Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) by Josi S. Kilpack
Authors: Josi S. Kilpack
Tags: Fiction
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the corner and seemed eager to get home and out of the humid heat of the New England summer.
“How do you know Phillip doesn’t speak French?” Fanny asked Molly as they continued toward home. Father was talking with some friends under the shade of a yew tree, and Tom had left as soon as services were over—the political and financial tensions of the United States had quickly drawn the men’s attention upon the family’s return. The women were used to finding their own way home, however, and glad to avoid political talk if they could.
“According to Mr. Longfellow, no one speaks French even if they know the language.” Molly gave a single shrug and a satisfied half-smile. “And Phillip did not even go to Harvard.”
“You certainly can wield a sword when you choose to, can’t you, Molly?”
“C’est la vie,” Molly said, looping her hand through the air. “Father had wanted French to be a useful skill, and if it keeps unworthy gentlemen off our doorstep then I say it has fulfilled its purpose. Besides, Phillip is twenty-one years old. Too young to be hunting for a wife unless he is looking to line his pockets.”
Molly had no sooner finished her explanation than an old family friend, John Peterton, was bowing before them. “Is it not the Appleton ladies returned from their travels abroad,” he said with a wide grin that both women responded to in kind. John was Tom’s age and had been a playmate of his when Tom and Molly were young. Their families still dined together, though John had lately been in New York learning the banking business from an uncle. “Might I walk you ladies home?”
“It would be a pleasure,” Molly said, stepping to the side so he could move between them. He put an arm out for both sisters, and they all fell in step together. He asked after their voyage and then listened as they shared the highlights of their tour. He had been to Europe some years earlier, but had visited only London and Paris.
When they reached 39 Beacon Street, John—Fanny could not think of him as Mr. Peterton though she knew she should—brought them to the door and bowed over their hands. First Fanny’s, then Molly’s, which he lingered over. Fanny caught the subtle cue and excused herself, leaving John and Molly alone on the doorstep, though she waited just inside until Molly came in. When she did, her cheeks were flushed in a way that spoke of more than the summer heat.
Fanny raised her eyebrows, and Molly took hold of her arm, hurrying her into the parlor as though someone might overhear them. The butler should have greeted them upon their entry, but they had returned home from Europe to find that he had run off weeks earlier. Fanny and Molly had not yet had time to interview a replacement. There were all manner of things regarding the household that needed to be set to rights, but they would have to wait. It was the Sabbath after all.
“He’s invited me for a stroll on the Commons tomorrow evening,” Molly said, her eyes wide with excitement. “Only the two of us.”
“Indeed,” Fanny said with a grin. “And did you accept?”
“Of course,” Molly said. “He has grown into a very handsome man, and his family is well respected.”
“My, my,” Fanny said. “You are excited.”
Molly shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed as she walked to the window, perhaps to catch a glimpse of John’s retreating form. “I am almost twenty-four years old,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “I would be a fool to not be flattered by the attention of a man like Johnny. I would not want Mrs. Wilton to know it, but now that we are returned, I am eager to secure my future.”
“A man like Johnny ?” Fanny repeated, raising her eyebrows at the familiarity of her sister’s address. Even though Fanny called him John in her mind, she would never address him as such, much less an even more familiar version of his name.
Molly blushed again. “I suppose I can’t call him that any longer, can I?
“How do you know Phillip doesn’t speak French?” Fanny asked Molly as they continued toward home. Father was talking with some friends under the shade of a yew tree, and Tom had left as soon as services were over—the political and financial tensions of the United States had quickly drawn the men’s attention upon the family’s return. The women were used to finding their own way home, however, and glad to avoid political talk if they could.
“According to Mr. Longfellow, no one speaks French even if they know the language.” Molly gave a single shrug and a satisfied half-smile. “And Phillip did not even go to Harvard.”
“You certainly can wield a sword when you choose to, can’t you, Molly?”
“C’est la vie,” Molly said, looping her hand through the air. “Father had wanted French to be a useful skill, and if it keeps unworthy gentlemen off our doorstep then I say it has fulfilled its purpose. Besides, Phillip is twenty-one years old. Too young to be hunting for a wife unless he is looking to line his pockets.”
Molly had no sooner finished her explanation than an old family friend, John Peterton, was bowing before them. “Is it not the Appleton ladies returned from their travels abroad,” he said with a wide grin that both women responded to in kind. John was Tom’s age and had been a playmate of his when Tom and Molly were young. Their families still dined together, though John had lately been in New York learning the banking business from an uncle. “Might I walk you ladies home?”
“It would be a pleasure,” Molly said, stepping to the side so he could move between them. He put an arm out for both sisters, and they all fell in step together. He asked after their voyage and then listened as they shared the highlights of their tour. He had been to Europe some years earlier, but had visited only London and Paris.
When they reached 39 Beacon Street, John—Fanny could not think of him as Mr. Peterton though she knew she should—brought them to the door and bowed over their hands. First Fanny’s, then Molly’s, which he lingered over. Fanny caught the subtle cue and excused herself, leaving John and Molly alone on the doorstep, though she waited just inside until Molly came in. When she did, her cheeks were flushed in a way that spoke of more than the summer heat.
Fanny raised her eyebrows, and Molly took hold of her arm, hurrying her into the parlor as though someone might overhear them. The butler should have greeted them upon their entry, but they had returned home from Europe to find that he had run off weeks earlier. Fanny and Molly had not yet had time to interview a replacement. There were all manner of things regarding the household that needed to be set to rights, but they would have to wait. It was the Sabbath after all.
“He’s invited me for a stroll on the Commons tomorrow evening,” Molly said, her eyes wide with excitement. “Only the two of us.”
“Indeed,” Fanny said with a grin. “And did you accept?”
“Of course,” Molly said. “He has grown into a very handsome man, and his family is well respected.”
“My, my,” Fanny said. “You are excited.”
Molly shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed as she walked to the window, perhaps to catch a glimpse of John’s retreating form. “I am almost twenty-four years old,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “I would be a fool to not be flattered by the attention of a man like Johnny. I would not want Mrs. Wilton to know it, but now that we are returned, I am eager to secure my future.”
“A man like Johnny ?” Fanny repeated, raising her eyebrows at the familiarity of her sister’s address. Even though Fanny called him John in her mind, she would never address him as such, much less an even more familiar version of his name.
Molly blushed again. “I suppose I can’t call him that any longer, can I?
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