“But you shall hurt them now?” Molly said, raising her eyebrows.
“Nothing I can say would take away from Henry’s praise of your efforts. I do believe he is genuinely impressed.”
“I am,” Henry said, forcing himself not to stare at Fanny any more than he already had this evening. “Beyond measure.” He turned to Molly. “Didn’t you once question how I could enjoy speaking another language, Miss Molly?”
“I did,” she said with a humble ducking of her chin. “And I now better understand the freedom of speaking the same language which surrounds you. To understand a language well enough to participate in conversation and speak with curators and performers was beyond exquisite.”
“And to read it,” Fanny said, allowing him to meet her eye without feeling conspicuous about the attention. “You told me once how reading literature in the language of the author allows a greater understanding of their motivation and specific meaning. I found that to be true, and I loved exploring the French literature we discovered.”
“Have you read Victor Hugo?” Molly asked.
Henry could not hold back a smile at the possibility that he had not read Hugo. “Indeed.”
“Fanny also liked Chateaubriand, but I found him too political.”
Henry felt as though his heart had sprouted wings as he turned back to Fanny. “You liked Chateaubriand?”
Fanny shrugged modestly. “He was more difficult to read, but his perspectives on the French Revolution were rather profound.”
“French bluestockings, Henry,” Tom said, shaking his head and swirling the wine in his glass. “That is what you have created. I for one cannot wait until the language fades and they are once again silly Bostonian girls who prefer frocks to soggy French books.”
Henry bit back his abhorrence of Tom’s suggestion and instead kept his attention on the women. “No, you must continue to practice,” Henry said passionately, looking between the sisters. “If you do not use your ability, you will lose the level of skill you have developed. I would encourage you to keep reading it and keep speaking it to one another. It is a gift, a precious gift.”
Both sisters smiled with just enough unease that he feared he had come across too strong. Muting his passion, he asked about their tutor in Paris, a severe man who would slap the table when they misconjugated a verb. He laughed with them over the inevitable faux pas they encountered when they used the wrong word, such as when Fanny asked a shopkeeper if they had any gloves, but used the word for teeth instead.
Henry tried not to give too much attention to Fanny, but found it difficult to keep his gaze from straying to her face. Had he never seen her so fully until tonight or had she changed so much in the year they had been apart?
Nathan Appleton did not join them until they were enjoying dessert, a delicious fruit tart perfect for the late summer evening. The patriarch was served his dinner, and the family lingered at the table, repeating many parts of the prior conversations for his benefit. Before Henry knew it, it was past the polite hour for him to have already left, and he could not delay his departure any longer, never mind that they had never exited the dining room.
“I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed this visit,” Henry said, hoping they sensed his sincerity as he pushed back from the table. He turned to Fanny and Molly. “Thank you for the wonderful meal and the even more delectable French. It has touched my heart to hear that you both found joy in something so very dear to me.”
“We would not have done so without your encouragement,” Fanny said, smiling so softly that he wished he could capture it in a portrait. He had once thought she was not particularly beautiful, but looking at her tonight, her hair soft and her expression so joyful, she was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“After hearing you proclaim the virtues of language, how could we not feel such enthusiasm?” she said.
The sentiment caused Henry’s heart to race in his chest. “As you have learned one language, your minds are conditioned for another.” He was unable to look away from Fanny even though good manners dictated he should. “Do you recall the translations of Uhland you enjoyed when we were in Switzerland? I wrote to you about continuing your German—did you get that letter?”
“I did,” Fanny said. She opened her mouth to say more, but Henry’s passion caused him to interrupt.
“I would be happy to teach you German so you might read those great poets exactly as they were intended to be read.” Belatedly he realized he’d left Molly out of his offer and turned to her. “And you as well, Miss Molly. I would very much enjoy tutoring you both.”
“Not me, though I thank you for the offer, Mr. Longfellow,” Molly said, shaking her head. “French is enough for me, and Fanny enjoyed the German translations far more than I did.”
Henry turned his eager attention to Fanny, who looked at him with surprise; she must be feeling overwhelmed at such an undertaking. “With such a strong foundation in French, you will have a much easier time with German. I think you would find it a fascinating venture.”
“Oh, well,” Fanny said, shyly. “I’m not sure that—”
“Oh, just do it,” Tom said, waving toward his sister. “You can then be the only girl in New England who speaks not one but two foreign languages. Think of how your friends will admire you.”
“I don’t think our friends are all that impressed that we speak French,” Molly said. “These things do not amount for much among women, and Fanny is already well on her way to being deemed a bluestocking as it is.”
“But you could learn it,” Henry said, his eyes focused squarely on Fanny. “What do you say, Miss Fanny? Friday afternoon, around two o’clock here at Beacon Street?”
“Yes, what do you say, Fanny?” Tom teased, raising his eyebrows at his sister.
“Give the man an answer,” Mr. Appleton finally said, scooping a spoonful of parsnips. “It’s late, and he likely has an early class in the morning.”
