“Yes, and after we do, you won’t have to marry that horrid man after all,” Laia added.
Rose smiled at her sisters, but could not imagine that they would be able to come up with anything either.
~~~~
“Where is Laia?” Aunt Farmington asked the following evening, as she, Thalia, and Rose sat in the drawing room enjoying a quiet evening at home.
“She’s gone to bed early. She wasn’t feeling well,” Thalia answered, hardly pausing in her practicing of the pianoforte.
“Really, I wasn’t aware of this,” Rose said, with real concern—Laia never got ill.
Thalia got a panicked look in her eye for a moment, but quickly focused her eyes downward to her fingers. “Oh yes, well, it’s just a headache, I believe. I’m sure she’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I’m certain I wouldn’t know what to do with a sick child,” Aunt Farmington said.
Rose couldn’t be fooled so easily, however. Not by either of her sisters. She slowly set aside her sewing. “I think I’ll just take a peek in on her then, just to make sure everything is all right.”
Thalia jumped up. “Oh, no, Rose, you needn’t do that. I shall go up if you like.”
Now she was certain that her sisters were up to something. “That’s very kind of you, Thalia, but no, I’ll go myself.”
She walked quickly up to the room shared by her two younger sisters, Thalia following anxiously on her heels. As she expected, the room was empty. She went in anyway, and then turned on her youngest sister as soon as the door was closed.
“Where is she? And what are you two up to?”
Thalia was a little taken aback by the sudden attack. She recovered herself quickly, however. “She is just out doing what you refused to do,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she is out trying to win back the money you lost.”
“But... but she doesn’t even know how to play whist!”
“Yes, she does. We found a book at the lending library explaining exactly how to play. It even gave some tricks on how to win,” Thalia said, quite thrilled with herself.
Rose opened her mouth, but simply could not put all of the thousands of thoughts and fears that were running through her mind into a coherent sentence.
How could her sister be so stupid as to put herself at risk with such an outrageous scheme? With what money was she playing? How did she get to the party? And what if someone recognized her?
On and on the questions went, increasing her worry with every passing moment until she tasted blood and realized she was biting her lip. There was only one thing to do, she realized with moan of chagrin—she had to go and save her!
Without a further word to her sister, she went straight to her own room and her armoire for her domino and mask. Of course, they were gone. Laia had taken them!
“Rose, what are you going to do?” Thalia asked. She had followed Rose into her room.
“I am going to fetch her, only...”
Rose began to pace. What was she to do? She could not go to a card party without some sort of mask to hide behind.
“Only what?”
“Laia took my domino and mask. I cannot go without them.”
Then she remembered that she had an old cloak that had once belonged to her mother. It was quite tattered, but that hardly mattered just now. At least it had a large hood which she could use to hide herself. It would have to do.
It took Rose and Thalia a good ten or fifteen minutes to find it—wasted time that she did not have. The later she got to the card party, the later she could rescue Laia from the lure of the cards, and probably the more money they would owe.
“Make sure Aunt Farmington does not notice anything is amiss. I am counting on you,” she whispered to her sister just before she slipped out the back door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ST. JOHN drained the wine from his glass and then, without hesitation, filled it up again. There was something soothing in the wine, even though the alcohol had not yet begun to affect him. He would need another few glasses, he guessed, just to get him through another evening of appearing as if everything was normal.
Each day, it was becoming more and more difficult to assume his usual practiced ennui. He had actually been surprised at how easy it was to revert back to his old self—and how comfortable it had felt behaving that way.
But he could not do so tonight. Tonight, it was the normal Fungy who needed to make an appearance, and St. John would have to be suppressed once more.
With a sigh and another fortifying gulp, he turned to see the clothes his valet had carefully laid out for him to wear this evening.
“Thomas, what is this? How long have you been in my employ that you cannot put together a simple suit of clothes for me to wear?” he said. Now he had to deal with this, in addition to the pounding headache that had become his constant companion over the past few days? Something so simple, so utterly simple, and the man just could not manage it?
His valet looked down at the black pantaloons, which he had coupled with a dark green coat and a waistcoat with green and gold embroidery. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, but then hesitated over which piece of the offending suit to remove.
Fungy gave him a minute to figure out what he had done wrong, but clearly the man was completely incapable. He snatched up the coat and tossed it at him. “Take out my black coat if you are having me wear black pantaloons, man.”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas hastened to do his master’s bidding.
Immediately, St. John felt a stab of remorse shooting through him. He dropped back down into the chair in front of his dressing table, sighing and rubbing at his forehead. “I’m sorry, Thomas. Didn’t mean to snap at you like that. Not your fault.”
“If I may say so, sir, you have not been quite yourself the past few days,” Thomas offered gently.
“No, I have not been sleeping well at all,” St. John said, inspecting the reflection in his shaving mirror. The bags under his eyes had grown into pouches, and his usually sparkling eyes looked back at him rather dully.
Losing Rose to Kirtland had been more difficult than he could have imagined. Having Georgiana turn him down as well had completely destroyed any ideas he had had of marrying and starting a family.
