Perfecting Fiona (16 page)

All the way back to London, Lord Peter had told himself that Fiona had lied to the captain. But unreasoning jealousy had raised its ugly head. Also, he was used to getting his own way and felt he had suffered enough interference from these spinsters.

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Amy.

‘Simply that I have reason to believe your charge is not a virgin!’

Fiona came into the room. Lord Peter rose, his face red. He faced Fiona defiantly. ‘You told a certain gentleman of my acquaintance that you had lost your virginity to a footman. Is that the case?’

Fiona bowed her head in shame. How could she confess to that dreadful lie? Her lies about madness and consumption could be forgiven, but no lady ever lied about her virginity.

She opened her mouth to speak, her eyes wide with distress and shining with tears. Lord Peter took her distress for guilt and his heart was wrenched.

‘What a brute I am,’ he said softly, taking her hands in a warm clasp. ‘It makes no difference, my love, and I have secured your aunt and uncle’s approval.’

Both Amy and Effy gazed at Fiona in horror. They too misread her shame as being the shame of guilt.

Amy cleared her throat and said in a small, tired voice, ‘I really think, under the circumstances, you should accept him and be grateful, dear. None of us will ever speak of this matter again.’

This is dreadful, thought Fiona. I must see him alone and confess when he is in a softer mood.

Lord Peter turned to the Tribbles. ‘I am purchasing a property in Kent. I shall obtain a special licence before I leave Town so that Fiona and I may wed on my return. With your permission, I think a simple ceremony here would be in better taste rather than in church.’

The Tribbles sorrowfully bowed their heads. They had failed. No glorious society wedding to broadcast their success. But both had become very fond of Fiona and kept silent.

When Lord Peter had left, Fiona sank down in a chair and looked at them sadly. ‘I have a confession to make,’ she said.

‘Please don’t,’ said Effy, putting up her hand. ‘There are some things we would rather not hear.’

‘But don’t you see,’ cried Fiona wretchedly. ‘I lied to Captain Freddy Beaumont as I lied to the others; only in his case, the lie was dreadful. I said I had been seduced by a footman and that is untrue!’

‘Are you telling the truth for once?’ demanded Amy.

‘Yes,’ said Fiona. ‘Oh, yes.’

‘Oh, Lor’,’ said Amy. ‘Now he thinks he’s doing a noble thing by marrying a tart. I had better send a message round to his house.’

‘Oh, please let me wait until he returns and talk to him,’ said Fiona. ‘Right at this moment I feel he would be more furious to find I had lied than relieved to find I was still a virgin. He might cry off.’

‘Well,’ pointed out Amy brutally, ‘that might be no bad thing. He is not at all suitable. Rakes don’t change.’

‘You dreadful girl,’ sobbed Effy. ‘We must have a society wedding. You cannot be married in this hole-and-corner fashion. I could
shake
you!’

‘It all comes from not being able to make up your stupid mind,’ howled Amy, losing her temper. ‘Lie after lie after damned lie. You don’t want to get married and then you turn about and demand a man who will break your heart. Did you never think of us when you were playing your idiotic tricks? I don’t want to see any more of you just now. Go away before I strike you!’

Fiona trailed from the room. She felt small and ridiculous and grimy. She almost wished the sisters had beaten her as Mr Burgess used to beat her. They had shown her many kindnesses, and this was how she repaid them. Lord Peter must be persuaded of the truth and if he was so furious with her that he cried off, then it was no less than she deserved.

She put on her cloak and bonnet and made her way downstairs. She did not know where Lord Peter lived, but somehow she would find out and hope she would be in time to speak to him before he left.

She slipped from the house and nearly bumped into Bertha, the chambermaid, who was carrying a large basket and looking frightened and guilty. Normally, Fiona would have asked the girl where she was going. Servants carrying large baskets and dressed for a journey were either taking their annual leave or had been dismissed. But she did not want to stop even for a moment. She squared her shoulders and set out for Berkeley Square to confront Lord Peter’s parents.

Love is a circle that doth restless move
In the same sweet eternity of love
.