“Well, I suppose I could try,” Fanny finally said, looking down and smoothing the tablecloth in front of her.
“You will adore it,” Henry said, unable to suppress his grin. “We shall have a wonderful adventure.”
Thirteen
Uncomfortable Attention
Fanny waited until the door had shut behind an exuberant Mr. Longfellow before she glared at Tom and Molly who stood in the parlor with her. Tom smiled while Molly seemed surprised by her sister’s ire.
“I do not want German lessons,” she said, focusing on Tom, who was the greater villain. “You backed me into a corner so that I could not deny him.”
“Oh, don’t be so disagreeable, Fanny. Could you not see how excited he was to teach you? It was your idea to do your little French performance; you should have been prepared for the consequences of such a display.”
“I should have been prepared for the consequence of learning to speak German,” Fanny said, throwing up her hands before putting them on her hips. “I swear, Tom, one day your pranks are going to put you in the soup.”
“For now, I shall appease myself with the pot you find yourself in,” Tom said, not the least bit irritated by her anger.
“What am I to do now? Take lessons I have no interest in?”
“Why have you no interest?” Molly asked, sounding genuinely curious. “You did pick up the French very well, and you and William loved the German translations of that dark stuff. With Mr. Longfellow’s help you could learn German and read those for yourself just as you have with the French. Why are you so set against it?”
Fanny did not have an easy answer. She had never considered learning another language, and though French had come easier for her than it had Molly, it had been difficult to resurrect what she knew from her youth and then expand it to the level of fluency she now possessed. She could not imagine how Mr. Longfellow could read so many different languages; it seemed to her that all the words and interpretations would get tangled up in her head like a knotted ball of string. Failing at such a
challenge would be embarrassing.
Even so, she would likely welcome the lessons if it were anyone but Mr. Longfellow teaching them. He watched her. Closely. And it both flattered and discomfited her. He’d become acquainted with Aunt and Uncle William while she’d been in Europe, and Aunt William said he was particularly fond of Fanny’s portrait when he had the occasion to visit Aunt William’s house. Fanny feared his interest in her went beyond his hope for her to speak German. To even think such a thing made her feel arrogant, as though she were such a woman as to draw the attention of every man. And yet, since returning to Boston, it seemed as though every eligible bachelor of her family’s acquaintance had been paying her a visit. She was always eager for entertainment and had gone out with a few of the young men, for a walk or a drive, but was hesitant to encourage individual time with any one of them.
Now she had Mr. Longfellow coming for a private lesson on Friday. He would want to come the next Friday, too, and the next and the next. She would have to either turn him away, which would feel wretched—she did like the man and did not want to hurt him—or endure the lessons with the fear that he was interested in more than her linguistic merit. There was also the lingering fear that too much time in his company might remind her of all the things she had liked about him in Europe. Even tonight she had been so aware of him, the graceful way he moved, the depth behind his eyes when he looked at her. She had already made her decision that they would only be friends, and yet she worried about his interest, and her own, if she were truly honest.
“I have no interest in the German language,” she said again simply. “And I should not have been pressed into a position where I could not refuse the lesson. He is a professor, his days are likely filled to the brim, and now he shall make the trek to Beacon Street to teach a student who does not want to be taught.”
“I think he is more than happy to make the trek,” Tom said with a wink, causing Fanny’s neck to flame hot. Tom had noticed Mr. Longfellow’s attention and he had still put her in this position!
“I am not interested in being pursued,” Fanny clarified, her voice low and her anger only barely in check. “I believe I have been quite clear on that count.”
“Pursued?” Tom repeated, his eyebrows lifting in mock surprise. “I think you may overestimate your charms, dear sister. Henry wants to teach you German. Why on earth would you interpret it to be anything more than that?”
“Oh, Tom, I could throttle you!” Fanny said, stamping her foot and wishing she could slap him. Maybe she should. Perhaps a physical attack would show him the level of her frustration.
He put a hand to his chest and gasped. “My, my, what big claws you have.” He grinned and moved toward the front door, unaffected by her glare. “Tell Father I shall return in a few hours. I want to take a pint at the corner.”
He let himself out, and only then did Fanny take her hands from her hips. Father was still finishing his dinner, but Molly stood to the side of the foyer, watching Fanny with concern. “Are you really so against the lessons?” she asked.
“Yes,” Fanny said, her voice tired. “I have no interest in anything of such a personal nature with a gentleman right now. I am feeling rather suffocated by the attention I’ve received thus far, if you want to know the truth.”
“Everyone is simply excited to have us home,” Molly said, waving away Fanny’s concerns. “And Mr. Longfellow is just passionate.”
“Which is exactly why I do not want individual time with him.” Fanny took a breath and decided to admit to her discomfort. Of anyone she could confide in, Molly would be the best at seeing Fanny’s perspective. “Did he not seem particularly attentive to me this evening?”
“He has always been particularly attentive to you, Fanny,” Molly said with a smile. “That you pretend not to have noticed before is rather silly.”
Fanny let out a sigh. “I do not want such attention.”
