A Dandy in Disguise, Page 3

  “We can look at their horses,” Thalia suggested. “A man who is wealthy wouldn’t buy a horse without fine points!” She threw her long dark brown braids over her shoulders and began to pace back and forth again, thinking this through.

  “And what if he isn’t a good judge of horseflesh?” Rose asked, trying hard not to laugh at her little sister.

  “Well, then you definitely should not marry him,” she said very seriously.

  Rose lost control. Her laughter bubbled out of her. Her sisters were being utterly ridiculous!

  “And he should be very handsome. Don’t forget that, Thalia. Rose cannot marry a man who is not pleasing to the eye. I think one like those in the friezes Papa found in Greece, with a well–sculpted chest and arms.”

  Rose wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Oh, yes, definitely. But then, perhaps, I should marry a Greek?”

  “But we are not in Greece any more, and surely there have got to be some men like that here.”

  “Shall I ask the gentleman you choose to disrobe, so that I may see his muscles before I marry him?” Rose joked.

  Thalia smiled, clearly pleased with the idea, but Laia looked horrified. “You can’t ask a gentleman to bare himself!”

  “Oh? But I should be sure that he is wealthy, engages in sports, and should judge him by the horse he rides, yes?”

  “That’s right!” Thalia said.

  “Well...” Laia was beginning to look uncertain. “Tell us who you met last night, then, Rose. Were there any interesting or eligible gentlemen at the ball?”

  Rose became serious, thinking back to the previous evening.

  “Well, I met your Mr. Haston, Laia, but I don’t think he is right for me.”

  “I thought he was very sweet,” Laia said, defending the gentleman.

  “Sweet, yes. Intelligent? No.”

  “Oh well, now you really are becoming quite particular.”

  “You want him to be smart as well as a sportsman? I don’t know, Rose.” Even Thalia sounded dubious about finding a gentleman imbued with both of those qualities.

  Rose nodded. “Yes, he definitely has to be intelligent. And it would be nice if he had a good sense of humor.”

  Thalia and Laia had to agree with that.

  “And while we’re building castles in the air,” Rose continued, enjoying herself, “I think he should be an archaeologist like Papa. That would truly be wonderful.” “And he should be romantic,” Laia sighed.

  “You two are so ridiculous.” Thalia scowled at them both. “There is no gentleman who is wealthy, a sportsman, has a good sense of humor, is handsome, an archaeologist and romantic!” She ticked off all of the qualities on her fingers. “You might as well give it up right now.”

  Rose sat back and frowned. Thalia was right. There was no man who would fit that description.

  “But she has to marry,” Laia complained.

  Rose sighed. “Well, I suppose I shall just have to give something up. But let’s not worry about that now. Let’s see first who my choices are.”

  “Were there no other interesting gentlemen, Rose?” Thalia asked.

  “Only one other,” Rose said, feeling her face grow warm as she remembered Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps. He was very handsome, and he made her laugh.

  “By the look on your face, I would say this one was very interesting!” Laia exclaimed.

  “Well, there was one gentleman who was quite… interesting,” Rose admitted, feeling an unbidden smile creep onto her lips. “His name is Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps, but he is called Fungy.”

  “Fungy?” Thalia repeated, making a face.

  Laia frowned. “What sort of name is Fungy?”

  “He sounds like a mushroom. Is he?” Thalia asked.

  Rose laughed. “No, he is not a mushroom.”

  “Does he have a big flat head and a tall thin body?” Laia asked, laughing.

  “No! Although he is tall, and rather thin. He seemed well–muscled actually, and looked like he might be a sportsman. But he wore the most ridiculous high collar and an absolutely dazzling waistcoat. Frankly, he looked as if he might be a dandy.”

  She turned to Thalia, “And, no, my dearest, I do not know what sort of horse he rides, for we were at a soirée and I didn’t see him arrive or leave.”

  “Did you ask him what sports he played?” she asked.

  “No, I didn’t. If you meet him, you may do so.”

