“Yes, Aunt Farmington,” Rose answered. Her aunt nodded curtly and left them alone once more on the balcony.
She then gave an embarrassed laugh. “She is turning into an excellent chaperone. She wasn’t quite up to it when we first arrived, but now she is becoming quite the dragon.”
Fungy gave a laugh. “I believe she sees more than you may realize. Older ladies have quite a talent for that.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment. Somehow, the moment had passed, and Rose did not know how to bring it back.
“Well, goodnight,” Fungy said at the same time as she said, “I should be going.”
They both gave an embarrassed laugh, and Rose turned and walked away.
~~~~
Fungy watched her go with a greater feeling of loss than he had ever experienced after saying goodnight to a young lady. He could not imagine what was getting into him.
First, he had been so amazingly inept at saying anything while they had danced, and then had not even been able to alleviate the awkward silence that had continued afterward.
But was it awkward? It had not seemed so during the dance. It had seemed right. Everything about that dance had seemed right.
It hadn’t been, though, not in the least. Fungy shook his head. It had felt so right, but even that was wrong.
It shouldn’t have felt so good. It shouldn’t have happened at all. He was in love with Georgiana. She had held his heart for over fifteen years; how could he just throw that away now?
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t! No matter what. He would pay Miss Grace a visit the very next day and apologize to her. Yes. That’s what he needed to do. Apologize and promise that nothing like that would ever, ever…
Oh, but he wished it would. She’d felt so good, so right…
No!
Fungy gave himself a shake, took a few deep cooling breaths of the heavily scented air, and pointed himself in the direction of the ballroom. There were many more proper young ladies there, with whom he should dance.
But none of them would be Rose.
Chapter Seventeen
FUNGY stopped for a moment at the edge of the ballroom. He looked around at all of the hopeful young ladies who lined the walls, each standing next to their equally hopeful mamas.
They all looked so... uninteresting.
It would take a great deal of willpower to ask any one of them to dance tonight. After the waltz he had shared with Miss Grace, any other young woman would seem insipid.
“A true gentleman would not just stand by without asking a lady to dance, St. John,” a soft, familiar voice said just behind him.
Fungy felt his heart stop. He turned around and fifteen years of his life slipped away.
Georgiana stood just behind him.
She looked, if possible, even more beautiful than Fungy remembered. Her thick chestnut hair gleamed with luster in the candlelight, just a few tendrils allowed to surround her lovely face. Brown smiling eyes laughed at him, as did her full pink lips.
He took a step closer, feeling as if he was lost in a dream. Her familiar scent, a musky rose, wafted over him like a warm summer day.
“Well? Will you not ask me to dance? Do I need to be so bold as to ask you?” she said, still laughing at him.
Fungy pulled himself together and made her a grand leg. “I would be grateful if you would honor me with this dance, my lady.”
Her low chuckle washed over him as she held out her hand for him to take.
Gracefully, he swept her into his arms, thrilled that the orchestra was playing another waltz. Even after all these years, she felt as familiar to him as any woman could.
And yet there was something missing as he held her.
He studied her face as she smiled up at him. There was perhaps a wrinkle or two that had not been there the last time he’d seen her, but other than that she was exactly the same.
So what had changed?
As he gently turned her about the room, he realized that it wasn’t her, it was him. There was no tingle, no spark, no automatic tightening of his loins that he’d always felt whenever he’d seen her or held her. It just wasn’t there. There was no sexual appeal, no feeling of anticipation, no thrill.
But how could this be? He couldn’t be still thinking about Rose.
But that must be it. Yet how could he be thinking of her when he had Georgiana, his Georgiana, back in his arms? It used to be that he couldn’t think of another woman when he was with her. In fact, for so many years he’d not been able to think of any other woman at all. And yet, here he was, with no romantic feelings for her whatsoever—this woman who had been his entire life and love.
Fungy’s instinctive manners rescued him from revealing his sudden shocking discovery. He smiled down at her expectant face.
“Haven’t changed, Georgiana. Not a bit.”
“Tsk,” she waved aside his compliment. “But you have, St. John.” She moved back a bit in his arms and looked him over. “You are complete to a shade.”
Fungy bowed his head. “Thank you.”
“And from what I hear, you are quite the buck. Dictating fashions, setting all the girls atwitter with your attention, even getting the nod from the matrons. Quite well respected among the gentleman, too.”
“Please, making me blush,” Fungy said. He was a little embarrassed, but secretly thrilled she’d noticed. He felt like a student who had just received top marks in the class and had his work displayed for everyone to see—but the feeling was as platonic as that, as well.
“I’ve simply made myself into the man you wanted, Georgiana,” Fungy said quietly, after a moment to regain control of his pride.
Georgiana’s eyes opened wide at this. “The man I wanted?”
“Told me so the last day we were together. Said that you were marrying Mirthwood because I was not fashionable enough for you, not a member of the haute ton. ”
Georgiana thought about this, clearly dredging up the old memory. “I did, didn’t I?”
“So, you see before you the man you wanted me to be.”
