A Dandy in Disguise

by Meredith Bond

  And, he realized with a start, that it was more than likely that he needed to spend a little more time getting to know Miss Rose Grace—if he was, in fact, serious about finding a wife.

  Chapter Fourteen

  EXCELLENT news, Rose,” Aunt Farmington said, looking up from her embroidery as the three sisters came into the drawing room after their ride.

  There was a beautiful bouquet of white and red roses sitting on the table next to her. Laia rushed over to it immediately.

  “Oh! These are gorgeous! Who sent them? Was it Fungy?” she asked, leaning over and inhaling the sweet fragrance.

  “How could Fungy have had those delivered so fast?” Thalia asked, genuinely perplexed.” We just saw him.” Aunt Farmington laughed. “They’re not from Fungy. They’re from your sister’s other gentleman, Lord Kirtland. The one she’s going to marry… as soon as he comes up to scratch,” their aunt added in an undertone.

  “Oh,” Laia sighed. “How sweet. He must really like you, Rose.”

  “You’re going to marry him?” Thalia asked. “But I like Fungy.”

  Rose just smiled at her little sister. She liked Fungy too, and his admission at the park had touched something deep within her, but he wasn’t wealthy like Lord Kirtland. She silently shoved a deep sadness even deeper. If she couldn’t marry for love—and she couldn’t, she knew, thanks to their family’s financial woes—she would at least marry the wealthiest man she could.

  “You haven’t met Lord Kirtland,” Rose pointed out to Thalia. “He’s a very pleasant gentleman.”

  “Pleasant?” Thalia scrunched up her nose as if the word smelled.

  “And,” their aunt continued in a long suffering tone, “his lordship, who came by in person, I might add, requested that you join him in an expedition to the British Museum tomorrow.”

  “He was here?” Rose asked.

  “He delivered the flowers in person?” Laia said at the same time.

  They looked at each other. Lord Kirtland’s personal touch spoke volumes about his intent.

  “Yes!” Aunt Farmington was clearly pleased with the effect her statement had had. “Naturally, I told him you would be delighted to join him tomorrow. He’ll be picking you up at three.”

  She had hoped to spend the following afternoon with her sisters, drilling them on deportment. After today, it was clear that they needed some lessons on proper behavior in public places. “I don’t…” Rose started.

  “You aren’t arguing with me,” Aunt Farmington said. “If you are serious in pursuing this gentleman, you will not turn down an invitation.”

  “No, ma’am,” Rose answered obediently. She shouldn’t, her aunt was right. And, besides, the invitation had already been accepted. She couldn’t turn it down now. She would just have to find some other time to tutor her sisters.

  Just to remind her as to her duty to her family—as if she could possibly forget— on her dressing table in her room, Rose found another bill from the modiste and a simple note reminding Lord Pemberton–Howe that payment was expected. Her father must have read it and left it there for her.

  It hurt that he felt she needed such reminding. She was doing the best she could, as quickly as she could.

  She would go to the museum with Lord Kirtland. She would be as sweet and charming as she possibly could. But in the end, it was up to him to propose. There was nothing she could do to speed that—except maybe kiss the man when he wanted to kiss her, her traitorous mind said. She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory.