It is highly doubtful if the Duke or Duchess of Penshire would have received so undistinguished a person as Miss Fiona Macleod had their son not sent them a curt message saying he was about to announce his engagement to her.

Fiona had no intention of seeing either of them. She hoped to get Lord Peter’s address from the Penshire’s butler.

But when she timidly presented her card and her request to the butler, he merely placed the card on a silver salver and made his way upstairs, telling her to wait.

The Duke and Duchess were entertaining various society members in their saloon and gleaning as much as possible about this Miss Macleod when the butler entered. They had just learned to their horror from a Scottish earl that Fiona’s father had been in trade. Both concealed their dismay as well as they concealed their surprise when the duchess first read Fiona’s name on her card and then passed it to her husband.

Their eyes exchanged an unspoken message and the duke rose to his feet. ‘Tell this young person,’ he said in a low voice to the butler, ‘that I shall be with her directly. Put her in the library.’

The butler bowed and withdrew. Fiona longed to flee. She said all she wanted was Lord Peter Havard’s address, but the butler, like his master, had learned the gentle art of falling deaf when it suited him at an early age and merely held open the door of the library and ushered her in.

Had Fiona guessed that Lord Peter’s parents had already been told of his intention to marry her, she would have fled. She decided as she waited to tell whoever came to see her – the duke’s secretary? – that Lord Peter had lent her a book of poems and she wished to return them.

Then the door of the library opened and the duke walked in. He had seemed a round, jolly sort of man when Fiona had first seen him at the ball. Now, he appeared formidable. Although corpulent, he was as tall as his son, and his eyes were just as blue and piercing.

He made Fiona an elegant bow and then begged her to be seated.

He looked at her in silence, waiting for her to speak.

‘And it please you, your grace,’ began Fiona, but the words came out in a sort of croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I am come to find the address of Lord Peter Havard. He was good enough to lend me a book of poems and I wish to return them.’

The duke said nothing. He simply stared.

‘Your grace?’ prompted Fiona.

‘I have just learned from my son that he wishes to marry you,’ said the duke.

‘I believe so,’ said Fiona.

There was another long silence.

The clocks ticked, in the street outside a news-vendor blew his horn, and a log shifted in the grate with a soft sound like a sigh.

‘I did not expect him to marry,’ said the duke at last. ‘It was not important to us, don’t you see. My eldest son has three boys. The line is secure. No need for Havard to marry. On the other hand, if he does marry, we would expect him to know what is due to our name. Your family comes from Aberdeen, I believe.’

‘My father, yes,’ said Fiona.

The duke studied his fingernails.

‘Trade?’ he asked gently.

Fiona found herself growing angry. She rose to her feet. ‘Yes, trade, your grace,’ she said. ‘A vulgar but profitable business in jute.’

‘Jute?’ echoed the duke. ‘Pray sit down, Miss Macleod. I have not finished talking to you.’

‘But
I
see no point in talking to
you
further,’ snapped Fiona. ‘You obviously do not consider me good enough.’

‘Sit down, sit down.’ He gave her a sudden charming smile. ‘And who owns these jute mills now?’

‘I do,’ said Fiona, sitting down, but looking ruffled. ‘Of course, they are run by a manager, but my income comes from them.’

‘How much income?’ asked the duke.

Fiona looked at him coldly. ‘Fifty thousand a year, I believe.’

The duke’s eyes widened a fraction. Then he smiled again. ‘How you bristle up, Miss Macleod. But you must admit your calling here without your maid looks a trifle odd. It has come as a shock to us, this engagement. But a pleasant shock, I assure you. You must meet my wife. She will be anxious to offer you her felicitations.’

‘Your grace,’ said Fiona desperately. ‘I must have your son’s address.’

‘Oh, that? St James’s Square, number sixty-five.’ He stood up and held out his arm and again that charming smile lit up his heavy features. ‘Come, Miss Macleod. You cannot possibly refuse to meet your future mother-in-law.’

Fiona gave in. She allowed him to lead her up the stairs and into the long saloon at the top.