She smiled at him, but the look in her eye was sad, as if she had lost something dear to her.
“How is Mirthwood?” Fungy asked, wondering what she was doing here. Why wasn’t she still in America with her husband? the dialogue tag needing a second half.
Georgiana glanced up at that. “Have you not heard?” At his questioning look, she continued, “He died last year. The doctors believe it was cancer, but they couldn’t be sure.”
“I am terribly sorry.”
Georgiana gave a gentle nod, then shrugged, a little half–smile on her lips. “So here I am. Back in London, returned to the bosom of society. Once again I’m a widow, wondering if I want to test fate and marry a third time.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE words were at the tip of his tongue: Why don’t you marry me, Georgiana? But they wouldn’t come out.
At one time, he would have said it in a trice. He would have said it without having to think about it even for a moment. But now he just could not make himself say the words, could not make himself feel the love and the passion for her he had once felt.
The dance ended. Georgiana took Fungy’s arm, and he led her out onto the balcony where he had just been with Miss Grace.
Georgiana leaned out looking into the garden below. “So, who is this young woman to whom you have given your heart?”
Fungy felt a rush of sheer shock run through him. But he made himself turn casually to look at her, leaning one hip against the balustrade. “Don’t know what you mean.”
She gave him a sly little smile. “Oh, come now, St. John. You need not be coy with me. I can tell. What is her name?”
“If you mean Miss Grace, I assure you—”
“Oh, please, St. John. If you begin to lie to me and take on these airs, I will simply wash my hands of you,” she said, standing up and moving away from him.
Fungy turned toward the garden and leaned his hands on the
railing. “Don’t know that you could exactly call it love...”
“From the look I saw the two of you share while you danced, I would say it was.” She tapped his arm. “I know. I used to receive those looks too.”
Fungy snapped his head back to look at her, but she didn’t look sad or upset. In fact, she looked happy—happy for him.
But was she right? Was he, in fact, in love with Miss Grace? Was that what those feelings had been? But he couldn’t be. He was in love with Georgiana—or at least, he had been.
She nodded and rested her hand gently on his sleeve. “It is all right, St. John. I believe it has been long enough, if not too long.” She took a step away from him. “I must say, I was truly surprised to hear that you hadn’t married. But perhaps you were just waiting for the right young lady? And now, I take it, you believe this Miss Grace is the one worthy enough?”
Fungy gave a little laugh. “She is more than worthy. I wonder if I am worthy enough for her. But as for love...”
“St. John! Do not tell me you weren’t aware of your feelings?”
Fungy stood silently, looking at Georgiana. She had always been so perceptive, such an excellent judge of character, and of his in particular. He supposed that if she thought that he was in love with Miss Grace, it must be so. And, in fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that she might just be right.
Those feelings... losing himself with her as they had danced... He thought about it for a moment and then decided, that, yes, he did love Miss Grace. He’d tried to tell himself otherwise, tried to remind himself that he was in love with Georgiana. But now that his first love was here at hand, he realized with a deep sadness—somewhere, sometime, he’d fallen out of love with Georgiana.
“Tell me more about her,” Georgiana demanded.
Fungy shrugged. “She is... sweet and innocent, and extremely intelligent. She is the daughter of Lord Pemberton–Howe, the archaeologist.”
Georgiana burst out laughing. “An archaeologist! Why that is perfect for you, St. John. Couldn’t be any better. Perhaps she will understand your funny classical quotes.”
Fungy laughed. “Yes, I believe she would. Not only that, but she would know who said them and would have read them herself, in the original Greek.”
“Oh, St. John. I am so happy for you. And I’m certain that with a girl like that you don’t need all this.” She indicated his clothes. “I’m sure that she loves you just as you are.”
Fungy lost his smile. “I don’t know that she loves me at all. I’ve never shown her who I truly am. To her, I am merely Fungy and a dandy.”
“But surely you’ve quoted your sayings to her? She knows that you enjoy all of those classical books you are forever reading?”
Fungy shook his head. “No, Georgiana. I stopped reading them for a while. In fact, it was meeting Miss Grace that inspired me to pick them up again.”
He paused and then added quietly, “I think even my closest friends have forgotten who I truly am.”
Georgiana placed her hand on his arm. “I am sorry. But you should not let this stop you from pursuing this young lady. Show her who you are. Let her meet St. John—the real you. You know she will love you for it. Unlike silly women like me, she will appreciate not only your physical beauty, but the beauty of your mind as well.”
“I...”
“You know that you love her, and I know that she sounds absolutely perfect for you. What are you waiting for?”
“For you,” he whispered, his voice not quite working. “I was waiting for you, Georgiana. Whether you meant to or not, you did take my heart with you when you left.”
She gave him a little smile, her eyes beginning to shine with tears. “Then let me give it back to you, St. John so that you may give it to Miss Grace.”
He nodded, and then took his old love in his arms, feeling her supple curves against his body, knowing that he felt nothing for her.
No, that wasn’t true—he felt for her the greatest respect, and friendship. But his heart was his own, again, and free to give to another.