Dreams of drowning still haunted his nights. And although he awoke each morning determined to live up to his own resolutions, with each day those resolutions seemed harder and harder to attain.
At least he still had Lord Halsbury and his assignment—although he didn’t know how much closer he was to coming to a conclusion on that front either. Perhaps if he made a list of possible suspects...
St. John abandoned his valet and strode to the drawing room and his writing table, determined to at least have something tangible to show Lord Halsbury the next time they met.
Sitting down, he pulled out a piece of paper and pen, and opened his ink stand.
Who were the people he had watched so far? What had he to go on?
With his penknife, he slowly and carefully began sharpening his quill as he thought. P.H., P.H. —he could still think of only Lord Pemberton–Howe and Pip Haston among society members with those initials. He dipped his pen into the ink, and jotted down the first of the names on his paper.
Immediately, he crossed it off. It couldn’t be Pemberton–Howe—he’d been out of town for the past week, and in that time Cole had lost nearly a thousand pounds. He also simply couldn’t imagine Rose’s rather unworldly father as the leader of a gambling scheme.
That left just Pip Haston. St. John was about to begin writing the name when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Fungy! Still not dressed?” Julian said, strolling into the room.
“Ah, no. Sorry, just finishing something up.”
Silently, he cursed his good friend for being so timely, and himself for having forgotten that he’d invited Julian to accompany him out.
He tu
rned back to his paper, but felt Julian’s presence right behind him. He was looking over his shoulder.
St. John could not let his friend know what he was up to—it would give rise to too many questions he didn’t want to answer. Quickly, he switched to spelling out Haston’s name phonetically in Greek, mentally thanking Rose for inspiring him to begin reading his classics again.
There was one other name he had meant to write... yes, Kirtland. He started to wrack his brain for the k sound in Greek, but then remembered that Kirtland was the man’s title. What was his name? Ah, Roland Egerton. That was easy enough.
A thrill of excitement and remembrance of his youth sung through his veins as he wrote out the name phonetically in Greek. He still had it. He’d not completely forgotten everything—amazing how a language could come back so quickly after so many years.
Finally, he stood up and greeted Julian properly.
“Welcome, old man. Sorry about that,” he said.
“Not a problem. Amazing how you can just write in, what is that, Greek? Just like that. Although, I suppose it’s not too different from me being able to writing in Bengali. But still, your scribbles are all Greek to me,” Julian said, laughing at his own joke.
St. John laughed too, determined to be merry, despite his earlier bout of moroseness. But when he turned back momentarily to the list he had made, he suddenly felt as if he had had the wind knocked out of him.
There it was, clearly written in his own neat hand, Roland Egerton in Greek — Ρολανδ Ηγηρτον.
P.H.
St. John staggered back a step.
“Fungy, are you all right?” Julian grabbed St. John’s arm to support him.
St. John took a step forward to balance himself and turned to look Julian in the eye.
“Of course! The man is an archaeologist. What an idiot I am to not have thought of this. He certainly reads Greek, wouldn’t be surprised if he even wrote in it occasionally. And signing a note... he wouldn’t use his English initials...”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Julian asked, completely confused.
St. John laughed, relief overwhelming him, and gave Julian a hug. Running back to his room, he called over his shoulder, “I’m a genius, Julian! Just be happy to know that you are friends with an absolute genius!”
Julian laughed. “I always knew that, Fungy. I just wish I could sometimes follow what you were saying.” Julian came into St. John’s room as he was just finishing buttoning his pantaloons.
“No need, my friend.” Now, St. John thought to himself as he tied his neckcloth, he only needed to catch that rascal Kirtland at his own game.
When his neckcloth was tied to perfection, he asked, “Where were we supposed to go this evening?”
“Lady Baskin’s soiree.”
“Ah, right. Mind if we go to Lady Kemble’s card party instead?”
“Not terribly. Is there a reason why you would rather go there?”
“Yes. Isn’t it obvious?” St. John laughed.
“Fungy,” Julian put his hand on his friend’s shoulder as he was buttoning his waistcoat. “I heard from Merry and Sin that they met you at a gambling hell the other night. Is there a problem? I’ve got plenty of the ready, if you’re in need.”
St. John stopped dressing. “What?” He burst out laughing. “Oh no, Julian. No. Thank you. You are a good friend.”
“But, Fungy... a gambling hell, and now a card party? If you’re not in debt, then why this sudden interest?”
“It is... er, well, I’m afraid you will just have to wait to find out. I’m sorry, Julian, truly I am, but I can’t tell you just now,” St. John said.
He did wish that he could have been more honest. Perhaps he would have even been able to enlist Julian’s aid in catching Kirtland. But St. John just could not do so—not without speaking to Lord Halsbury first.
And besides, he did so want to be the one who caught him. It had to be entirely St. John’s work that brought Kirtland to justice. A wonderful chill of excitement and anticipation ran through him.