  “So, he is handsome?” Laia interrupted.

  “Yes, tolerably so. He has blond hair, a well–sculpted face, and beautiful blue eyes.”

  “And is he wealthy?” she asked, letting her stitching fall to her lap.

  “That I don’t know,” Rose admitted.

  “But wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was?” Laia sighed. “He could be the one—although he does have a rather unfortunate name.”

  “Well, she can’t marry him until we meet him and approve, that’s for certain.” Thalia crossed her arms in front of her.

  Both Rose and Laia broke out laughing at her serious demeanor. After wiping the tears from her eyes, Rose said, “I assure you, I will marry no one without your approval, Miss Thalia.”

  Thalia nodded her head regally, and then skipped out of the room.

  When they had caught their breath from laughing, Laia said seriously, “Truly, Rose, who will you marry?”

  Rose sobered up immediately. “I don’t know, Laia, but I know that I need to find someone quickly. And if his wealth is all he has to offer, I may need to accept that—for all our sakes.”

  ~~~~

  Fungy paused on the landing just outside of the drawing room as the voice of his good friend Sinclair Stratton, Viscount Reath seeped from under the closed door. “You know I would be honored to be the baby’s godfather, Merry, but what about Fungy?” He’d not meant to eavesdrop, but as Merry’s cousin he was a frequent visitor and it was customary for him not to be announced by the Marquis’ lofty butler. Inadvertently, he’d almost walked in on this most intriguing conversation.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure that he’s responsible enough. When it comes to dressing the baby, you know Fungy will be the first person we call. But this is a very important position—and Teresa and I don’t want to entrust it to someone who may make a mockery of it. We know that you will take it seriously. We can trust you.” Merry’s voice was quiet but firm.

  Fungy felt a weight settle in his chest.

  Sin sighed. “I appreciate that, and of course I will be happy to do my best for your son. But when it comes time to release him out into the world...”

  “Absolutely, Fungy is my man,” Merry finished with a laugh. “But until then, Sin, and in everything else, we’re counting on you.”

  Fungy looked down at his immaculate ensemble. Was this all he was valued for—dressing properly?

  “And, naturally, Fungy will be able to introduce him to all the right people. Amazing the number of people he knows and socializes with,” Sin said, still defending him.

  “Indeed. He manages to meet and befriend all sorts. But have you once seen him actually doing anything beyond being social and giving his precious fashion advice?”

  Sin laughed, giving in. “I must admit that I can’t imagine Fungy doing anything actually worthwhile.”

  “No, neither can I. Don’t really think the old boy has it in him,” Merry agreed with a chuckle.

  Fungy felt the heaviness inside of him blossom into outright pain as these words sliced through his chest. He couldn’t take any more of this. He turned and was about to descend the stairs once more when Julian Ritchie, Lord Huntley, came bounding up.

  “Ah, Fungy! Thought I’d run into you here,” he said, slapping Fungy on the back and propelling him toward the drawing room.

  Julian had strongly taken to dressing fashionably ever since he’d moved to England from his native Calcutta, bonding with Fungy as a mentor and guide in all things fashionable. Now, despite his mixed heritage, he always managed to look more impeccably Engli
sh than anyone. It was really quite easy at times to completely forget that he wasn’t entirely English.

  Fungy hesitated, desperate to escape. But he had no choice. He squared his shoulders, and entered the room with Julian.

  Chapter Four

  FUNGY saw Sin look quickly away from the door as he entered the room with Julian. Pushing a lock of his straight jet–black hair off his broad forehead, Sin helped himself to a cup of coffee, his slashing eyebrows pulled low over his eyes. Fungy had no particular desire to meet his eyes either.

  Merry, on the other hand, was looking very relaxed on a sofa with a sleeping baby in his lap. His coat of blue superfine and pale yellow pantaloons were covered with a soft blanket to protect the baby from the buttons (or perhaps the other way around). The baby, clearly taking after his father with his fair skin and blond hair, looked rather angelic in his sleep—more like a cherub than the squalling little creature his cousin had described to him two weeks ago, just after the child was born.

  But that explained the smell in the room. It definitely smelled of baby—and coffee, he thought as he watched Julian head directly over to the sideboard for a cup.

