A Dandy in Disguise

by Meredith Bond

  “Thalia!”

  “Thalia, you wouldn’t!” Rose protested.

  “Oh yes, I would. He’s coming today. He sent ‘round a note asking if you would be at home. I believe that Aunt Farmington answered it already, saying that you would be.”

  Rose gasped. Fungy was coming to pay her a visit? Why? She hoped it wouldn’t have anything to do with what had been left unsaid after their dance. “I will speak with him then, but I will not ask him how to bring Lord Kirtland up to scratch.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A KNOCK sounded on Rose’s door.

  She quickly finished tying her wrapper as her father came into the room. He didn’t look as if he had slept much the previous night, but there was an odd light in his eyes nonetheless.

  “Ah, you all here? Good.”

  “Good morning, Papa,” the three girls said in unison.

  He gave them a smile. “Good morning, my three graces.” He patted Rose on the cheek. “I have to go out of town for a few days, Rosebud. You will please look after your sisters?”

  “Where are you going?” Thalia asked.

  “I always look after them, Papa,” Rose said.

  “Eh? Oh, I’ve got to go to Pemberton. Ran into our old neighbor Squire Thompson last night at Whites. He told me an interesting bit of news.”

  He smiled distractedly. “Aunt Farmington will be here, of course. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Be good,” he added sternly to his two younger daughters.

  And then before they could ask any more questions, he left.

  The three girls just looked at each other.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen him so excited since we were in Greece,” Rose said finally.

  “Is that what that was, excitement?” Thalia asked.

  “He looked very tired to me,” Laia said.

  “He did look tired, but he always looks tired when he’s excited. He used to stay up all night examining his books and checking his facts before finally going down to the excavation and discovering something wonderful—at least that’s what he did in Greece.” Rose shrugged her shoulders.

  “But what could he find at Pemberton?” Thalia asked.

  “I have no idea. I supposed we’ll find out when he returns.”

  ~~~~

  St. John followed the butler into the Graces’ drawing room.

  It only took one look at Miss Grace for him to know that Georgiana had been right. She was not only beautiful and intelligent, but just being in her presence made him happy. It had been so long since he had felt this way about a woman, he hadn’t even recognized his love for her when it had been directly in front of him.

  He had spent most of the night thinking about what Georgiana had said, and he had figured it out. He knew now what he must do.

  Just as he had put St. John aside so many years ago, now he had to take him up again. He wanted—no, needed—to recapture that exuberance for life, that passion for learning, that drive for... well, everything that he’d had as a young man. He wanted to be himself once more.

  And it would all begin with Rose.

  “Mr. Fotheringay–Phipps, Miss Grace,” the butler intoned. “I shall inform Lady Farmington that you have a guest.”

  “If you don’t mind, Miss Grace, I would prefer it if we could have some privacy,” St. John said quickly.

  The butler looked to his mistress for direction. She looked a little surprised at this, but then nodded. “An excellent idea. Do not worry, Reynolds, we shall leave the door open, and my sisters are nearby if I need any assistance.”

  The butler gave St. John a warning look before bowing himself out of the room.

  St. John moved forward and handed Rose the bouquet of roses he had brought.

  “Although they’re not nearly as lovely as you, I could not resist the temptation,” he said.

  Rose flushed prettily. “Thank you.”

  Rose sat down in a chair by the empty fireplace, and indicated for him to take the opposite chair. “It is so nice that you could come to visit, Fungy.”

  “I would be honored if you would call me St. John, Miss Grace. It is my given name,” he said, sitting down.

  “Oh!” Rose gave a little, embarrassed laugh. “Isn’t it funny? I never thought of you having a Christian name since you’ve already got a nickname.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “St. John is my given name. An unfortunate name, but mine, nonetheless.”

  “It’s no more unfortunate than Euphrosyne, I assure you.”

  St. John laughed. “No, suppose not. But Rose is a beautiful name, and fits you very well. Would you mind if I called you by your given name?”

  “No. Not at all. I would be honored,” she said, flushing again.

  He wasn’t exactly sure where one started a marriage proposal. Was he supposed to get down on one knee right away and tell her of his undying love?

  No, that didn’t seem right. He should ease into it perhaps.

  “Last night, Rose, I enjoyed your company a great deal,” he began, awkwardly.

  “As did I enjoy yours.”

  “The waltz...”

  “Yes! It was very...” Rose trailed off.

  “Special,” St. John finished for her.

  “Indeed.”

  St. John felt as if his heart would burst with joy. She had felt it too. She had felt the magic, the love, that incredible moment they had had together. But how could she not? It was so strong, so tangible.

  Vestiges of the desire he had felt for her after their dance still played throughout his body. To hold her in his arms, feel her sweet lips against his, and, oh, so much more! The thought was making him distinctly uncomfortable.

  But she was saying something and he had missed the beginning of it.

  “...such a good friend, er, St. John. I know that I can trust you.”

  “Of course!” he said quickly, as she paused for breath.

  She smiled at him warmly. “Then, perhaps, since you are such a good friend, you wouldn’t mind giving me a little advice? I have a small... dilemma.”

  St. John returned her smile. “You know that you can ask anything of me.”

  “It is just...” she suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. Studying her hands in her lap, she said, “Last night… Lord Kirtland danced with me three times. I’m not certain, but I think that might mean something.”

  A tightness formed in St. John’s throat.

  “Three times, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  St. John cleared his throat and tried to breathe.

  “Well, er, how do you feel about him?” He hated asking the question, but he had to know.

  “I like him very much.” Rose seemed incapable of looking at him. This would have been a good sign if not for the words that continued to pour from her mouth. “And he’s wealthy, which is…” she paused, flushing a little. “…important for my family just now. He’s an archaeologist as well, did you know that?” Finally her eyes met his.

  “Er, yes, I think I might have heard something to the affect,” he managed, trying to keep his face blank.

  “I’m just not certain what I should do,” she finished, once again unable to meet his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  I‘M afraid you’re going to have to let me ruminate on it,” St. John said.

  After so many years of protecting himself, of avoiding all romantic situations, of making sure that no woman could ever come near to breaking his heart the way Georgiana had, he’d finally opened himself up.

  And this is what he got.

  St. John almost laughed at the irony. He almost cried, so acute was the pain.

  He stood up and turned toward the door. He had to go. He had to leave before he unmanned himself. Before his shattered heart cut through the shell of his façade.

  “Fungy? Are you all right?” Rose stood up as well. “I hope I haven’t said anything…”

  “What? No! No, of course not. I am sorry, Miss Grace, I just realized... there is an appo
intment I am late for.” He paused. “Regarding Lord Kirtland—I would advise patience. He is an intelligent man. I am certain that he is merely waiting for the right opportunity to... to make his intentions clear. Good day, Miss Grace.”

  Without looking back, he strode from the room as quickly as he could. There was nothing else he could do.

