Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (17 page)

Fanny awoke Friday morning with an exhaustion she had not felt since the days of keeping vigil beside her mother’s deathbed. She had slept in Molly’s bed last night, and Molly’s still swollen eyes stood as proof of her sorrow.

Fanny got out of bed carefully, still wearing the dress she’d worn the day before when Molly had spoken so brightly of her dear John. John, who had a kept woman. John, who owed thousands of dollars to the most seedy men in the country. John, who had broken the heart of a woman who could not even comprehend such deceit.

Fanny tiptoed out of Molly’s room and asked the upstairs maid to alert her as soon as her sister awakened. Then she hurried through her own toilet. The inside of her eyes felt lined with sand. She splashed lavender water on her face and patted it dry, hoping it would refresh her skin. If only she could refresh the rest of herself so easily.

Once revived, Fanny sat at her writing desk, where she usually loved to write letters, and extracted a sheet of the fine linen paper. She was not eager to write this letter, and yet, perhaps, a bit relieved to have reason to do so.

The morning had brought to Fanny a greater resolve to do what had to be done regarding Mr. Longfellow. Molly’s situation convinced her that the sooner she cut ties, the better for everyone. Her sister needed her, and Fanny dared not divide her attention.

Dear Mr. Longfellow,

Though I regret to send you such news in a letter, I am unable to meet for our appointment today. A circumstance has occurred which demands my immediate attention. Furthermore, as much as I appreciate your attention and all I have learned, I feel it the best course to discontinue our future lessons. I have a great many commitments vying for my time, and though I have enjoyed learning German, I do not foresee the mastery of the tongue in my future and feel I must focus on other responsibilities.

I am grateful for your friendship and wish you every good thing.

Sincerely,

F. Appleton

Fanny looked over the words with a heavy heart and then wrote another copy of the letter. She hesitated only long enough to reassure herself this was the only reasonable course before she folded and sealed both letters. She took the letters to the new butler.

“I need these letters delivered to Cambridge immediately, Mathews. One goes to Craigie House on Brattle Street and the other to Mr. Longfellow’s department office at Harvard College. It is imperative that one of them finds the recipient within the hour so he does not come to Beacon Street at the usual time. Send them however best insures their quick arrival.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Mathews said, bowing slightly before heading below stairs to arrange for the delivery.

Fanny ignored the increasing prick in her heart and instead looked up the staircase. She wished she knew what to say to Molly that could bring her comfort. Were there even words for such a thing?

Seventeen

Rejection

It had been four days since they had learned the truth about John Peterton, but by now it seemed that everyone in Boston knew. To protect Molly from well-meant—but intrusive—condolences, Fanny had kept her sister to her rooms and asked everyone who inquired to simply pray for Molly and Mr. Peterton. The request that they pray for the lecherous man was not born of Christian devotion, rather Fanny knew he would need the prayers of good-hearted people if he were
ever
to receive forgiveness for what he’d done.

Fanny professed to everyone that, of course, Molly was shocked, but that they were all relieved to have learned of John’s true nature before any arrangements had been entered into. Fanny assured their friends that Molly was recovering and would be as good as new in no time.

In truth, Fanny was quite concerned. Molly stayed in bed all day and night, some days unwilling to even change from one nightgown to another. Fanny had tried every manner possible to comfort her, but nothing had worked.

Tuesday morning, after taking a breakfast tray to Molly’s room herself, only to have Molly roll away and face the wall, Fanny returned to her desk and began a letter to her Aunt Frances who lived in Pittsfield. Perhaps they could come for a visit; she needed time away from the probing eyes of a society far too interested in the goings-on at the house on Beacon Street. Fanny had just signed her name to the letter when there was a knock on the door of her room. She turned to see Mathews in the doorway.

“Mr. Longfellow to see you, ma’am,” Mathews said.

Fanny put a hand to her forehead and let out a heavy breath. What was he doing here? He had responded to her note on Friday with a request to better understand her reasons for canceling the lessons, assuring her that he would fit his schedule to hers in order for the lessons to continue.

She was forced to send him another letter with even more explanation, which had resulted in another response where he requested to meet with her. That letter had come yesterday, and she had chosen to ignore it. She did not appreciate his insistence, and she had far more important things to deal with at the moment. That he had ignored etiquette and come to the house for a meeting she had not agreed to was grating.

There was no room for Mr. Longfellow in her life right now. She was as sure of that as she had ever been. Amid Molly’s sorrow, and the increasing realization of how much vulnerability their fortunes provided, Fanny felt she had finally managed to close her heart against Mr. Longfellow completely. Only she hadn’t expected to have to face him so soon.

“Shall I tell him you are indisposed?” Mathews asked when Fanny did not answer straightaway.

Yes,
she thought. “No,” she said out loud. He was here, and Fanny would have to confront the situation between them sometime. Her stomach felt like hot metal as she stood from her writing desk.

If Molly were not so miserable, Fanny would ask her to attend the conference, but Molly was not up to it and no one else was home. Perhaps that was for the best. Tom was amused by Mr. Longfellow’s attention to her, and Father would think her rude for the things she would have to explain. Perhaps, like their timely discovery of John’s character, this conversation was happening just as it should.

Fanny took the stairs slowly in the hope she would feel more prepared if she took her time in getting there. She paused outside the parlor door and took a breath.

“Mr. Longfellow,” she said, entering the room and smiling politely.

