Can he lose the disguise... and find himself?
St. John Fotheringay-Phipps has nearly forgotten who he truly is. As the dashing, amusing dandy known to all in society as Fungy, he has hidden himself behind a mask of merriment. But he is reminded that there are pleasures beyond society -- when he finds himself feeling responsible for the innocently lovely and fiercely intellectual Rose, the daughter of a famed archaeologist, and her charming, if socially inept, family.
Rose Grace knows that she cannot gamble with her future. She has suddenly been thrust into the role of mother to her two young sisters, companion to her brilliant, distracted father --and family savior. She needs to do the right thing -- to forget her own desires and quickly find a wealthy husband before the creditors come beating at their door. Then why is she distracted by the foppishly handsome Fungy, who seems so very irresponsible and pleasure-loving? Surely he's the last person whose advice she should follow!
Can Rose wager her heart to help St. John find his way to the man he wants to be?
Reviews for Dame Fortune
“Four Stars!” —Romantic Times Book Club
“Ms. Bond has proven to be a talented writer with a dab hand at creating interesting situations and lively dialogue.” —Jane Bowers, Romance Reviews Today
“My eyes were glued to the pages as I read this wonderful story... a wonderful plot with amazing characters.” —Tangela Williams, Romance Reader’s Connection
“Loved It Enough to Buy It Twice” —Priscilla Waller, reader
A Dandy in Disguise
Meredith Bond
Previously published as Dame Fortune from Zebra Books
Copyright, September, 2013, Meredith Bond. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means — graphic, electronic or mechanical — without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. If you have obtained a copy of this from someone else, you are strongly encouraged to purchase a copy for yourself.
Cover Art by Niina Cord http://niinascoverdesign.weebly.com
Image credit: Hot Damn Stock
Published by Anessa Books, www.anessabooks.com
In order to please others, we lose our hold on our life’s purpose.
– Epictetus
One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is love.
– Sophocles
Dedication
To my father, my greatest cheerleader.
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to all of the people who read this book and gave me their comments and ideas on how to make it better: Barbara McGuire, Debra Dunbar and Dana Gunn. And a huge thank you to my editor who did an amazing job, Nina Banerji.
Prologue
April, 1802
SATED after a delicious morning of lovemaking, St. John lifted himself up to rest on one elbow and looked into Georgiana’s heavy–lidded eyes. Life could not get any better than this.
“Nunc scio quid sit amor, ” he said, smiling at her, knowing how much it bothered her when he quoted the classics.
She scowled at him and waited for the translation.
“Now I know what love is,” he explained, running his hand down her naked body. He loved that every curve of her soft velvety skin was as familiar to him as his own body.
“St. John...” Georgiana began.
“Georgiana...” St. John began at exactly the same time.
They both stopped and laughed. But Georgiana stopped laughing a bit too quickly.
Looking away from him, she got up and pulled on her shift. He hated this part of their time together, when she dressed herself. He so enjoyed seeing her, feeling her, being with her.
Inevitably, though, she reached for her corset “St. John, you may congratulate me. I have accepted a proposal of marriage,” she said abruptly
St. John’s breathing stopped. His heart stopped. He looked up at her to read her face, to see if perhaps she was teasing him, but her back was still toward him. Finally, he took a deep breath to try to dispel the tightness that had formed in his chest. Perhaps it was better that she was still turned away. She wouldn’t see the pain he was certain was painting his face. He took another breath and tried to erase the shock from his eyes.
Heedless of his nudity, he got out of bed, gently turning Georgiana to face him. “I don’t understand. I thought you loved me.”
She gave him a sad smile and ran her hands up his chest. “You are so beautifully formed, just like one of those pictures you showed me in your book.”
He caught her hands with one of his own and brought her chin up with the other, so that she was forced to look him in the eye.
“I love you,” he said, letting the words come up from deep within his soul—to reverberate, hopefully, within hers.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t want you to—didn’t ask you to.”
“But I do.” He paused, trying to keep the pain from his voice. “And I thought you loved me.”
“Marriage is not always about love, St. John. Sometimes it’s about money or social position.”
“I have money. Not a lot, but enough.”
“Yes. But you do not have a position in society, and you never will.”
She pulled away from him, and said quietly, “And you are only nineteen.”
Not quietly enough. “And how old is he?” he asked, failing to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“Please, don’t be that way.”
“It’s an honest question. “
She turned away, shrugging, “Older.” Giving one last longing look at his body over her shoulder, she turned to finish dressing. “You should get dressed,” she said quietly.
St. John just stood there for a minute, letting the pain cut through his heart.
“If I had a place in society, would you love me?” he asked, impetuously.
“I do love you, St. John, but I need to marry.” She handed him his breeches and shirt from the floor.
“What do I need to do?”
“You need to get dressed,” she said, smiling at him as he stood holding his clothes, but making no move to put them on.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she laughed. She had a beautiful laugh and he enjoyed making it bubble from her throat. But now was not a time for laughter.