  ~~~~

  Rose just stood there watching him leave.

  Why had he done that?

  Rose sat down on the sofa. She had stolen a peek at him through her lashes and had caught the brief look of hurt on his face—for a moment she had thought it must have been her imagination.

  But it hadn’t been. She should never have said anything about dancing with Lord Kirtland! She had even told her sisters she could not do such a thing, and then it had just slipped out of her mouth before she even realized it. She had been entirely too comfortable with Fungy.

  Rose got up and began to pace back and forth, furiously kicking the hem of her dress in front of her as her stride lengthened.

  She had upset Fungy, terribly.

  How could she have done this? How could she have hurt the man she cared for so much? Who, clearly, cared for her much more than she for him, although in a very different way. It was so clear to her now.

  Fungy loved her.

  And she had just told him that she was interested in marrying someone else!

  Rose dropped back down onto the sofa once more.

  He must be in love with her. Why else would he have looked at her in that way at the ball last night while they danced? Why else had he been so sweet and kind to her at the card party, and at the park—not to mention all of the other times he had rescued her or her sisters from their own folly?

  And now, as thanks, she’d been unbearably cruel to him.

  Tears began trickling down Rose’s face, but she did nothing to stop them.

  How could she have done this!

  She felt the warmth of another hand grasp onto hers. Raising her eyes, she saw that Laia had sat next to her on the sofa. She was joined a moment later by Thalia.

  “What has happened?”

  “Rose, are you all right?” the two girls said in unison.

  Rose rested her head against Laia’s shoulder, but said nothing. Her throat was still too constricted with shame to be able to say anything just yet.

  Laia soothed her hair while Thalia took Rose’s other hand and held it comfortingly.

  “Was it Fungy?” Laia asked. “Was he mean to you? What did he say?”

  “Did you ask him about Lord Kirtland?”

  “Did he say it was hopeless?”

  Rose sniffed and sat up again wiping away the tears from her cheeks. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “He was not mean to me. It was I who was cruel beyond words to him.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  Rose told her sisters exactly what had occurred, from the moment Fungy had walked into the room, to the time when he’d left it so abruptly.

  They were silent for a few minutes after, digesting what she had told them.

  “So you think that he loves you?” Thalia finally asked, quietly.

  “Of course he does! Weren’t you listening?” Laia asked her little sister scornfully.

  “Please, Laia, do not be hurtful,” Rose said, laying a hand gently on Laia’s knee. “Yes, Thalia, I believe that he does—and that I have hurt him a great deal by telling him about Lord Kirtland’s interest in me and that I... Whatever must he think of me?”

  “But it wasn’t your fault,” Thalia objected.

  “You didn’t ask him outright how to bring Lord Kirtland up to scratch, you simply told him what anyone else at the ball would have seen if they’d been paying attention,” Laia added.

  Rose shook her head sadly. “But I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  The girls were silent once more, until Laia asked, “What are you going to do, Rose?”

  Rose hung her head. “I don’t know.”

  Her head had begun pounding as she’d told her tale to her sisters. Now, it was becoming increasingly unbearable.