~~~~
As she slowly came awake, Rose could feel the presence of others on her bed. She could feel their excitement, their anticipation — their bouncing.
She cracked one eye open, saw Thalia’s face within inches of her own, and immediately squeezed her eye shut again.
“I saw that!” Thalia said.
Rose turned over, and came face to face with Laia, who was resting her elbow on Rose’s pillow, watching her. She was surrounded.
She turned onto her stomach and buried her head in her pillow.
“You can’t hide from us, Rose. Time for your report,” Thalia sang into her ear.
Rose lifted her pillow to hide her head under, but it was snatched from her hands before she could do so.
“Oh no, you don’t. We want to know about the ball last night.”
“C’mon Rose, tell us. Did you dance with Fungy?”
“Did you dance with Lord Kirtland?”
“Were you the most fashionably dressed girl there?”
“Does Lord Kirtland play any sport, did you find out?”
“Were there any other interesting gentlemen, perhaps a little younger, who might be interested in a girl not quite out yet?”
Rose groaned and threw her arm over her face. “Why can’t you two at least wait until I’ve woken up before barraging me with questions?”
“That wouldn’t be any fun,” Thalia objected.
“And we want to know now,” Laia added. “If we let you wake up, you might forget to tell us later. And, besides, Aunt Farmington will be in the drawing room later, so you won’t be able to give us any of the fun details, like how many times you danced with Fungy.” She sat up and crossed her legs in front of her, placing Rose’s pillow across her lap.
Rose snatched her pillow back. Putting it behind her, she sat up and leaned back against it.
“Well, did you dance with Lord Kirtland?” Laia asked once again, with great expectation on her face.
Rose smiled at her sister, unable to hide her pleasure. “I did. We danced three times.”
“Three times? Is that a lot?” Thalia asked.
“Yes, it is. It means he’s serious about wanting to marry me. Only people who are engaged or married dance together so many times.”
“Are you engaged to him?” Thalia asked.
“No. But I think I might be soon. He needs only to ask.”
“But what about Fungy?” Laia asked.
“When do you think he will ask you?” Thalia asked at the same time.
“I don’t know when he’ll ask,” Rose answered her youngest sister. “And Fungy is just a friend, Laia, I’ve explained that to you already.”
Deliberately, she turned her mind away from her memories of the dance they had shared together. That dance had no place in her current plans.
“But I thought you liked him.”
“I do like him. I like him very much.” Rose slipped past her sisters and got out of bed.
“So you should marry Fungy! Why don’t you marry him?” Laia said, snatching the pillow back again and holding it close to her.
Rose picked up her wrapper and put it on, briefly allowing herself to think about Fungy. He’d made her feel good last night. Very good. She had never felt more comfortable and happy with anyone. She could still feel the sensations from the magic they’d shared during their dance.
Magic. Yes, that was it. A few moments’ enchantment.
But it was Lord Kirtland who would provide the opportunity for her to work in Egypt and Greece for the rest of her life, as well as provide the money her family desperately needed right now. That is what she needed — not a moment’s enchantment, but the security for a lifetime.
She turned around and faced her sisters. “Fungy is a good friend and I care for him a great deal. I feel the same for him as I do for the two of you. In fact, more—he’s not as annoying as you two are.”
Thalia l
aughed.
“But that is what makes him perfect,” Laia said.
“Just imagine how much fun we would all have together,” Thalia agreed brightly.
It was true, Rose thought for a moment. They would all have a grand time together.
But there was more to marriage than just a grand time. She shook her head. “Fungy doesn’t make me feel the same way that Lord Kirtland does.”
“How does Lord Kirtland make you feel, Rose?” Laia asked.
Rose shrugged and smiled. “All shivery and nervous. With Fungy, I only feel comfortable. He makes me feel good, but he doesn’t put me on edge like Lord Kirtland does. I’m certain I’m in love with Lord Kirtland, and nothing more than good friends with Fungy. And besides, Lord Kirtland has so much more to recommend him as a husband—he’s rich and an archaeologist, besides being quite handsome.”
Laia sighed, but shrugged as if resigning herself to Rose’s decision. “Well, then, how are you going to get him to propose?”
Rose sat down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t know. I really have no idea what else I can do to let him know I would be open to a proposal. I danced with him three times in one night, I’ve gone on an outing with him...” Rose shrugged. “What else can I do?”
“You could ask Fungy,” Thalia suggested. “I bet he would know.” Both Rose and Laia turned to look at their youngest sister. “No!” said Rose at the same time that Laia said, “That is the worst idea I have ever heard.”
“Why? I’m sure he would know what Rose needs to do to get Lord Kirtland to propose.”
“I could never ask Fungy!”
“But you just said what a good friend he was. If he’s such a good friend, why can’t you ask him?”
Rose thought about this for a minute. Thalia did have a point there. And she was certainly right in that he would know what to do. “I still don’t like it. It’s not proper.” She shook her head and then began to get up.
“Well, if you don’t ask him, then I will,” Thalia said, crossing her arms over her chest.
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