  “Morning, Sin,” Julian said in his normal hearty voice. Then, noticing the baby as he passed, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Morning, Merry.”

  “It’s all right,” Merry assured him. “I don’t think anything could wake him when he’s sleeping.”

  “Oh. Then why are you watching him?” Julian asked, helping himself to a slice of the cake as well.

  “Teresa’s asleep, and she still hasn’t found a nursemaid she is happy with.” Merry shifted a little under the weight of the sleeping baby. “She had best do so soon, however. Neither of us is getting much sleep because of this little one. He was up half the night wanting to be fed, changed, burped, and goodness only knows what else. Teresa is running herself ragged, and I can’t sleep with all the commotion.”

  “What you get for procreating,” Fungy said, straining to make his voice as light as always. He was having a hard time putting Sin and Merry’s disloyal words from his mind.

  Sin laughed. “Not something you need to worry about anytime soon, Fungy.”

  Fungy moved to help himself to some coffee as well, although wishing for something stronger. “I’ll leave that to you three.”

  “Why don’t you get married, Fungy? It’s a rather pleasant state to live in,” Julian said, before taking a large bite of his cake.

  “I had a rather unfortunate experience with love some time ago. Rather not repeat it.”

  Merry sat up. “You still think about that? My God, that must have been at least ten years ago.”

  “Fifteen, actually,” Fungy corrected.

  “What happened?” Julian asked. He widened his odd turquoise–colored eyes, making them stand out even more from his honey brown face.

  “Fell in love. The lady married someone else. She moved to America and took my heart with her,” Fungy answered succinctly, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer than necessary.

  Julian shook his head sadly. “Love is a damned tricky business.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But, really, Fungy, don’t you think it’s time you put that aside and settled down?” Merry asked.

  “How about an occupation?” Sin asked, settling his large frame into a delicate chair, since Merry seemed to be taking up the entire sofa himself. “I found serving as a diplomat in India to be great fun, and it put me right in the mood to marry once I returned.”

  Fungy gave Sin a little smile. He was a good friend, unlike some, he thought, leveling his gaze at Merry. “Thank you, all the same, Sin, quite happy with the way things are.”

  He then turned fully to Merry. “No need to dredge the old heart up out of the muck and mire. If and when I feel the need to set up my nursery, I’ll find someone who will not try to, er, engage my finer sensibilities.”

  Merry just looked at him sadly. Turning to his other friends, Fungy noticed that they too seemed to be regarding him with rather sober expressions on their faces.

  “No need to be so glum, old chums! Just because you have all succeeded in filling your hearts with joy, doesn’t mean that I need to. Quite happy the way I am, truly.”

  “It’s just a shame, that’s all,” Sin said.

  “Really should try it, Fungy, marriage is...”

  “My goodness, look at the time!” Fungy said, interrupting Julian. “I’ve got an appointment. Frightfully sorry and all that, got to run.” He made for the door as quickly as he could.

  If there was one thing he could not stand, it was people feeling sorry for him—and especially not his closest friends.

  He was quite happy with his life just the way it was, just as he had told them. There was nothing that he would change, not for an instant, so there was no use even wasting the time thinking about it.

  What had hurt him, however, was the fact that Merry and Sin, who had known him for most of his life, seemed to have forgotten what his social mask hid. Was it possible that he had forgotten as well?

  He had to admit that his run–in the other evening with Miss Grace had sparked something inside of him. It was just a flicker of a reminiscence—of reading and discussing classic texts with his peers at university, of playing with the meanings in the complicated texts they pored over all day and into the night. How long had it been since he’d picked up Plato or Homer or even one of the lighter plays by Euripides, which he used to enjoy so much?

  How long had it been since he had truly engaged his mind?

  He’d completely given up his passion for the classics long ago, but Miss Grace had made him recall those sweet days of his youth.

  And something else as well—a feeling deep within him, long buried—the heat of attraction to a beautiful woman.