  Lord Kirtland was her only hope and she would do what needed to be done—whatever needed to be done. And really, he wasn’t all that bad — it could be a lot worse! No, Lord Kirtland was young, good–looking and an archaeologist. She would most definitely respond favourably if he ever tried to kiss her again.

  ~~~~

  “How wonderful this is, my lord,” Rose said, trying hard to contain her enthusiasm. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed ancient Egyptian studies. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved archaeology! She’d been so focused on her family and settling into their new life here in London, she hadn’t even thought about her own interests for what seemed like the longest time.

  “I am so glad you think so, Miss Grace,” Lord Kirtland said as he slowly led Rose through the first room of exhibits at the British Museum.

  “I have been wanting to come to see the museum ever since we first arrived in London. Unfortunately, I just have not had the chance. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your thoughtful offer to bring me here today.”

  “It is entirely my pleasure.”

  “Oh, look!” Rose moved forward eagerly to see a mummy in its coffin.

  Lord Kirtland held back a little, but Rose gestured for him to join her at the mummy’s side.

  “Isn’t it fascinating? Just look at how well preserved he is. It just astounds me how the ancient Egyptians learned to embalm a body so that it could last for centuries.”

  “Indeed.”

  “My father worked closely with Belzoni in Egypt for a number of years, excavating a tomb. The Egyptians were extraordinarily thoughtful when putting together tombs for the dead. Everything a person might need in order to live comfortably in the afterlife was provided.”

  “Really? Er, yes, I have heard of such things, of course.”

  “They included mummified meat, as well as dried fruits, and numerous jars and bowls and even money. Absolutely everything that one needed in order to live.”

  “They found food with the bodies?” a young man standing next to Rose asked.

  “Oh yes. It was believed...”

  “Please, my lord, I cannot stand here looking at that thing. Oh, I am feeling decidedly unwell,” the young lady on the gentleman’s arm complained, while putting a limp hand to her forehead. Indeed, she was looking quite pale.

  The man was clearly surprised to see his companion looking this way, and immediately escorted her away to sit down on one of the numerous benches in the hall.

  Rose turned back to Lord Kirtland and noticed that he too was looking rather pale.

  “Perhaps we should move on,” she suggested.

  “Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea,” he said with obvious relief.

  He led the way toward a display of jewelry that had also been found in the tomb. “Now here is something quite fascinating. You ladies always like looking at jewelry, do you not?”

  Rose was, in fact, not so interested in the jewelry, but she gave him a little smile and tried to live up to his expectation.

  “My word, that must cost thousands of pounds, don’t you think, Miss Grace?” Lord Kirtland asked, examining the large gold necklet that had adorned the mummy.

  “I really couldn’t say.” Rose looked back at the young lady and gentleman, who were now sitting and holding hands on a bench on the other side of the room. The young lady seemed to be completely recovered and was giggling over something the gentleman was saying.

  She caught Rose’s eye and then began laughing in earnest, so much so that she had to cover her mouth with her hand.

  Rose could not imagine what she had found to be so amusing in a museum, but turned back to Lord Kirtland, who was now examining a wide gold armband.

  “Look at the craftsmanship on this piece, Miss Grace,” he said, completely absorbed in his study of the armband.

  “Yes, it is quite pretty. Shall we move on?” Rose wanted to see the coffin of the other mummy. “I have heard that the inscriptions on the other coffin are believed to have something to do with the god Osiris.”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I may have heard something to the effect,” Lord Kirtland said, slowly walking away from the jewelry. His steps slowed even more as they approached the second mummy and its coffin.

  Rose paused. Looking up into Lord Kirtland’s face, she noticed him beginning to pale once again. “If you would prefer, we could just look at the lid.” Rose pointed away from the mummy, toward where the lid to the coffin was placed apart for
inspection.

  “Yes, yes. A much better idea. I, er, wouldn’t want you to feel unwell like that other young lady.”

  “How very thoughtful of you, my lord,” Rose said wryly, while trying hard not to smile at Lord Kirtland’s obvious cover–up of his own discomfort.

