Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (34 page)

Thirty-Six

New Beginnings

“Good evening, Professor.”

Henry’s breath caught in his chest for the split second it took to recognize the voice, feel the invigoration, and then stamp it out. Each time he anticipated seeing Fanny, he felt sure he would not react in such a way. Each time he was disappointed to realize she still cast a spell over his senses.

Still, he would not give in to it. He was made of firmer stuff and had not reacted like a lovesick puppy since his return from Germany almost six months ago. He faced Fanny, who looked at him with wide brown eyes and a smile that seemed genuinely glad to see him, though he could not trust himself to properly deduce such a thing. He had been wrong so many times before, and he was determined to live beyond the fantasies he had fed himself with all these years.

“Good evening, Miss Fanny,” Henry said, bowing slightly. “You look lovely this evening.” She wore a blue gown, and her hair was perfectly styled. He had seen her only in passing since his return from Germany, but he’d become convinced he had overcome the power of her hold on him. Now that she was before him, however, he was not so certain.

“You have now survived another New England winter. Are you still as glad to be returned to us?”

Us?
A collective pronoun would not be his undoing, but his determination to have no reaction to her began to wobble at the inclusionary word. He tried to shore up his confidence and smiled at her politely. “I am always glad to come home.”

She turned her head to the side slightly. “More glad than to have remained in your beloved Germany?”

He could not help but laugh. It had been too long since she had spoken to him with such casual friendship. He ached for it. “I’m afraid it’s reflective of how very boring I am. That even despite my love of Europe—and Germany specifically, as you say—nowhere is quite as comfortable as New England.”

“Did you miss us very much then?”

Us
again
. What does she mean by that?
He stared at her, and she did not look away or try to occupy herself with some distraction or another. What did her attentiveness mean? Could it be that she’d missed
him
? He’d no sooner thought it than he asked himself why he should not ask her that directly. He’d made his decision regarding her and had no reason to be afraid of saying something wrong. It seemed, in fact, that the more he had tried to say the right thing in the past, the more it had worked against him.

“Did
you
miss
me
?” He had never been so direct with her—at least not since his proposal all those years ago. Her cheeks turned instantly pink, and the sight quite took his breath away.

She glanced down and turned the cup of punch in her hand. “In fact, I did, Mr. Longfellow.” She looked back at him. “More than I would have supposed.”

Henry was rendered speechless. The silence lasted several seconds, until another guest interrupted them to ask after Henry’s upcoming lecture series. Fanny lingered for a time, listening to his answer, but then a woman led her away. Henry remained engaged in his conversation but did not lose his awareness of where Fanny was in the room. She’d missed him! Did she have any idea what such a statement did to his composure? That flickering flame of hope he had nurtured over the years began to burn brighter. It was all he could do to remain attentive to the conversation at hand.

The night wore on, and Henry genuinely enjoyed the company. Eventually the attendees began to thin, and Henry took the opportunity to find Fanny, eager—though not unreasonably so, he hoped—to continue their conversation. She had responded to him differently tonight, but he had misinterpreted things so many times before that he did not trust himself. He wanted to speak with her again.

He found her talking with an older couple, but as soon as he approached, she excused herself from the conversation and faced him fully. They were in a room filled with people, and yet at that moment, Henry felt as though they were entirely alone. He had the instant desire to brush his knuckles against her cheek, but he put his hand in his pocket instead. He would not fall victim to such temptation.

“I was rather rude earlier,” he said, causing her to lift her eyebrows in surprise. “You asked after my time in Germany and I did not ask after your time here in Boston. Did you travel for the autumn or winter?”

“I spent some time in Pittsville and New York,” Fanny said. “It is always good to spend time with family, but I must admit I miss Molly very much when I travel.”

“She and Mr. Mackintosh are abroad again?”

“Yes. Robert secured a post in England.”

“I understand Tom has found his place in Europe as well?”

Fanny laughed and shook her head indulgently. “Tom has informed us that he expects to make his career as a world traveler.” She shrugged. “I’m unsure what kind of salary that pays, but he seems to manage somehow, and strangely, I cannot picture him doing anything different.”

“He is becoming quite a wit,” Henry said. “He is well-known in England for his commentary on politics and culture, as I understand it.”

“Well, then, he’s done it,” Fanny said, seemingly proud of her brother. “Though I hope he comes home often enough that we don’t forget the look of him.”

“He leaves for England next month, does he not?” Henry said. He looked around, but Tom was not in sight. “We had dinner a few weeks ago, and I believe that was his intention.”

“Yes, in a few weeks’ time,” Fanny said. “It will be lonely without him. I can only hope that good friends will help fill the time.”

She held his eyes, and for a moment Henry could not breathe. Did she mean . . .

A woman came up beside them to bid Fanny farewell. When they were alone again, Fanny faced Henry but did not continue on the same topic. “Could I trouble you for a favor, Mr. Longfellow?”

“Certainly.”

“I wonder if you might walk me home. Perhaps our conversation would be less interrupted if you could. Tom is embroiled in a game of cards.” She nodded toward the back of the house. “He will likely not extricate himself for some time. I’m sure he would not argue your walking me.”

Henry was not about to argue and sent word with Mr. Norton that he and Fanny were leaving. They fetched their outer clothes, his traditional black wool coat and her fine velvet cape, and stepped out into the chilly night. Her house on Beacon Street was only a few blocks away, and the cobbled sidewalks were just wide enough for them to walk side by side. He offered his arm and she took it.