Now he needed answers. Now he needed to know what he had to do to make her love him as much as he loved her.
He slipped on his breeches. “Georgiana, please, what can I do?”
He pulled his shirt over his head and hastily tucked it in while reaching for his neckcloth.
“There is nothing you can do, St. John. Lord Mirthwood has proposed and I have accepted. That’s all there is to it.”
“But surely... what if I gained a position in society? I can, you know, easily. My cousin is the Marquis of Merrick. He can help...”
She smiled and turned to help him tie his neckcloth. She always did a much better job of it than he ever did. “Well, if you want to join the beau monde, you should start by caring a bit more about your clothes and how you wear them.”
“My clothes are quite fashionable! Why, I bought this waistcoat only last season—and I was assured that it was all the crack.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, concentrating on what she was doing. “But that was last season. Now the styles are different. You’ve got to keep up with the times, St. John.” She reached for his ‘fashionable’ waistcoat and helped him into it. “And really, my dear, all this Latin and Greek... well, whoever heard of anyone in society quoting the classics? It just is not done, St. John. If you must read it, for God’s sake, don’t let anyone know!”
/> He struggled into his coat, once again with her help. Smoothing out the wrinkles, she told him, “You are an amazingly handsome man. If you dressed well and made some effort to be fashionable...”
“You want me to be a dandy?” he sneered, but the hurt in his voice was close to the surface.
“No, but you asked how you could gain a position in society, and I’m telling you.”
She reached up and, with tender fingers, brushed back his dark blond hair as it fell over his forehead and into his eyes. Gently kissing his cheek, she said, “Good–bye, St. John. Lord Mirthwood and I shall be leaving for America within a few weeks. You won’t see me again. Keep well and be happy.”
St. John just stood looking at her, memorizing every nuance of her face, every movement of her body, even her scent, an unusual musky tone of rose. He caressed her velvety cheek and the thick hair that fell in long chestnut waves around her shoulders. He feathered his lips across hers ever so gently. “Adieu, then, my lady fair. Keep my heart well, for it goes with you.”
Georgiana’s quick answering smile, tinged with regret, lingered with him as he turned and made his way out the door of her bedroom.
He worked to keep his shoulders straight as he ran down the stairs. But by the time he reached the still–dark early morning street, his back straightened of its own accord as clear, cleansing resolution flooded him.
He would make himself worthy of her love. He would become just what she wanted him to be.
She was marrying an older man, she’d said. In no more than five years— an old man wouldn’t last long in such a barbaric place as America—she would be back. In no more than five years, he would be all that she wanted and more. Then she would marry him.
Chapter One
Fifteen years later...
THERE had to be more than this, Rose Grace thought to herself. There had to be some way for there to be more.
For forty minutes now she’d sat on the side of the ballroom, watching other people laugh and chat with friends, while her chaperone, her elderly Aunt Farmington, had slowly nodded off to sleep next to her.
Her aunt was supposed to be introducing her to people, but most of those in the ton she knew were now either dead or had moved to their country homes to live out the end of their lives in the company of their grandchildren.
Rose chastised herself. That wasn’t entirely true. Her grandmother’s sister did have some friends who were still among the beau monde. It was just that they were her aunt’s contemporaries, and so far none of them had shown any desire to introduce their younger relatives to Rose.
Sighing, twisting her bracelet around her wrist, and watching her own knee bounce up and down wasn’t going to get her anywhere. This was a waste of time. She was not going to continue sitting here.
She stood and joined her father, who was chatting with a small group of gentlemen. She scrunched up her nose—one of them was wearing too much cologne.
“Lord Pemberton–Howe, is this your daughter?” the man standing across the circle from her father asked, giving her a wet, loose lipped smile.
Rose’s father turned from the man to glance at her. “Er, your grace.”
Rose curtseyed, even though they hadn’t been properly introduced as yet. Her father’s social manners never were what one would hope, but then on an archaeological dig it didn’t really matter as much.
“Is there something wrong with your company this evening, Miss Grace? Or are you simply a very devoted child?” the gentleman next to the duke asked, smiling at her in a very paternal manner.
“Oh, there is nothing wrong with the company, sir. I’m afraid I just don’t know anyone,” Rose admitted, a little embarrassed at the fact.
“Where is your aunt?” her father asked, frowning over her shoulder. “I thought she was supposed to be introducing you around.”
“I don’t believe she’s used to staying out this late.” Rose turned around to glance at the woman in question whose head was now lolling awkwardly to the side.
“Oh dear.” Clearly her father had caught sight of her.
“Yes.” Rose turned back to the gentlemen and said with an apologetic smile and a shrug, “mia kaké arché kánei éna kakó télos ”
“I beg your pardon!” the duke sputtered. “Perhaps the reason why your aunt hasn’t introduced you is because you have never been taught how to behave in public.”
