A Dandy in Disguise

Three

ThreeUpstairs in the drawing room, Rose’s sisters were eagerly awaiting her verdict.

Laia was sitting with the stitching Great-aunt Farmington had forced on her, bright red head bowed over the frame. Thalia paced back and forth in front of the empty fireplace, long legs stretching out in front of her in the most unladylike way.

It was lucky that it was a warm spring and they had no need for fires, Rose thought. Considering their finances, they would probably not be able to afford the coal even if it were necessary.

Or their new clothes, she added to herself, admiring Laia’s white-and-blue striped muslin dress and blue kid slippers, just the thing for a girl who would only be making her curtsey to society in another two years. Thalia’s pale green dress, which came down only to just above her ankles, and brown kid half-boots were also exactly right for an active girl of fifteen. Both their dresses and shoes were new, and, along with her own new wardrobe, would be paid for dearly—as soon as Rose found a husband who wouldn’t mind paying their bills.

“Well?” Thalia asked as soon as she noticed Rose standing in the doorway.

Laia set aside her work. “What did he say? Are you going to be punished?” she asked as if it were a treat.

Rose came in and sat down on the sofa opposite Laia. “No. But I have to marry. Soon.” She hesitated only long enough to tuck a stray brown curl back into the knot at the top of her head, and then related the news of their financial situation to her sisters. Just as her mother had, she kept nothing from them.

“You poor thing!” Laia exclaimed, sitting back against the sofa.

“Oh, but this will be fun!” Thalia said, standing still for the first time since Rose had come into the room. Her bright green eyes, just like her mother’s and both of her sisters’, sparkled with mischief.

Rose and Laia both turned to look incredulously at her.

“What do you mean, fun?” Rose asked.

“I mean fun.” She scrunched up her forehead, adolescent brain clearly working hard. “We can look through all the gentlemen of the ton and pick one out for you. We’ll have to find out who is rich, of course, and discount any who are not. And then we’ll discard all the old ones, the ugly ones, and those who are not sportsmen—you can’t marry a man who doesn’t love sport, you know.” Thalia paused for a breath.

“Thalia, you make this sound…” Rose began, but Laia, who was closer in age to Thalia, had caught on to her younger sister’s excitement.

“Of course! What an excellent scheme! We’ll go to Hyde Park this afternoon and begin our search. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m certain you met quite a few gentlemen already last night, Rose.”

“Well…”

“Oh come now, don’t say that you don’t remember their names!” Laia said, before thoughtfully poking her needle through her sampler. “I wonder how we will figure out who is wealthy enough?”

“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 English 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.