Fanny had seen her care for her son with such tenderness. There was something inspiring about that connection.

But Fanny was not Molly. They had different temperaments, different expectations. Molly’s opinion regarding a post in India was the perfect example. Fanny couldn’t imagine living in such a wild place as India, but more she couldn’t imagine
not
having an opinion about it. Or not expecting her husband to regard her opinion.

Should she marry, would she and her husband argue about everything? Would he expect her acquiescence, and she withhold it to her dying breath? What a pretty marriage that would make.

And that was assuming there was anyone she wanted to marry. She’d had some
tendrés
in the past, a few that felt serious, but they had come to nothing and made her distrust her own interest. Was it the want of a child that had her considering the necessity of a husband?

She grunted, frustrated with her thoughts, then looked around to make sure no one had heard her. None of the people strolling the park paid her any attention, and for a moment, she felt inexplicably lonely. Tom was in Paris for a few weeks, Molly was in her home, and Fanny had the strangest sensation that if she disappeared, nothing in the world would change. No one needed her. No one turned to her for particular comfort. She had no legacy to leave behind and had made no mark upon the world. Until that moment, she had not thought those things important to her, but suddenly they were.