Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (25 page)

Fanny thought of their dual portrait painted by Isabey when they had been in Italy nearly four years ago, of how well he had captured them. Fanny wished they could have another portrait done of the two of them today—older, wiser, and one of them meeting her destiny.

“You deserve every good thing, Molly,” Fanny said softly. “And I could not be happier for you than I am in this. It is everything you have ever wanted, and my heart is full to bursting for the joy of it.”

Molly responded with a watery smile and a few dabs of her handkerchief. “I wish we weren’t going so far away from one another.”

The reminder made Fanny’s heart thump in her chest, but she was careful not to show the reaction she felt every time she was reminded of the distance soon to come between the sisters; they had never been parted before.

“You are to be married to an international diplomat, Molly. Far away is part of the bargain.” Worried her attempt at a joke sounded severe, Fanny faced her sister and took both of her hands. “Perhaps it is for the best that you will go abroad,” she said, though she did not necessarily believe her own words. Molly’s eyebrows pulled together, prompting Fanny to continue. “We have been as close as any two people for all of our lives, and I’m not sure I could let you go enough to find your way with Robert if you were still in Boston. I would be on your doorstep every day, beside you at every meal, and continually entreating you to attend me in this thing or that.” She laughed at the image of it. “Poor Robert would be beside himself.”

“But how will I get on alone?” Molly said in a near whisper. “I have never had to run a household on my own. What if I am not equal to it?”

For an instant Fanny wondered why Molly hadn’t thought about that weeks ago, when Robert had first proposed marriage. “You have cold feet, Molly. There is absolutely no reason why you should question your abilities. You will learn the way of it as every woman does.”

It would help that Robert would not have a grand house, not like 39 Beacon Street. He was an envoy and would spend his career traveling between a variety of posts and living in whatever accommodations could be found. There would not be a great many servants to manage or society to entertain, not like it had been for Molly in Boston. Fanny did not think of the changes in a disparaging way, rather she believed Molly would find great comfort in a simpler life. Yet one more reason why Robert seemed the perfect man for her.

“I hope I will be equal to it,” Molly said. She turned back to the mirror and seemed to take a deep breath while squaring her shoulders. She took in her reflection, without Fanny beside her this time.

Fanny stepped to the dresser and picked up the simple wedding bouquet of myrtle and lilies from the tray where it rested. She handed the bouquet to Molly, who held it in both hands and regarded herself in the mirror.

“I’m getting married,” she said as though speaking to herself. “I shall be Mrs. Mackintosh.”

“And one day soon, a mother,” Fanny said.

“Oh, I do hope so,” Molly said, a wide smile lighting up her features. “I hope you don’t feel poorly toward me for this bout of nervousness.”

“Not in the least. I’m sure every bride feels exactly the same. It is a good day, a happy day, the start of a new and wonderful future.”

“Yes,” Molly said, her spirits restored. “Yes it is.”

Fanny helped Molly finish the last of her preparations, then left her with a kiss on the cheek so that Fanny could manage the few guests who would be in attendance.

When Fanny entered the parlor, which had been set up for the ceremony, Robert looked as nervous as Molly had been. None of his family were in America, and she was glad that the extended Appletons had embraced him fully. Fanny whispered words of encouragement to him before taking her seat between her dear friend Emmeline Austin and her Aunt Sam.

Tom and a very pregnant Harriet sat on the chairs opposite the aisle, with an empty chair for Father between them, while a dozen or so guests filled the chairs behind. Emmeline reached for Fanny’s hand, which Fanny appreciated.

For all of Fanny’s speeches and encouragement, part of her was absolutely heartbroken over Molly’s marriage. She would miss her sister so much.

Dr. Channing took his place at the front of the parlor, the windows behind him overlooking the Commons. As the musician began to play a hymn on the pianoforte, Fanny allowed the last few years to weave through her mind: Mama’s death, Charles’s passing, traveling through Europe, burying William in Schaffhausen, Father’s marriage—not quite a year ago. So many changes. So many struggles.

Molly had been there through all of them, smoothing out Fanny’s edges, encouraging her to see the best in people, helping her keep her confidence and not fall prey to her fears that nothing would ever be right again. After each difficulty, life had once again gained its color and joy.

But was that because of Molly’s influence? Had Fanny weathered the storms because Molly had pulled her through them? There were surely more struggles ahead, and Fanny would face them without her dear sister, her closest friend, the person in the world who Fanny believed knew her best and loved her anyway.

Dr. Channing instructed the guests to rise, and Fanny, along with the other guests, stood and turned toward the doorway.

Fanny held her emotions in check until she saw Father blinking back tears as he led Molly to the front of the room. Then there was no hope for controlling her own. Tears streamed down her face as Father and Molly made the slow walk down the aisle.

Standing before Dr. Channing, Father handed Molly to Robert, who thanked him, then took Molly’s hand. Whatever nervousness bride and groom had felt before this moment disappeared in the bright hopefulness of their expressions as they looked upon their futures together.

Emmeline squeezed Fanny’s hand again, and Fanny sent her friend a happy smile. It
was
a happy day, and Fanny’s heart was full.