Rose’s mouth dropped open.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” her father started, his eyes narrowing with anger. Rose put a hand on his arm. “She is nattering on in some strange, unknown language,” the man said, scowling down at her. “Either that, or she’s lost her mind and speaking gibberish!”
“Strange? Unknown…?” Lord Pemberton–Howe began. Even Rose had to admit confusion.
“Are you questioning me?” The elder gentleman turned on her father. The color in his face began to rise as well, as did the volume of his voice. “Perhaps you are unaware, sir, of the position I hold in society?” The gentleman accentuated his words by looking down his nose at her papa.
Rose cringed. Her father was not used to being spoken down to.
“And perhaps you, sir, should have had a better education!” Lord Pemberton–Howe’s voice carried strongly as well.
A short burst of laughter interrupted what was quickly becoming an ugly scene. Quite a few other people who had been standing nearby had turned toward them, eager to hear what the commotion was about.
“My Lord Duke, I believe the young lady was speaking Greek,” the laughing gentleman said. He was considerably younger than the duke, and quite a sight. His coat was dark blue and fit him so closely it looked as if it had been painted onto his broad shoulders. His waistcoat, which was elegantly cut, was a deep red shot through with silver thread and simply quite dazzling. He dripped with watch fobs, and a quizzing glass hung from a bright red ribbon around his neck. Rose had never seen anyone dressed so boldly before—it was as if he had taken all of the fashion dictates to quite another level. If she squinted past the brightness, he was probably an extremely handsome gentleman, but it was a little difficult to see his face properly behind the ridiculously high points of his shirt.
But, even more remarkable than his clothes, was his demeanor. He practically exuded ennui, speaking slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And yet, Rose felt that behind the bored façade, nothing seemed to pass by him unnoticed.
“Yes. Yes, that’s correct.” her father said. “A rather common quote, I would have assumed.”
The older man’s color started to fade back to normal. “Greek you say, Fungy? Can’t say I’ve ever actually heard anyone speak the language. Read it just fine,” he added pointedly at Rose’s father.
“Mind, sir?” the younger gentleman asked Lord Pemberton–Howe.
“What?” Rose’s father asked.
“Introduce us?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Er, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Halsbury, Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps; my daughter, Miss Rose Grace.”
The duke nodded curtly to Rose, and Lord Halsbury, a slightly rotund older gentleman gave her a fatherly little smile. But Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps, the extraordinarily well–dressed gentleman who had come to her rescue, took her hand and raised it to his lips, sending Rose’s heart fluttering as the heat from his kiss scorched her fingers right through her glove.
And yet, while he was bowing, his bright blue eyes looked into hers with such good humor that Rose could not resist smiling back at him. She even felt an answering bubble of laughter springing up from inside of her. It was clear he had understood what she’d said.
This all seemed so odd to Rose. But somehow, she felt that this outrageously fashionable gentleman could understand. Somehow, he was the only one who seemed to understand that this was all a game—one he clearly enjoyed being a part of. It felt good to have such an unexpected ally.
“I am certain Miss Grace knows she should not speak in a foreign tongue in the presence of those who might not understand
her,” Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps said, still keeping his mischief–filled eyes on Rose. “Clearly, she did not realize that not everyone would recall the quote. Euripides, is it not? ‘A bad beginning makes for a bad ending.’ But surely it is too soon to make such a dire prediction. You must give yourself at least a little more time, Miss Grace.”
“Is that what she said,” the duke muttered to himself.
“You are very kind, Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps,” Rose said, feeling her cheeks burn. How ridiculous she was being!
“Fungy, please,” he returned, “all my friends call me Fungy. And I do hope that you will soon call me friend.”
Oh, now she was really blushing. She ducked her head in a nod. How could one man be so charming! Surely, he was one of those her mother had warned her to stay away from.
Another gentleman standing at the edge of their group gave a little cough. “Er, couldn’t help but overhearing, but —the younger Miss Grace might benefit from a lesson in proper social behavior as well.”
Chapter Two
NOT that Miss Grace was speaking in another language. More, er, flirting actually,” the gentleman continued, his speech more and more hesitant as Lord Pemberton–Howe’s face took on an increasingly ruddy hue, “but... well... might have a word with her?”
His voice petered out as he noticed Lord Pemberton–Howe’s hands tighten into fists. Rose knew that her father would not create a scene in public, but this piece of information, so soon after her own faux–pas, was clearly proving to be too much for him. She put a restraining hand on his arm.
“And who might you be, sir, to have met my daughter?” Lord Pemberton–Howe asked.
“Er, Pip Haston, at your service, sir.” The gentleman bowed. “Was walking past a bookstore when she popped out. Nearly bowled straight into me, and then started giggling and talking at me, you know how girls do, only we hadn’t been introduced. Said as much, so she stuck out her hand and introduced herself! ”
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