“You’ll just have to trust me,” he told Julian. “I’m not in debt or in any sort of trouble, I assure you. You’ll learn it all before too long, if my suspicions are correct.”
He wrote a quick note to Lord Halsbury, sending it off with his man before grabbing his coat and putting it on as he headed out the door. “Come along now, I can’t afford to be late,” he said, as if it had been Julian who was stalling them.
Julian laughed as he followed him out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ST. JOHN walked into Lady Kemble’s with Julian close on his heels. Perhaps, he thought, still glowing with excitement, his friend assumed that sticking close to him was the way to get at the bottom of all of his elusiveness.
However, all it did was to make him bump right into St. John when he stopped short just inside the door to the drawing room.
Nearly every eye was trained on two remarkably dressed ladies. The first was in a deep red domino, the second in a faded, rather shabby blue cloak. They were standing on the far side of the room having an argument, albeit a whispered one. The lady in blue even went so far as to try and grab the arm of the lady in red and pull her away.
A flash of gold on her wrist had St. John rushing to the scene. He knew that bracelet, and Fungy could never allow Miss Grace to embarrass herself in public.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said smoothly but quietly, approaching them just before their hostess did. “I believe it would be best if you took your argument outside.”
He then turned to Lady Kemble. “Do not worry, ma’am, I will ensure that there will be no further disruption to your party.”
Lady Kemble looked very relieved. She clearly had not relished the thought of having to deal with the altercation herself. “Oh, thank you, Fungy. I always know that I can count on you.”
St. John gave her a little bow, and firmly took each lady by her elbow and led them both out onto the terrace. Julian followed closely behind.
St. John’s job had just gotten much more difficult. He hadn’t expected to find Rose here this evening and hadn’t even considered the social ramifications Kirtland’s downfall would have on her.
Naturally, once it was known throughout the ton that Kirtland was a crook, everyone would look askance at Rose, wondering if she had been an accomplice or just another innocent duped by him. Either way, her reputation would end up in tatters.
As soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the party, Rose threw back her hood. “Thank you, St. John. I was attempting to get my sister out of there, but she would not listen.”
Laia, too, threw back her hood and mask, revealing her distinctive bright red hair. “I can’t believe that you would want me to leave, when I was finally winning back the money that you lost!”
“It doesn’t matter what you were doing. You should not have been there in the first place!” Both ladies were much too upset to get any further in their argument. They both clearly needed a minute to calm down, so he provided a diversion.
“Miss Laia, may I present my good friend, the Earl of Huntley?”
The girls stopped glaring at each other long enough to observe the social niceties and greet Julian.
Julian bowed over Laia’s hand, using his usual pleasant and open charm to defuse the tension, as St. John knew he would. “How lovely to meet you, Miss Laia. May I ask how you managed to get into the party? I assume you were not invited.”
Laia gave a guilty little smile. “It was quite easy, actually, my lord. The back gate to the garden was open, so I just slipped in.”
“You stole into a stranger’s garden?” Rose was aghast.
“What if you had gone through the wrong gate?” Julian asked calmly.
“I counted the number of houses from the front, and then the number of garden doors in the back. And I figured if I’d gotten the wrong one, I could just slip away again,” Laia explained with a little shrug of her shoulders.
>
“That was extremely bold of you,” St. John said, “but now you must make your exit and do so as unobtrusively as possible. Through the front door this time.”
“But I don’t want to leave!” Laia protested.
“It doesn’t matter what you want right now, Laia; it is the right thing to do,” her sister said gently.
“I’m afraid you must always do the right thing, no matter how boring that is, Miss Laia, just as we discussed in the park the other day,” St. John said, hoping that his influence would help to convince the girl, who had the look of a stubborn child just now.
“But I was winning!” Laia argued.
Winning? From Kirtland? St. John wondered what his game was, and how deeply involved Rose was.
“That’s wonderful, Laia, but you shouldn’t have been here in the first place. A seventeen–year–old girl cannot be allowed to attend, a card party, and especially not to gamble at one,” Rose said with finality.
“Afraid she’s right, Miss Laia. It is not strictly proper even for Rose to come to such things,” St. John said, still holding out hope that she could be convinced to leave quietly.
“She did so once before,” Laia pouted.
“Yes, but she was both here in a domino and escorted by a gentleman. The rules could be bent a little.”
“Well, I am here in a domino,” Laia said crossing her arms defiantly.
“But you should not be here at all,” St. John explained, beginning to lose his patience.
“I would be happy to escort you home, Miss Laia,” Julian offered.
St. John was beyond grateful for his friend’s presence.
“Thank you, my lord, that is very kind of you,” Rose said, accepting his offer without hesitation.
“But what about my game? I was winning,” Laia complained yet again, now beginning to sound more like the child she still was.
“Your game is over, Laia,” Rose said.
“But I’ve only won forty pounds,” Laia said, clearly trying another tack to get her sister’s permission to return to her game. “You still owe another sixty you can’t pay. I’ve got to go back and try to win that money, Rose.”
A Dandy in Disguise Page 16