‘My dear,’ said the duke, urging Fiona forward until she stood in front of the duchess, ‘Miss Macleod. Miss Macleod, my wife.’

As Fiona curtsied low, the duchess glared awfully at her husband, who silently mouthed over Fiona’s bent head, ‘Fifty thousand a year.’

By the time Fiona raised her head it was to find the duchess smiling down on her. ‘Sit by me, child,’ said the duchess, patting the sofa beside her. ‘We must become better acquainted.’

It was an hour before Fiona got away. She had to accept the escort of one of the Penshires’ footmen. At the corner of Berkeley Square, she firmly dismissed the footman and said she preferred to walk alone. She knew the duke and duchess would consider such behavior eccentric in the extreme when they heard of it, but she now knew her fortune would make such eccentricities bearable.

She longed to go and see Lord Peter. Now she had his address. All she had to do was go there. But her courage had run out and instead she made her way miserably back to Holles Street.

Mr Haddon, Amy, and Effy were seated at the dinner table. There was an air of strain about the three of them. Amy was busy hating Effy, Effy was hating Amy, and Mr Haddon was wondering if he had done something to offend his old friends.

Disappointed in Fiona, Effy returned to the problem that had been nagging her for days. Where had Amy been when she had returned with Mr Haddon in his carriage on the day of the duel, and why had she been wearing strange clothes?

She had accused Amy of having gone to ‘spoil her duel’, and Amy had replied crossly that there had been no duel to spoil and had firmly lied and protested she had not gone anywhere near Chalk Farm. She said instead that Mr Haddon had met her in Oxford Street and had taken her up on his road back and had told her that Mr Callaghan had proved to be a coward.

Amy and Mr Haddon had taken a long time making their way back to London. Mr Haddon had left Amy at an inn and had gone to purchase a ready-made gown for her and a bonnet. Then they had had a pleasant meal together and an amicable drive back to London, Mr Haddon vowing never to tell anyone of Amy’s escapade.

Amy’s pleasure in her day had been short-lived, for Effy had once more begun to flirt with Mr Haddon and call him her hero.

Mr Haddon finally broke the tense silence by asking whether Miss Macleod intended to join them for dinner.

‘Let her stay in her room,’ snapped Amy. ‘I don’t want to set eyes on her again.’

‘Why?’ asked Mr Haddon.

Effy and Amy exchanged glances. ‘She has announced she is to wed Lord Peter Havard,’ said Amy. ‘We do not consider it a suitable match, but it appears he has won the consent of Mr and Mrs Burgess.’

‘Splendid!’ cried Mr Haddon. ‘Another success, ladies.’

Then he looked from Amy’s angry face to Effy’s downcast one. ‘Something has gone wrong,’ he said quickly. ‘Pray tell me what it is, my dear friends.’

‘It’s that wretched girl,’ Amy blurted out. ‘When Captain Freddy Beaumont proposed to her, she must needs put him off by saying she was not a virgin.’

‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Mr Haddon.

‘Worse to come,’ went on Amy. ‘It seems that the captain must have told Lord Peter and Lord Peter taxed Fiona with it and the silly girl let him think it true. He ups and says he’ll marry her anyway, but at a quiet wedding, here. A rushed and furtive job. No church, no bells, no mentions in the society columns.’

‘But all she has to do is tell him the truth!’ exclaimed Mr Haddon.

‘Sounds easy,’ said Amy gloomily. ‘But the fact is Lord Peter is only human and thinks he’s doing a monstrous noble thing. If she ups and tells him she was lying, he might be so exasperated, he’d call the whole thing off.’

‘Perhaps that might be the best thing,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘You do not consider Lord Peter suitable. Miss Macleod is an heiress and is being courted by Aubrey, for example. She would soon find someone else.’

‘Fiona is in love with Lord Peter,’ said Effy.

‘How can you tell?’ snorted Amy.

‘Oh, the way she looks at him,’ said Effy dreamily, ‘the way she yearns for him. I can see it in her eyes.’

Mr Haddon gave Effy a warm smile and Amy’s temper snapped.