He immediately stood and turned toward her, an almost frantic look in his eyes. She stopped some distance from him so as not to give the wrong impression; she worried she had done that too often. How many times had she leaned in too close while he helped her read the German texts he brought? And on more than one occasion, she had praised his interpretation of a phrase or verse quite strongly. She had not reined in her own feelings soon enough, and in the process, she had given rise to his interests. She would never forgive herself for being so unfair to them both.

“I hope you will forgive my unannounced visit, Miss Fanny,” he said with a slight bow. “How are you this fine day?”

“Well enough, Mr. Longfellow. Thank you.” She waved toward the seat. “Please do sit down.”

He did so, and Fanny sat in one of the satin-covered chairs across from him, trying to hide her building tension. She thought of the comfort they had found with one another these past weeks and hated knowing they would never find it again. She should not have allowed such companionship in the first place.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Longfellow? I believe I made myself quite clear in my letters.”

He took a deep breath, bracing as if preparing himself for something, and Fanny felt herself tense even more. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “I was disappointed to read your letters. I had enjoyed the time we spent together very much.”

Fanny looked away from his probing gaze, collecting her thoughts and preparing her response. “You were kind to make the time for them.” She was careful not to sound overly gracious. “However, as I said, I am unable to continue. In fact, I expect to be traveling to Pittsville soon to visit my aunt for a time.”

“I did not come to discuss the lessons,” he said, pausing to lick his lips. “I have come to speak with you on another matter—a matter of dire importance.”

“Dire?” she repeated, lifting her eyebrows but keeping her polite smile in place.

“I only use such a word to help communicate the importance.”

“As I assumed,” Fanny said. “I do not expect that you often say what you don’t mean, Mr. Longfellow.”

“I do not,” he said, shaking his head without taking his eyes off her face. “Nor do I take words lightly. To me they are objects, placed as needed but solid and physical. Therefore, I hope you will understand my deep intent for coming here today.”

“Why, Mr. Longfellow, you have me quite eager indeed to hear these words you have so elevated,” Fanny said, trying to keep her tone light even as his became heavier. She could not imagine what he had to say to her unless it was regarding Molly, but that did not explain his intensity.

He looked at his knees clad in his signature black trousers, seemed to line them up, and then looked at her again. “Miss Fanny,” he said with such seriousness that she found herself holding her breath. His expression was raw, almost pleading, and she struggled to hold his gaze that seemed to cut through her. “I hope you will forgive me for being so forward, but . . .” He took a breath. “I was not exaggerating when I once told you that my time in Interlaken was akin to a rebirth for me. I had been in such a place of darkness, and you lifted me from it.”

“I think you mean my family helped to lift you from—”

“No, it was you.”

Oh, dear.
Fanny’s smile fell.

“When you returned to Boston, I experienced the same rejuvenation—the same sense of new life and sunlight I had felt the first time we met. Once again I find my mind clear, my senses keen, and my future open. I feel certain that your company is the best medicine for my troubled soul, and I am here before you now asking that you will fulfill the hope of my heart and agree to become my wife and rescue me from my heavy solitude.”

Fanny blinked at him, feeling as though her vision had narrowed so that the only thing she could see was his anxious expression staring back at her. This could not be happening! She had to repeat what he’d said in her mind twice more before she believed it.

“Mr. Longfellow,” she said carefully, “I—I—You have taken me off guard and—”

“As the strength of my feelings for you have taken me off guard every hour I spend in your presence.” He rose from his chair and moved toward her like a bird of prey. She pressed back against the chair cushion, and he stopped a few feet away.

Her mind spun. What could she say to him? She grabbed at any explanation for why she could not—
would
not—entertain his request. “Mr. Longfellow, I do not feel you have thought this through.”

“I have thought of nothing else for days.”

“Days of consideration are unmatched toward the decision of a lifetime.”

“My life is empty without you. I tire of bachelorhood and long to move forward with you beside me.”

His hurried words only served to impress upon her the frantic nature of his proposal. It could not be considered. Not seriously. Fanny lifted her chin an inch higher. “I believe what you feel is loneliness.”

“Yes.”

He did not seem to understand her inference that loneliness was an insufficient reason to marry. If nothing else, she would have imagined a more romantic offer from such a man, which prompted Fanny to be more direct. “I think you miss your wife, Mr. Longfellow, and are looking to return to a happier time in your memory.”

Mr. Longfellow furrowed his brow in confusion, which frustrated Fanny even more. He did not seem to be listening to her, not comprehending what she said.

“Certainly I am lonely,” he said as though eager to move through her concerns. “It is not for that purpose alone that I have come. I mean to convince you of—”

Convince me?
Fanny thought. She sat up a bit straighter. “You are also ten years my senior, Mr. Longfellow.”

He stared at her a moment. “It is not such a distance. Many marriages span a greater difference than ten years. I am ready to marry again.” He spoke with a tone of conclusion as though wanting to put an end to any argument and expecting her to simply agree with him.

The shock Fanny felt passed, and in its place a restored confidence took root in the fertile field of growing irritation. What a bad action it was to put her on the spot like this!

Mr. Longfellow continued, “And you and I are so well-suited.”

“I do not agree,” Fanny said strongly. He had not spoken to her father and had never given any indication his interests were so serious. His proposal was completely inappropriate. “The very fact that you would come to me with such a presumptive request is proof of how little you know of my true nature, Mr. Longfellow. We have never spoken of such things.”