“It
is
cool tonight,” Fanny said. “Though I suppose it is rather mild for April.”

“I suppose it is,” Henry said, struggling to focus on anything other than her nearness. If this were a game of some kind, if her attention was not sincere, he might very well throw himself into the Charles River come morning.

“Now, tell me of Germany and your time in Europe,” Fanny said.

He entertained her with the details of his time in Germany, including the hot blankets he was wrapped in each morning and the cold baths he suffered through again and again. Fanny laughed, spurring him toward even more candor and humor.

When they turned on Beacon Street, she surprised him again by asking if he would walk the Commons with her. They were soon walking beneath the newly budded trees that in a few weeks’ time would create a canopy. For the time being, the two of them were alone in the Common. It was late and the air chilled, but the gaslights glowed and the company was unmatched in Henry’s opinion. They were walking as lovers would, and though he tried not to think of such a thing, the warmth of her beside him and the effect of her laugh upon his heart could not be ignored. It was the way he had always imagined it could be, but it was no longer a possibility. It was happening in the present. Just when he’d given up hope.

When the conversation dwindled into a comfortable silence, he stopped in the middle of the walkway and faced her. They did not speak for a few seconds as she gazed up at him with an expression of openness and, dare he say it, admiration? The thought came to Henry’s mind that perhaps she was waiting for him now just as he had been waiting for her all these years.

“Miss Appleton,” he said softly, not wanting to shatter the dream he found himself in. “May I be candid with you?”

“Of course you may, Mr. Longfellow,” she said. “I hope that you would.”

“You are different tonight—different than you have ever been towards me and I am unsure how to react.”

She glanced away but only for a moment. “I
am
different,” she said. “But it is not only tonight. I have been waiting to see you,
wanting
to see you, for some time. You may find this silly, but I have been praying for a chance to speak with you, and tonight, when I saw you at the party, I felt sure that God had answered my prayer.”

Her words both thrilled him and put him on the defensive. “I have not stopped aging, you know, and I am still a widowed man. At the risk of offending you, I must tell you that I cannot bear to be trifled with. I conquered some part of myself in Germany, denounced some demons you might say, but I have promised not to inflict misery upon myself.” He felt he should say something else, he didn’t want her to think he saw her as misery, but his words failed him.

Fanny raised a hand to place it against his cheek. Instant heat fired through his veins at the intimate touch. “How I regret that you know the very worst of me,” she said softly. Her breath clouded before her face like a veil only to dissipate into the night a moment later. “How difficult it must be to trust me now.”

He reached up and took her hand, bringing it to his lips where he pressed a kiss. He wished he could tell her all the things his heart was saying. He lowered her hand but did not release it. She stared back at him, the light of the gaslights behind him flickering in her eyes.

“I have been reading your works,” she said. “You have such beauty in your heart, Mr. Longfellow, such depth and passion. I wonder why I could not see it before, or perhaps why it did not touch me as it has these last months.”

Months?
The word proved that her attitude tonight was not a sudden one. “Perhaps it was because of your own wounds,” he said, thinking of what Tom had once said about the losses Fanny had suffered.

Instant tears sprang to her eyes, confirming that he was correct, at least in part. Had she already known her reasons, or had he unknowingly revealed something that spoke truth to her heart?

“Such wounds have not prevented me from hurting others,” she said. “Hurting you, I believe.”

He said nothing. This was no time for accusations, but he would not be dishonest either. It had been more than six years—six long years—that he had waited for her to return his feelings. Such a wait was painful, but looking at her now, he wondered if it weren’t also necessary. He was a better man than he used to be, and she a woman more aware of her own heart and mind. He could not share his life with a woman less than that. Dare he hope that this change in her was forecasting a future for
them
?

“Do you think you can ever forgive me for being so cold to you, for treating your affections so lightly?”

“I have no need to forgive you, Miss Appleton.”

“Fanny,” she cut in. “You’ve stopped calling me that.”

“You never gave me invitation,” Henry said. “That I would take upon myself such familiarity is an example of my arrogance. In regards to you, I have always been impetuous in ways that my age and wisdom should have prevented.”

“And I took it as poorly as a girl could,” Fanny said. “But I am a grown woman now.”

His awareness of such truth raised an ache that was not as familiar as it once was. He had made good progress in suppressing the physical attraction he felt toward her, but her confirmation of fact was more than he could hold back. “Yes, a beautiful woman.”

Her cheeks colored again, but she did not look away. “Perhaps more handsome than beautiful.”

Had her tone been anything other than teasing he would have been embarrassed to have the sentiment shared in
Hyperion
directed back at him. Perhaps he could dare to believe that, in rereading his words, her opinion of that book had changed.

“I am not as foolish as I once was,” she said. “And I sincerely hope I have not frightened you away entirely.”

Had Henry not thought she had done that very thing? Just yesterday when he’d thought of her, he had reminded himself that she was nothing but a source of aggravation. He had needed such protection; the heart could not bleed itself dry, after all.

“Am I to interpret this conversation between us as an invitation to renew my attention to you, Miss . . . Fanny? Properly this time?”

“I was a silly girl to chastise you the way I did when you have done nothing but compliment me with your regard. I can only hope that the benefit of my actions was to place me on a path that led me to greater understanding, though the journey has been a slow one. I do not believe I was ready then, Mr. Longfellow.”