Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (29 page)

Family.

There were no more dear people to her in all the world than her own family, so why was she so resistant to a family of her own? She pondered a moment and then sighed when Mr. Longfellow came to mind. Oh, that cursed man! Not for the first time, she wondered if her displeasure with him had created a displeasure with all of his sex. She could flirt and dance and enjoy a man’s arm around her shoulder, but she didn’t long for it. She didn’t want to deepen those relationships. Could that be because she worried such depth would come with that same discomfort Mr. Longfellow’s attention bore in her?

She shook her head. Longfellow, Longfellow, Longfellow. Would she ever be free of that man? If not, whose fault would that be—hers or his? She was a grown woman after all. Why should she let him affect her like he did? Why should she care so much?

She turned around on the path, determined to return home earlier than planned and help Molly with Ronald before supper was served.

It did not escape her notice, however, that, while wondering at her future and questioning whether she was set against a family of her own after all, it was Henry Longfellow who came to mind. Surely that was because his was an open offer. She had no doubt that if she appeared on his doorstep and announced her heart changed, he would accept her without hesitation.

But her heart was not changed. She was only thinking of things differently, and, of course a desperate suitor such as himself who made no attempt to school his affection would come to mind. Of course he would.

Wouldn’t he?

Thirty

A New Year

Fanny read the name on the card and took a deep breath—Professor Henry Longfellow. “He knows I am the only one receiving today?” Fanny asked Mathews, who awaited her response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Well then, there would be no avoiding him. “Show him in, and send up fresh tea and cake.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mathews exited the room, and Fanny used the next few seconds to sit up a bit straighter and put a polite smile on her face. It was New Year’s Day, 1842, and despite all the changes to the Appleton family of Beacon Hill, Fanny had let it be known that she would be accepting the expected New Year’s visitors on behalf of the family.

Tom had accompanied Father to Washington—Father was contemplating serving in Congress again—and Harriet had gone to stay with her sister in Cambridge for a few days with William and the new baby, Harriett. Molly and Robert had taken Ronald to the Sedgwicks’ home in Pittsville. Fanny had been invited, but, though she didn’t say so, she had looked forward to a quiet house. With three children beneath the age of two in the house that was also brimming with adults, it had not been a quiet winter.

Fanny had offered to stay home and keep house, supervise the removal of the holiday decorations, and receive any callers. She had also enjoyed parties with friends and even a dance where she’d been reacquainted with Malcolm Pace. He was a nice young man she had known for many years, but a bit too eager for her tastes. She’d had enough of eager suitors.

She had wondered, as the day went on, whether Mr. Longfellow would call as he usually did. That he had did not surprise Fanny—he had already proven how determined he was to remain on good terms with the family—what did surprise her was how mild she felt toward the visit. She had not seen him for months, not since before leaving for England in the spring, and she wondered if all that had happened since then had helped her grow out of her determination to feel insulted by the man.

Mr. Longfellow entered the room, and Fanny was immediately struck by how thin he was. His face was gaunt, and there were shadows under his eyes—similar to how he looked when they had first met in Interlaken. Any lingering defensiveness she felt drained away out of concern for his health. He approached her chair and bowed, but without reaching for her hand. She had the impression he didn’t want to touch her. She was oddly hurt by it.

“Please, have a seat,” Fanny said.

He did so, sitting rather primly on a chair across from her. His trousers pooled upon the tops of his shoes, and his coat betrayed the thinness of his shoulders underneath. In her appraisal of his appearance, she had not noticed he held a parcel. He set it on his lap and stared at it a moment as though trying to remember what was inside the box.

“I won’t take much of your time,” he said.

Fanny’s heart pricked with conscience at how despondent he sounded. He would not meet her eye. “Don’t be silly,” Fanny said brightly. “You are always welcome here, Mr. Longfellow.”

He glanced up, but then back to the floor. “Your butler said you are the only one home.”

“Yes, but we are friends, are we not?” She hoped he understood her emphasis; she did not want him to misconstrue her kindness as an invitation for something more. But she had no desire to be unkind, especially when he struck such a sorrowful figure.

“
Are
we friends?” he asked, taking Fanny off guard with his boldness. He lifted his head and met her eyes.

She felt the look move through her, as it had on the first day they met, and she looked away. “Of course we are,” she said, wondering if perhaps she should have refused his visit after all. She gathered her confidence and offered him a broad smile, trying desperately to hide her feelings though somehow she doubted that was possible.

“I am glad to hear that.”

His calm, soft, and heartfelt voice pricked her heart in a different way. She had come to terms with the whispers regarding her connection to
Hyperion,
and she tried to forgive herself for the caustic gossip she’d made to Jewett, but until this moment, she had not considered Mr. Longfellow’s feelings about her anger. She felt shame for having hurt him; he looked like a dog expecting to be kicked. The image wasn’t a pathetic one, as it may have been a year ago, rather she recognized that for him to meet with her today took a great deal of courage.

A maid brought in the tea tray, and Fanny busied herself with pouring.

“How was England?” he asked when she handed him his cup and saucer.

“It was lovely,” she said sincerely. “Though next time I shall go in the fall and be spared a New England winter. That was not the best welcome to return to.”

