Julian’s eyes had been drawn to Cassandra the minute he had walked into his aunt’s drawing room. He’d to work hard not to pull her from the knot of men who surrounded her.
Cassandra, his Cassandra, was laughing and flirting with other men!
It took some effort, but he calmed himself.
He supposed he shouldn’t be at all surprised that she was surrounded by gentlemen. She had been so in Calcutta as well. But, he supposed he’d been hoping she’d been pining for him, as he had been for her.
But clearly, she’d not missed him at all.
A spark of hope burned in him for a moment. Perhaps she had missed him. Perhaps this was just her way of dealing with her heartbreak.
But another look at the gentlemen surrounding her quickly disabused him of this thought. They were all smartly dressed, and clearly very amusing as they had her laughing and flirting.
He’d never felt more like a country bumpkin–so out of place and out of style.
He’d thought it would be easy to find Cassandra and win her heart back, but now…
What, then, was the way back into her heart? Looking at Fungy’s resplendence, he suddenly knew.
He had to become a gentleman of fashion in order to win her attention. If he wanted to be favored in her company, then he had to become more like his peers of the beau monde—more like her new beaus.
Once he had her attention, then, hopefully, her love would come along.
Julian looked around the comfortable private sitting room where he was eating his dinner. He had waited patiently for the past two days for his Cousin Bradmore to contact him as he had promised, but so far there was no word from him.
Julian shrugged. He should have gone with his first instinct, that Bradmore had just said he would help out to be polite. He obviously had no intention of actually helping Julian.
But there was no reason to just sit around and wait for help to come to him. No, if he truly wanted to win Cassandra back, then he had to go out and solicit the help and guidance he needed.
If Bradmore wasn’t going to provide any help, he knew who would.
It was less than an hour later that Julian was knocking on Fungy’s door. It was opened by a rather diminutive, but very serious looking man.
“Is Mr. Fotheringay-Phipps in?” Julian asked.
“And you are?” the man asked, looking down his nose at him, as much as that was possible when Julian stood nearly a foot taller than the officious looking butler.
“Lord Huntley,” Julian said, with much more ease than he had just two days ago. He was definitely getting used to his new title.
The man bowed him into a small hallway and then walked a few steps to the drawing room, where he indicated Julian should wait.
Fungy’s drawing room was very comfortable, although it could have used an airing out. It was stuffy and smelled a little like a combination of tobacco and soot from the fire. But for a bachelor gentleman’s quarters, Julian supposed it was understandable.
He sat down in an overstuffed chair and then laughed as he noticed that the newspapers, which were strewn all over the small table next to him, were all opened to the pages devoted to gossip and society on-dits.
He had just started to read that day’s paper when the butler returned and requested that Julian follow him to “the master’s chamber”. Julian was rather surprised at the intimacy of this, but did as he was requested.
Fungy was standing in his bedchamber in his shirt-sleeves and a pair of buff-colored pantaloons, contemplating an array of waistcoats and coats which were laid out on his bed. He picked up a bright yellow waistcoat with blue flowers embroidered on it and put it next to a coat of pale yellow.
After contemplating that for a moment, he moved it next to a coat of deep green. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood silently staring at the combination.
Suddenly he turned around, as if he had just remembered Julian’s existence. “What do you think, old man, yellow or green? Yellow or green? Can’t make up my mind.”
Julian walked over, looked at the waistcoat, and said, “What about blue?”
Fungy looked horrified. “Can’t do that! Wore that last week. No, it has to be either yellow or green.”
“Oh, well, then, I’d say the green,” Julian offered.
Fungy nodded sagely. “Yes, yellow it is.”
Julian was confused for a moment, but then just laughed as Fungy put on the waistcoat and then went to contemplate the neck cloths his man was holding out for him.
“Tricky business this, getting dressed,” Fungy said seriously.
Julian began to laugh and then realized that his friend was not joking. He quickly turned his laugh into a cough. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Clearly, you are not so troubled by this as I am,” Fungy said, critically eyeing Julian’s clothes.
“Er, well, no. That is, actually, one thing I wished to speak to you about, if I may?” Julian started hesitantly.
A broad smile slowly spread across Fungy’s face, and he paused as he was about to start the tricky business of tying his neck cloth. “Wondered when you’d come to me. Knew it would be sooner rather than later. Made an appointment for you with m’tailor for tomorrow at two.”
“You did?” Julian was shocked. How had Fungy known that he would come to him for help about entering the world of fashion? And new clothes would certainly be the first step towards acceptance.
He was about to voice his question when Fungy’s valet gave Julian a very stern look.
“Mr. Fotheringay-Phipps should not be disturbed or spoken to when he is tying,” he whispered officiously.
Julian snapped his mouth closed and watched the complicated procedure silently. Twenty minutes and five neck cloths later, the job was done to Fungy’s satisfaction. Julian was impressed.
“What was the other thing you wished to see me about?” Fungy asked, allowing his valet to help him on with his coat.
Julian was caught off guard for a moment, but then remembered himself. “Well, I was just wondering how one got invited to society parties. How I could get to know people… you understand?
He paused awkwardly. “My cousin offered to take me about and introduce me, but so far has not called to follow through with his offer.”