“Why not? He is an amiable man, and poets are so very romantic.”
“Poets are poor, Molly.” Fanny hated how it sounded when she said it out loud, but she had taken the time to compile all the reasons Mr. Longfellow was ill-suited for her, and since no one else seemed to have done the same, she had no choice but to be direct.
Molly laughed. “I remember you told Tom that, back when he fancied himself making a living as a poet. Mr. Longfellow is not some bedraggled poet singing for his dinner, however. He is a professor, a distinguished one and well-regarded. Why, I think Father would welcome a match for you with a man like him.”
“Well, I do not welcome such a match,” Fanny said, raising her chin as her determination strengthened. “Mr. Longfellow is ten years my senior and . . . and not the type of man I imagined I would marry. It is not fair for me to lead his affections when we could never make a suitable match. I have been too spoiled to live a lifestyle less than this.” She waved her hand through the marble foyer, complete with an original painting by Goya that they had brought back from Spain. It was not evil for her to want nice things, was it?
“So he is not a man of fortune. He is a man of virtue, and Father’s investments for you will make up for whatever Mr. Longfellow might lack by way of comfort.”
Fanny was already shaking her head. “I would resent it,” she said stubbornly. “I know it makes me seem horrible, Molly, but I would. As my husband, he would have access to my money, he could spend through it, use it on all manner of endeavors—we both know situations where exactly that has happened. The only way to have security in marriage is to enter on equal ground with your husband. I know my mind well enough to know what I can bear, and what I cannot.”
“I think your judgment is severe,” Molly said. “What of love? What of affinity for one another?”
“Can such exist if you question the man’s motivation?” Fanny was irritated that she could not seem to convince her sister of her perspective. “You can’t understand. John is of our station; he does not need your name or place in society. He has no other motivation but his feelings, and therefore you have every reason to feel secure.”
Despite Fanny’s concerns regarding John’s attention in the beginning, Molly had blossomed under his attention, and he had been nothing but kind to her. A kindness she deserved. The couple walked the Common three nights a week, had attended the theater two weeks ago, and had had dinner with his family twice. In just three weeks, it had become all but certain to Fanny that Molly was falling in love, and there was no reason to doubt that John was feeling the same.
“I do not think Mr. Longfellow would use you so poorly, Fanny,” Molly said as she turned to the stairs, bringing an end to the conversation. “Don’t make up your mind too rashly. Perhaps he is exactly the man who would make you happy.”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” Fanny said, causing Molly to look back at her. “I am happy as I am, with my family, in my family home, and surrounded by friends and culture. I see no reason for me to risk that security for a match that could not promise me the same happiness. That is all. I mean no offense to Mr. Longfellow—I have great admiration and respect for him—but he is still a man, influenced by the world as we all are. I do not want to encourage him when I know it will only lead to causing him pain.”
“Then tell him you have no wish to study German,” Molly said, as though it were that simple. “If you are so determined to be independent, then hold your ground and nip this in the bud before his heart becomes more engaged than it already is.”
Molly moved up the stairs, leaving Fanny alone in the foyer with her arguments and justifications.
“I do not need a man to be happy,” she said again before heading toward the kitchen. She wanted to compliment the kitchen staff on the evening’s tart, which had been particularly good. She also needed to discuss the broken lamp in the upstairs hall. It would need to be replaced, but she was curious as to why it was not working in the first place and whether or not the staff knew when it had gone dark. How would the household function without her, really?
Especially when Molly married John and Fanny alone would be attending to these matters.
Someone must care for Father, and someone must manage the household.
“I do not need Mr. Longfellow or anyone else,” she said under her breath to fortify her position. “I shall not give up my independence for any man. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.”
And yet did she have enough confidence in that decision to tell Mr. Longfellow she did not want his kindly meant lessons? He would be disappointed, and the anticipation of such a reaction made her stomach tight. He had been so excited to teach her, and he had never been anything but kind and considerate toward her. She did love his insight on literature and language. Was that reason enough to accept the lessons?
Fanny took a breath and decided she would take the lessons one week at a time. If she did not reciprocate his attention, he would surely tire of the pursuit and a natural boundary would develop between them. She knew how to flirt when she wanted to, but she also knew how to close herself off and not draw a man’s interest. She felt sure that, if necessary, she could be very determined in showing Mr. Longfellow all her worst parts so he would not want her for anything—not a wife, not a student.
It should not be so hard to be an independent woman, she thought as she reached the lower level and turned toward the kitchen. She should not have to justify her feelings to everyone, including herself.
Fourteen
Language Lessons
“Came-air-eh-den,” Fanny repeated, trying to make her mouth form the strange sounds of the German word. How could they flow so easily from Mr. Longfellow’s tongue and be so rocky and jumbled upon her own?
“Yes,” Mr. Longfellow said from his place beside her on the settee they shared. “Kameraden.”
“It’s sounds lovely when you say it,” Fanny said, trying not to sound petulant. “Fluid.”
“I have been speaking and reading German for nearly a decade, Miss Fanny.”
Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) Page 10