  “I think I will lie down for a bit. I have the most awful migraine. Later, I’ll figure out what to do.” Rose got up slowly and walked to her room. For once, her sisters didn’t try to follow.

  ~~~~

  As the three sisters sat subdued at breakfast the following morning, Reynolds entered the dining room with a note for Rose.

  “What is it, Rose?” Aunt Farmington asked, as soon as she had broken open the seal.

  “Who is it from?” Thalia said, around a mouthful of egg.

  Rose wiped at the tears that began to slide down her cheeks as she read the note.

  Laia snatched it from her limp hand and read out loud.

  Dear Miss Grace,

  Thinking over your dilemma, I have come to the conclusion that what is needed is an Opportunity. Therefore, I will be hosting a small party at Kensington Gardens this coming Friday. No word of the purpose of the gathering will be told to anyone. It will simply be an afternoon of pleasure for a few close friends of mine.

  I do hope that this date is convenient for you.

  Sincerely,

  Your good friend,

  St. John Fotheringay–Phipps

  “What is the purpose of the party?” Aunt Farmington asked. “What dilemma do you have, my dear?”

  Rose wiped her eyes with her napkin. “How to get Lord Kirtland to propose to me,” she said quietly.

  Aunt Farmington’s eyes widened.

  After being brought up to date on what had happened, Aunt Farmington shook her head. “You told a gentleman that you were expecting a proposal from someone else?”

  “I didn’t tell him that, precisely. And I didn’t realize at the time that Fungy was in love with me!” Rose protested.

  “I am extremely disappointed in you, Rose. The nerve... how could you?” She paused in her horror to pick up Fungy’s note and reread it. “Well, you have no choice but to attend this little gathering of Fungy’s, since he is holding it for you.”

  “Yes. I shall reply to him immediately.”

  “And you shall thank him most sincerely!” Aunt Farmington said sternly.

  “Yes, ma’am. No need to remind me of that.”

  “I have never heard of such cheek! And to get away with it, by all that is...”

  “Please, Aunt Farmington, please don’t make this any worse,” Rose pleaded.

  “I assure you Rose knows that what she did was wrong, ma’am, she has been berating herself for it since yesterday,” Laia added, trying to be helpful.

  Aunt Farmington just frowned at all three girls.

  ~~~~

  “St. John, this was a wonderful idea,” Georgiana said, taking a sip of her wine. She was looking, if possible, even more lovely than she had at the ball. Her rich rust–colored walking dress brought out the warmth in her eyes. She was wearing a very fetching bonnet to match. She looked completely relaxed on the blanket that had been laid on the soft grass for her and the other ladies. St. John had found the perfect spot for their picnic.

  Kew Gardens was lovely at this time of year. The grass was lush, the trees provided shade and there were paths through the gardens and even a few spots where a tête—à—tête could be had.

  “Oh, indeed, Fungy. My goodness, I can’t believe how long it’s been since we were all together like this,” Teresa, Merry’s wife, said. She was sitting near Georgiana, and held a parasol so as to protect her fair skin from the harmful rays of the sun.

  St. John stood up. “Well, then, a toast. To old friends,” he raised his glass toward Georgiana, as well as to Merry, Sin, Julian and their wives, “and to new.” He raised his glass toward Rose and Lord Kirtland.

  “Hear, hear!”

  “To friends!”

  “Well, I, for one, think that Fungy invited us all here just so that we could admire his new way of tying his neckcloth!” Cassandra, Lady Huntley, said with a touch of laughter i
n her voice.

  “Yes, Fungy, what do you call that style?” Julian asked, absently tugging at one his wife’s blond curls which had escaped from the knot on top of her head. They made a striking pair, her fair English loveliness a perfect contrast to his dark–skinned good looks.

  St. John gave a little bow, pleased that his friends had noticed this exceptional new way of tying his neckcloth that he had created just that morning. “Call it the Friendship knot—in honor of the occasion, of course.”

  “It looks unusually simple. Did it take you hours to achieve?” Sin’s wife, Sara, asked, leaning forward her diminutive frame so that she could get a better look.

  “But, of course,” St. John answered, with mock surprise.

  “What a question! Fungy always takes hours over his neckcloth,” Merry said, laughing.

  “Au contraire, my esteemed cousin,” St. John began.

  “No, I was quite impressed. It only took him twenty minutes that last time I was present at the event,” Julian interrupted.

  “Only twenty minutes?” Sin asked, disbelievingly, but with a laugh in his voice.

  “Why don’t you spend so much time on your neckcloth, Sin? Maybe then you could look bang up to the mark like Fungy,” his wife laughed.

  “What a waste of time,” Lord Kirtland said quietly.

  “Ah, but not if you care to make a good impression on the ladies, Lord Kirtland,” Georgiana said, turning around to look at him. “I’m just surprised that my dear old friend St. John, who could barely be bothered to button his waistcoat when I last saw him, would now spend the time necessary to make such an impression.”

  “Always dressed properly!” St. John protested.

  “Perhaps, but only just barely so,” she grudgingly admitted to the guffaws of St. John’s friends.

  “I can’t imagine Fungy not dressed to perfection,” Rose said.

  “No, nor can I,” Sara agreed.

  “He’s always been impeccably attired since I’ve known him,” Teresa added.

  “You ladies didn’t know me in my salad days, that’s all,” St. John said.

  “I remember those days,” Merry said.

  “I prefer to forget them,” Sin retorted, to much laughter.