  “I do so enjoy looking at the hieroglyphs and imagining what they might mean,” she said, looking over the coffin lid.

  “Yes, and look at all of the gold! Why, it is amazing,” Lord Kirtland said, taking a step back to admire the upper half of the lid, which was entirely covered with the precious metal.

  “She looks rather life–like, doesn’t she?” Rose said, looking at the face painted at the top.

  “Yes. Disturbingly so.” Lord Kirtland led Rose away, saying, “I don’t believe there was any jewelry associated with this mummy.”

  “No.” Rose was not nearly as disappointed in this as Lord Kirtland seemed to be.

  As they moved away from the pieces that interested Rose the most, she began to notice that many of the benches in the museum were occupied by young couples. And what amazed her even more was that they seemed to be completely oblivious to their magnificent surroundings.

  Although there were a few older couples and groups of gentlemen wandering around looking at the exhibits, the museum also seemed to be just another place where members of the beau monde went to see and be seen. Men and women wandered the rooms of the museum, looking more at the other patrons than at the magnificent artifacts surrounding them. There were even groups of people just standing around talking — and, from what she could overhear, and Rose was certain that it was not the museum or exhibits that was the main topic of discussion. This was even true in the room that held the famous Elgin marbles.

  Just seeing these fantastic sculptures outside of their natural habitat made Rose’s blood boil. But she held her tongue. She did not wish to engage in another debate over it with Lord Kirtland, who was clearly a strong proponent of the other side of this argument. But, now, considering that Rose had decided to marry the gentleman, she supposed she ought not to argue with him—even an argument of academic nature could be taken quite personally.

  Instead, she commented on all that she saw around her. “It just amazes me that so many people can come here and not even look at the exhibits,” she said quietly, so that only Lord Kirtland would hear her.

  “Well, it is a social outing to come to the museum,” he said. “And most young ladies do not have the same interest in these artifacts as you do.”

  “Yes, it is a shame, but I see you are quite correct.”

  “A shame, Miss Grace? Why do you think so?”

  “Why? Well, because most of the girls of the ton do not seem to have been taught how to think beyond fashion and flirtation, my lord. There is so much more to life than society.”

  Lord Kirtland stopped and smiled down at Rose. “This is what makes you so very unique, Miss Grace.”

  Rose felt her face heat. In that moment, she could imagine many happy years with Lord Kirtland, rummaging through the dirt and exciting finds of an archaeological expedition. What a happy life that would be!

  Nothing at all like the mindless meaninglessness of English society. Fungy, despite his kindness, was merely a reflection of that society. He was just as taken up by vagaries of fashion as the silly women who sat about all day gossiping over their tea.

  How happy Rose was to have found Lord Kirtland. He was a true intellectual—and even better, a wealthy one.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FUNGY resisted the urge to take out his handkerchief and press it to his nose. The combined smell of liquor, smoke, and nervous men was almost too much. But he had to be here. He really did not have any choice in the matter. He supposed that this is what it smelled like to work.

  This was the smell of responsibility.

  It wasn’t that Fungy had never been in a gambling hell before. It was simply that he had no love of gambling, outside of the occasional rubber of whist with his friends, much preferring the overly perfumed smell of a ballroom to this.

  But Lord Halsbury was expecting a preliminary report tomorrow morning on his investigation into this gambling scheme, and so far, Fungy had nothing to tell him.

  Hopefully something would turn up tonight, in this foul–smelling place.

  The problem was that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. There was nothing much one could discern from just watching others play. And yet, what else could he do?

  Fungy sighed, once again casting his keen eyes over the proceedings. Well, one thing was for certain, gentlemen who came to gaming hells did not take as much time over their toilettes as they should. He counted at least six horrendously tied neck cloths. And there were at least seven or eight gentlemen who had worn waistcoats that did not match either their coats or their pantaloons. There were even a few gentlemen in breeches!

  Fungy forced himself to stop looking at the men’s clothing and concentrate instead on the games they were playing. Who was losing to whom? There had to be some telltale sign that would point toward someone who was cheating.

