Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) Read Online Free PDF

forgiveness.” She meant every word and hoped he would know it.
    “You owe me no apology, Miss Frances.” For a moment the softness of his words held her like a cord, and she found she could not take her gaze from his. In some way she could not understand, she felt . . . seen as she had never been seen before. It was strangely flattering, but also made her feel vulnerable—something she could ill afford to feel. She forced her gaze to her father, who regarded her with concern.
    “Father, might I be excused? I fear I am too fatigued to be good company tonight.”
    “Of course, my dear,” he said with a nod.
    “I certainly wish you the best, Mr. Longfellow,” Fanny said formally as she stood from the table and put her napkin on her chair.
    “As I do for you, Miss Frances.”
    She curtsied slightly but did not meet his eyes again as she left the room and hurried for the chamber she shared with Molly. She hated how she had behaved this evening. She hated even more the idea that Mr. Longfellow might depart as quickly as possible in light of her treatment of him and then she would never have the chance to redeem herself. She could not stand the thought that he would return to Boston, where their paths may likely cross again, and he would remember her as a sharp-tongued harpy who would not allow a man an evening’s peace.
    Fanny closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, playing through their conversation in her mind again. What she would not give to start the evening over and be better than she’d been. Oh, why couldn’t there have been music and dancing tonight? She was not to be trusted in company that did not distract her from the ache in her heart. She raised her hands to her face in hopes to keep the tears at bay. They would not change anything, after all.

 
    Five
    Confessions
     
    The evening did not improve much after Miss Frances’s departure, and Henry regretted again accepting the dinner invitation. After a polite period of time, Mr. Appleton invited his other daughter to leave the men to their brandy. She seemed eager to follow her sister from the room. The maid entered and began clearing the dishes.
    Mr. Appleton turned to Henry. “I am very sorry for this evening, Mr. Longfellow, and especially for Fanny hounding you. I assure you she possesses better manners than you saw on display, and I can only think that the strain of William’s illness is taking a toll.”
    “You owe me no apology,” Henry said, shaking his head. “And neither does she. I should have been forthcoming.”
    “It was my fault,” Tom said, accepting the glass of brandy from the footman. “If Fanny were simply a silly girl with flippant thoughts and thin attention we would have been successful, but I should have known better. Despite her petulance this evening, the girl is far too smart for her own good.”
    Henry did not know what to say. To agree with them would insult the young woman, and he didn’t fault her for noticing the choppy attempts at avoidance—rather, the fact that she noticed was to her credit. She was young and energetic, but well-spoken and self-possessed too.
    “I am also very sorry for your struggles,” Mr. Appleton said with enough curiosity in his voice that it would be rude for Henry not to explain. For the second time that evening, Henry recalled the painful events of the last year and accepted a stranger’s condolences. It was exhausting to revisit the pain—not that he was ever away from it completely. They had invited him in hopes of lifting the mood, and he had done exactly the opposite.
    “I think,” Mr. Appleton said after Henry finished, “that the lot of us make quite a group. All of us touched by sorrow, each of us trying to lose ourselves, or perhaps heal ourselves, in the diversion of Europe. I find it odd that we might meet with one another at all, don’t you, Mr. Longfellow?”
    “It is rather strange,” Henry said, though he had little energy to sustain his wonder.
    “My