Twenty-Six

A Scholar

Fanny gave her Aunt Sam a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for such a lovely afternoon,” she said as the carriage stopped in front of 39 Beacon Street. It was early November—Fanny had celebrated her twenty-third birthday a few weeks before—and cold enough to freeze fingers and toes, but not so cold to prevent the women from sprucing up their wardrobes for winter. Since Molly’s marriage and removal to England last March, Fanny had become even closer to her aunts as they filled in some of the loneliness she felt.

“I am the one who should be thanking you,” Aunt Sam said. “Such young company keeps me from feeling my age. Besides, what good is having a niece if I cannot spoil her from time to time?”

Fanny smiled, thinking of what a wonderful mother Aunt Sam would have been. It had not been her destiny, and so she bathed her nieces and nephews with love. “This niece will not complain one bit,” she said, lifting up the hatbox hanging at her wrist. Inside was the most beautiful green velvet hat that matched the striped pelisse Fanny had ordered from the same shop two weeks earlier. “Thank you.”

“Oh, never you mind,” Aunt Sam said, waving Fanny from the carriage. “Besides, I want you to look smart for your smart company tonight. Come for tea tomorrow and tell me all about the lecture.”

“I shall,” Fanny said, though she knew Aunt Sam was not all that interested in Mr. Dana’s poetry. As Aunt Sam had said, however, she adored her niece and rarely needed a reason for a visit.

“I shall expect you at four,” Aunt Sam said as Mathews opened the carriage door. He lifted Fanny down from the carriage, and she stood long enough to wave a final good-bye as the carriage drove off.

Mathews opened the front door for Fanny and then received her hat and coat. She instructed him to put the hatbox in her room.

She turned toward the sound of footsteps coming from the drawing room. “Good afternoon, Fanny,” Harriet said.

“Good afternoon, Harriett,” Fanny said with a smile. “How is little William faring today?” Her half brother, whom Fanny adored, was ten months old and an absolute delight. He was crawling now, and at times the house on Beacon Street did not seem nearly big enough to contain him. Harriet had a nurse come in every afternoon, but did all the rearing herself in the morning—a very unusual choice for a woman of her status.

At first Fanny had been annoyed with the disposing of tradition, but as time passed, she gained a new respect for her stepmother, and perhaps a bit of envy for William, who had his mother’s full attention for hours every day. He had become a thread of connection between the women, giving them a safe topic of conversation.

“Oh, William,” Harriett said, shaking her head. “He only napped half an hour this morning, and then he toppled down the first flight of stairs when I turned my back a moment too long.”

“Oh, dear,” Fanny said, glancing up the grand staircase—marble, hard, unforgiving. “Is he alright?”

“Bumped and bruised. But I do think he’ll respect the staircase in the future.”

Fanny smiled politely but wondered if a hired nurse would be more attentive. Sometimes Harriett had the strangest ideas on parenting—as though a child could learn to avoid stairs. Better to put a chair at the top and prevent harm, Fanny thought. But it was not her place to say so.

“You received a letter from Molly today,” Harriett continued as she passed Fanny in the foyer. “I had Mathew put it on your desk. She wrote to your father as well, but he won’t be home until dinner.”

That Harriett had not opened Molly’s letter meant that it had not been addressed to her. Fanny wondered if Molly had intended the slight—it was not like her.

“Do you remember that I won’t be home for dinner?” Fanny said when Harriet reached the first stair.

Harriet turned back to her. “That’s right, tonight is your lecture at the college.”

“Jewett and I will get dinner beforehand.”

“Very good,” Harriet said, moving up the stairs. “I believe I will lie down while the nurse keeps William occupied. I daresay I would probably be better served if the nurse stayed overnight so I might get a full night’s sleep.”

“Father would be glad to arrange it,” Fanny said, reminding her stepmother that not having a nurse during the night was her own choice.

“I’m sure he would,” Harriett said, smiling softly. “Only I am far too selfish. I want my face to be the one William sees when the tremors of night wake him from his rest. I am unwilling to share.”

She really was the most peculiar mother. Harriet continued up the stairs, and a minute later, Fanny climbed the stairs to her own room. She spotted Molly’s letter on her writing desk and hurried across the room, eager to hear from the sister she missed so very much.

Fanny had been so tempted to go to England with Molly when she’d issued the invitation back in March, but she did not want to encroach on the couple’s time to set up a household together. Molly had written faithfully twice a month, and Fanny drank down every word like it was fine wine. They had celebrated their birthdays together every year, until this one, and the ache of longing Fanny had felt was more than she’d dared admit to anyone. She settled at her desk and opened the letter, letting the words take on Molly’s voice in her head. When she reached the second line, she gasped.

“I am an aunt,” she said quietly and read the announcement a second time.

It was not unexpected. Molly had written of her pregnancy for months now, but it was fantastic all the same. And perhaps a bit of a sharp reminder. In the time it had taken Molly to move into two new life-roles, Fanny had stayed the same. There were a few suitors who had come calling, but her interest was not sparked by any of them. Because Molly was not with her, Fanny hadn’t gone to Lenox for the summer and instead attended Harriett and William to Newport. It had been a nice trip, the sea was lovely and Fanny had enjoyed the countryside, but when she remembered the prior summers with Molly, she’d found Newport wanting.

The one accomplishment she could claim over the last months was that she’d become a great reader. She’d enjoyed everything from Balzac to novels and read all manner of essays and commentary that had once seemed uninteresting. Perhaps words had become her new friends now that Molly was gone.