Fungy scowled. “Not surprised. Bradmore’s a nice chap at times, but only when it is convenient for him.” He then patted Julian on the back and led him back toward the drawing room.
“Not a problem. Be happy to introduce you. Got to have you rigged out first, though,” he said, looking sadly once more at Julian’s clothes.
A loud laugh greeted them as they entered the room. “You still going on about poor Huntley’s clothes, Fungy?” Lord Merrick was sitting in one of the chairs with a drink in his hand, looking like he had been there a while.
“Well, Merry, you’ve got to admit…”
“Yes, they are sadly out of style. But honestly, Huntley, it is nothing that can’t be easily fixed. Don’t be put out by Fungy’s nitpicking,” Lord Merrick said.
Julian was taken aback by Lord Merrick’s forthright speech as well as his ease of manner. They had very briefly met at Lady Bradmore’s, and already he was speaking to him as if they were the best of friends. Julian gave him a hesitant smile.
“Going to put him up at White’s. Second it?” Fungy asked Lord Merrick.
“Happy to!” he said, getting up and pouring a brandy from the decanter on a small side table.
Julian wondered if Lord Merrick always made himself so at home wherever he went. Fungy did not seem to have a problem with it. He was standing in front of the glass above the fireplace, looking questioningly at himself. He delicately ran his hand through the dark blond waves of his hair, carefully arranging it to his satisfaction.
“That is very good of you, my lord,” Julian said, turning his attention back to Lord Merrick.
“No problem, and please, no ‘my lords’ here. I am Merry to my friends,” he said, handing Julian the glas
s half filled with brandy.
Julian took a small sip, allowing the burning liquid to coat his tongue and the back of his throat.
“Only the best,” Fungy said, watching him with a small smile playing on his lips.
Julian immediately was embarrassed at being caught savoring the brandy. “Oh, of course. It is just that we don’t get much brandy in Calcutta. I believe I am developing quite a taste for it.”
Fungy chuckled. “Excellent! Anything I can do to help you get acclimated.”
Merry joined in his laughter, “Fungy, you are too good!”
“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Fungy replied, taking the compliment as his due. “And you don’t know the half of it. Going to take him to my tailor tomorrow.”
Merry raised his eyebrows. “You are good! I’ll have you know, Huntley, that many a man would die to receive a word of fashion advice from Fungy.”
“Really? Well, I readily believe that. Fungy is certainly the best-dressed gentleman I have seen so far. Er, no offense, my lord, er, Merry,” Julian quickly remedied.
“No offense taken. It is perfectly true. We rather pride ourselves on Fungy’s prowess in the dressing room!” Merry said and then burst out laughing again.
Julian could not hold back his own laughter at this, and even Fungy was amused, laughing with Merry and giving him a small bow in acceptance of his accolades.
Julian was amazed at the easy relationship between the men. They seemed to fit into each other’s pocket without a thought or a hesitation.
Their easy-going manners and open offer of friendship was beyond what Julian could have possibly expected. He felt honored to have been taken up by them.
Merry gave Julian a rather embarrassed look. “You must excuse us, Huntley. We have a previously arranged dinner engagement.”
“We’d ask you to join us, naturally–but not our party. You understand,” Fungy finished for Merry.
“Oh, yes, it’s not a problem. I didn’t mean to make you late,” Julian said, putting down his glass.
“Not at all!” Fungy said, on his way out the door. He then turned back. “Pick you up a little before two tomorrow?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Julian said, truly looking forward to this special treat.
“Still at that hotel?”
“Gronow’s, yes.”
Fungy nodded with his eyebrows pulled down. “Must do something about that too.”
And then he was out the door, with Merry following.
Within two weeks, Fungy had worked miracles.
To Julian’s chagrin, he had five new waistcoats and five more on order, three new coats and another four ordered, as well as breeches for evening wear, pantaloons for day wear, and neck cloths galore. He was awaiting his white-topped Hessians and his first pair of dancing slippers. Fungy had assured him he would need at least five pairs of these, as they wore out so quickly and, naturally, he would be dancing quite a bit once he had begun to receive invitations.
Oddly enough, all this reminded Julian of his youth in India. How hard he’d tried to fit in with the English there! He’d dressed in the height of Calcutta fashion, engaged in all the English sports, and done everything he could to be as English as anyone.
But, in the end, it hadn’t been worth the effort. There had been no change in people’s attitude toward him, no matter what he wore or how he behaved.
But it absolutely had to work this time. At stake was not just respect from London society, but the heart of the woman he loved.
In addition to his new wardrobe, Julian now had rooms in the Albany, which he was assured was The Most Exclusive place for a bachelor to lodge. On Merry’s advice, he hadn’t requested that his father’s town house to be vacated by the current tenants, since only the stodgiest bachelors, or those out to catch a wife and set up their nurseries, lived in theirs.
Finally, his name had been put up for membership at two esteemed gentlemen’s clubs, White’s and Boodle’s. He had joined Merry and Fungy for dinner at both of these clubs so that the other gentlemen would have an opportunity to meet him. And he had an idea that both Fungy and Merry were waging an all-out campaign for ensuring his approval.