He smiled. “And Molly has come back to Boston?”

“For a little while. They went to Pittsville for the holiday.” Molly was doing much better, well enough to want to see family and friends. “I know she’d have been delighted to see you.”

“And your father and Mrs. Appleton have had another child?”

“Yes, a girl. Little Harriet.” Fanny smiled at the thought of her half sister. “She is a delight.”

“Please share my greetings and congratulations with both Mr. and Mrs. Mackintosh and Mr. and Mrs. Appleton. I am very glad for their happiness.”

“I shall certainly do so,” Fanny said, then paused. “And you, Mr. Longfellow, are you well?”

She could not tell if he avoided her eye from embarrassment or not. “I am well enough, Miss Appleton.”

Mr. Longfellow had called her by name since their European tour, though she had not invited him to. She had been both irritated and unaffected by his familiarity, depending on her mood. She felt the distance of his more formal address today, and she didn’t like it, though she wondered why she had noticed at all.

“‘Well enough’ does not sound all that well, Mr. Longfellow.” She did not fully understand why she was being so bold, but then many aspects of her relationship with Mr. Longfellow were strange. “Is everything all right? Have you been ill?”

He shook his head, avoiding the question, and looked at the package in his lap a few moments longer before holding it out to her. “I brought this for you and your family.”

Fanny took the box from him. “Thank you,” she said. The parcel was wrapped in paper, and she tugged at the string holding it together. When she pulled back the paper, she lifted her eyebrows and stared at a very familiar presentation—a book and a wedge of cheese. It took her back to the first time she’d received such items in this very room two and a half years ago, but with Jewett as the presenter instead of Mr. Longfellow. The reminder of her conclusions from that time—of his nostalgic gift—left her speechless. She lifted her gaze to meet his.

“This cheese is from Interlaken,” Mr. Longfellow said, with more energy than he had shown to this point. “I ordered it from a man in New York.”

“Interlaken?” Fanny repeated, pretending she didn’t understand the significance since she had never admitted her conclusion to anyone.

Mr. Longfellow nodded. “The last cheese I sent was from Zurich, which pleased me, but this is even more specific to very happy memories for me.”

“The cheese represents our time in Switzerland,” Fanny said as though only now discovering the connection.

“Of course,” Mr. Longfellow said. “We had many wonderful conversations over afternoon tea, complete with a selection of cheeses.” He scanned her careful expression. After a moment, Mr. Longfellow’s forehead wrinkled. “As I explained in my note when I sent you my first book of poetry.”

“I’m afraid whatever note you sent did not make the journey,” Fanny said, smiling sympathetically and wishing she dared admit that she knew from the start. But it was too much risk. “Just the book and the cheese.”

He blinked and then let out a breath. “So you received an offensive book and a confusing parcel of cheese.”

Fanny felt her cheeks heat up with how perfectly he had articulated her feelings toward
Hyperion,
and then she felt even worse when his neck began to turn red with his own embarrassment. She could remedy that if she felt strong enough to resist the consequence. She leaned forward without thought and placed her hand on his knee.

“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I had felt sure you had sent a note, and . . . and the gift was very kind and very thoughtful.”

Mr. Longfellow stared at her hand, causing her to pull it back, drawing with it his gaze as she straightened in her chair. “Without an explanation you must have thought I was making some kind of joke.”

“No,” Fanny said sincerely. She had never jumped to
that
conclusion. His discomfort felt like a heavy beam across her shoulders, and she felt a growing desperation to be free of the responsibility. But not enough to tell him the truth. What kind of woman had she become?

“Then you must have thought I was insane,” Mr. Longfellow said.

Fanny did not comment on that since she
had
wondered if he’d lost his mind—if only for a few moments. “It was very thoughtful,” she repeated, meaning it. “As this is, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a note of dejection in his voice.

Mathew came to the door. “Miss Austin to see you, Miss Appleton.”

Mr. Longfellow stood quickly, prompting Fanny to stand as well.

“Thank you for your visit today, Mr. Longfellow, and for your kind gift.” It bothered her that he might not know she meant what she said. He was used to her polite commentary and this was no different, except that she was not simply being polite. She wanted to offer remedy she could not give.

He bowed slightly, but she could feel his urgency to leave and it pricked her conscience.

“I wish you many happy returns in the new year, Miss Appleton. Please give my best to your family.”

“I will,” Fanny said. “And many happy returns to you too.”

He bowed again and exited the room.

Fanny watched him go and then looked at the cheese she held in one hand and the book of poetry she held in the other. She read the title—
Ballads and Other Poems.
It was Mr. Longfellow’s newest book, and in Fanny’s opinion, his best work to date. Tom had purchased a copy and she’d read it almost as soon as she had returned to Boston, so why hadn’t she told Mr. Longfellow she’d admired it? Why had she withheld a sincere compliment? She would have said as much to anyone else of her acquaintance under a similar circumstance—why not him?

The sound of footsteps caused her to look up.

Emmeline stood in the doorway of the parlor, her dark eyes framed by round spectacles. She cocked her head to the side. “Not more cheese,” she said, then let out a heavy breath.