  ~~~~

  “Thank you for the dance, my lord,” Rose said, curtsying to the gentleman as he returned her to her great–aunt.

  The gentleman bent his tall, thin frame in her direction and then loped off to find his next partner.

  “Well, he seems to be a very nice young man, Rose, and I hear he’s got ten thousand a year,” Aunt Farmington said quietly.

  “Yes,” Rose replied with a frown... It would be nice, however, if he had a brain to go with all that money.”

  Aunt Farmington glared at Rose. “You are entirely too fastidious, my girl. You are supposed to be searching for a wealthy husband, not the man of your dreams.”

  Rose sighed. It was true. As her father had said, she did not have the luxury of waiting to find the perfect man or of giving him time to woo her properly.

  “I know. I only wish I could find someone a little closer to my dream than Lord Simpleton, or whatever his name was.”

  Her aunt chuckled. “Stiplton, I believe... er, something like that.”

  Rose couldn’t help but laugh, too. Clearly the gentleman hadn’t left a great impression on her aunt either.

  She sobered up quickly enough as she saw Lady Farmington narrow her eyes at another rather fatuous–looking young man.

  “I had always thought that I would marry a man who simply took my breath away, the way Mama said Papa did to her the first time they met.”

  Lady Farmington snapped her head back to peer at Rose, her already wrinkled forehead crinkling further with concern.

  “And then he would bring me flowers and write poems to my eyes or some such thing,” Rose added softly, thinking wistfully of the dreams she and her sisters had concocted yesterday.

  “One would think that a girl as intelligent as you would be beyond dreaming of romantic nonsense like that,” her aunt said caustically.

  Rose studied the fan in her hands for a moment and then gave a little shrug. “It is silly, I suppose,” she said, having to quickly blink to take the stinging from her eyes. “And it has nothing to do with my current life.”

  She lifted her chin and placed a smile on her lips. “Are there any other eligible young men to whom you could
introduce me?”

  Her aunt looked at her silently for a moment, blinking her watery hazel eyes, and shook her head. All of a sudden, though, her face brightened. A rather uncharacteristic smile twitched onto her lips, and she walked slowly over to another older lady behind Rose, who sat in a gilt chair facing the dance floor, her tall feathered turban slowly nodding in time to the sound of the musicians fine–tuning their instruments.

  “Mrs. Saxton, how very pleasant to see you again!”

  The other lady looked up. “Why, Lady Farmington, what a very pleasant surprise. It has been such a long time since we’ve had a chat. Do join me.”

  Lady Farmington took the empty seat next to her and then motioned to Rose.

  “My dear, your father is just over there. Why don’t you converse with him for a little while? Perhaps he has a young man to introduce to you.”

  Rose turned to see her father standing by himself next to the entrance to the card room. Turning back to her aunt, she saw that it would now be completely useless to do anything but what she had suggested, for the lady was engaged in deep conversation with her friend.

  “Aunt Farmington has abandoned me in favor of a gossip with one of her friends,” Rose informed her father, walking over to join him.

  “What? But...”

  “Do not worry, Papa, we are merely taking a little break from husband–hunting.” Rose sighed heavily. “I am so tired of dancing and being pleasant.”

  Her father gave a little chuckle. “I must say, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you behave so well for such a long period of time.”

  Rose turned to her father, a smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. “What shall we do, Papa? Is there someplace more interesting where we could go?”

  Lord Pemberton–Howe raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Euphrosyne, you aren’t suggesting that I take my own daughter...”

  “Oh, all right, how about just into the card room, then? Surely that can’t be so bad.”

  Her father turned and looked a little longingly into that room. He had been planning on slipping in there himself, Rose was sure of it.