He, himself, was working toward the same end, and had hosted a number of gentlemen, including Fungy and Merry, for dinner at his hotel just before moving to his new rooms. It had been a late night, but a successful one.
Julian took the air each afternoon in Hyde Park and managed to meet a number of ladies and gentlemen while walking or riding with Fungy or Merry, or, as was usually the case, both.
But so far, although he had been casually invited to a few dinner parties, no formal invitations had yet arrived for him. Neither Merry nor Fungy would comment on this when asked.
Chapter Eighteen
Cassandra aimed her arrow at the target at the far end of the field. Mr. Corstairs stood just behind her, steadying her arm with his hand.
He had just removed his hand when she heard someone call out behind her, “Felbridge! Finally back from rusticating, I see.”
Her eyes hazed over with anger and she loosed the arrow.
“Well done, Miss Renwick! A bull’s-eye. Amazing!” Mr. Corstairs took a step back and scratched his head.
“Very well done.” Lord Merrick stood just next to Mr. Corstairs, and had been giving Cassandra pointers as well.
Cassandra turned around to see Lord Felbridge looking with narrowed eyes at her arrow sitting dead center in the target.
“Well done, Miss Renwick. I didn’t know you were an archer,” he drawled as soon as he noticed that she was looking at him.
“Mr. Corstairs and Lord Merrick have been kind enough to teach me just today.” She had to fight herself to keep from reaching for another arrow to put straight through his black heart.
Instead, if her plan was going to work, she had to force herself to be calm, even enticing.
Lord Felbridge nodded to Mr. Corstairs and Lord Merrick, who were both looking very pleased with their pupil.
She smiled warmly at Mr. Corstairs. “Shall I try again?”
“By all means, Miss Renwick. You seem to be taking to this very quickly.”
“Yes, but I could not do it without your steadying hand, sir, if you don’t mind,” she said, flirting with him outrageously with her eyes. She then turned her back to him and let fly her arrow.
Lord Felbridge stayed to watch. When, once again, she hit the target straight in the center, he applauded with the other gentlemen.
Two other gentlemen joined them as she shot her third and fourth arrows. But after that she put down her bow. “I am sorry, gentlemen, I find I am in need of some refreshment. Archery can be a tiring sport.”
Immediately, Mr. Corstairs and the Duke of Hawksmore stepped forward, declaring that they would be honored to obtain some lemonade for her.
“You are both too kind, but perhaps Lord Felbridge could do me the honor,” she said, cocking her head at him and giving him her sweetest smile.
Lord Felbridge bowed and went off in search of her drink.
She suppressed her giggles at the thought that she now had Felbridge at her command.
Revenge could be so sweet.
She put her arm through Mr. Corstairs and Lord Hawksmore’s arms. She still had to ensure that there were no hard feelings on the part of the other gentlemen. If she was going to make both Lord Felbridge and Julian sorry they ever toyed with her heart, she needed all the admirers she could get.
They began to slowly walk away from the field through the archery club’s garden and toward the guest house.
As they walked, Cassandra was sharply reminded of the gardens in Calcutta. It was incredible that the flowers growing here were similar to the ones in India and yet so different. Somehow their colors were not as vibrant–and certainly they did not have the same intense smell. It was the one thing that Cassandra truly missed, the smell of the Indian flowers.
“Have you heard about this new man, Huntley, being put up for members
hip at White’s?” Mr. Corstairs asked Lord Hawksmore.
Cassandra looked up. “You met him at my cousin’s a few weeks ago, did you not?”
“Ah! That’s where I met him!” Mr. Corstairs said, shaking his head. “Knew I’d met him somewhere, but couldn’t remember where. Thank you, Miss Renwick.” He gave her a warm smile.
Cassandra nodded, and then asked, “So is he going to be allowed to join the club?”
She hoped that she didn’t sounded too anxious or concerned. In fact, she sternly told herself, she was not concerned in the least.
“Don’t know. We’ll have a vote in another week or so. Couple of other fellows have been put up as well.”
“I’m certainly not going vote for him. He is an Indian native! He has no business being here and certainly none seeking entrance into a gentlemen’s club,” Lord Hawksmore said.
“I completely agree,” Lord Felbridge said, coming up to them and handing Cassandra her lemonade.
“Do you even know anything about him?” Cassandra asked, resisting the urge to toss her lemonade into Lord Felbridge’s face.
He raised his eyebrows at her. “I have spoken to a few friends and they all agree that he is a mushroom, trying to get in where he doesn’t belong. Apparently, he did the same thing in Calcutta.”
He paused and then narrowed his eyes at Cassandra. “Did you know him there?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, I did, and he was very well-received by English society,” she lied.
“Really? That’s not what I heard,” he countered.
“Well, your information must be wrong. Even my mother, who is a leader of Calcutta society, invited Lord Huntley to her parties. And now I hear he has inherited quite a fortune along with his father’s title, so a mushroom he most certainly is not.”
Mr. Corstairs and Lord Hawksmore were impressed. “Well, if that’s the case, then there certainly couldn’t be anything wrong with him joining White’s,” Lord Hawksmore said.
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