  He moved slowly around the room of the gambling hell, where the sound of coins clinking together intermingled with the men’s voices.

  Pausing for a few minutes at one table to watch a card game, he caught the eye of a woman of evidently dubious morals. She rubbed herself suggestively against the back of the man sitting directly in front of her, but her eyes were on Fungy.

  He quickly broke his gaze and moved on, avoiding that table.

  Thinking back to the letter Lord Halsbury had shown him, he tried to remember some of the names listed there. Were any of those people here tonight?

  He caught sight of Jack Abbey, the Duke of Hawksmore’s cousin and heir. His name had been on the list. And sitting at another table not far away was George Cole, Lord Chester’s youngest son. His name had been there, too. There was no way that Fungy could watch both men. Randomly, he picked Abbey.

  Abbey was playing with Pip Haston, his cousin Hawksmore and Charles Bradmore. All three men were well known to Fungy, and he could not imagine any one of them leading a gambling ring. But then he remembered the initials at the bottom of the letter—P.H.

  Hawksmore? No, his given name was Dominic.

  Pip Haston?

  Fungy began to watch the game more intently, moving around to stand near enough to Haston so that he could see if he was doing anything unusual.

  Haston was a dandy of the first order. A true imitator of Fungy’s style, who then took it up one notch. There was something ingenuous about the young man, Fungy had always thought — but perhaps he was being hypocritical. Perhaps there was more there than met the eye.

  “I say, see Lady Margaret last night at the Peyton’s? Smashing gown she had on, what?” Haston said, as he placed a card on the table.

  Bradmore laughed. “Barely had on, don’t you mean? Her dresses are getting more daring by the week—soon there will be no top to them at all!”

  “Think she’s getting a little desperate?” Hawksmore laughed and played his card. For a duke, he was remarkably easygoing. He would be a stunning catch for a girl like Lady Margaret, or for any young lady—not bad to look at and a remarkably nice fellow.

  “I’d be interested if her father were a little less exacting in wanting a title,” Pip said in a good–natured way as he lost the trick.

  “Would you woo her, Jack?” Hawksmore asked, as he placed the first card down on the table for the next trick.

  “Who, me? With Lady Margaret? You must be kidding, coz. She’s sweet, but nothing in the attic.” Abbey played a trump. To be honest, he was actually just the sort Fungy would like to see with Lady Margaret. Such an upright, almost staid young man paired with her flamboyance would no doubt cause some interesting sparks.

  “Thought you liked that sort,” Bradmore said.

  Haston also put down a trump, but it was lower than Abbey’s. Fungy didn’t quite see the point of that. It was either all
he had, or he was deliberately trying to lose.

  “No, thank you. I think I shall leave her for some other lucky fellow. Not in the petticoat line just yet, anyway.” Abbey began to pick up the cards on the table one by one, having won the trick.

  “Oh, damn! Didn’t mean to put down that card,” Haston exclaimed as he watched Abbey pick up his card.

  The men laughed. No, there could be no possibility that Pip Haston was the man Fungy was looking for.

  “Fungy! What are you doing here?” Merry said, slapping him on the back and making Fungy jump. The men at the table all turned to look up at him.

  “Fungy, didn’t see you standing there. Been there long?” Haston asked.

  “Oh, er, no, not long. Do better to watch what you put down, Haston. Getting yourself distracted with your own chatter.”

  Fungy laughed as the other men at the table did as well.

  “That’s why we like to play with him,” Hawksmore said.

  Haston had the grace to blush, but hid it by taking a long sip from his brandy. “Not very good at this,” he said sheepishly, when he had put down his glass.

  “So what are you doing here?” Merry said to Fungy again. With some relief, Fungy noticed that his cousin’s handsome, friendly face had healed completely from their boxing match.

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in a gaming hell before,” Sin, who was standing just behind Merry, added.

  “Oh, just thought I’d stop in and watch a bit before heading off to Lady Roseberry’s ball.” Fungy shrugged. He then pulled out his watch and took a look at the time.

  It was nearly ten–thirty. Not too late to drop in on the ball. He was a little worried that whoever it was he was looking for wouldn’t be here for another few hours. Now that he’d committed himself, he had no choice but to abandon his search for the evening.

  “Don’t mean to scare you off,” Merry said.