Free Perfecting Fiona by MC Beaton

sensitive and honourable we gentlemen are. But you must realize that if Fiona has been turning down proposals and then swearing her suitors to secrecy, this is something we should know. If you have any affection in your heart left for her, please tell me. We cannot help the girl otherwise.’
    ‘You mean I’m not the only one?’ asked Mr Willox, scratching his fair hair in bewilderment.
    ‘I fear not.’
    ‘Do you mean,’ said Mr Willox, growing visibly angry, ‘that she was lying to me?’
    ‘That would appear to be the case.’
    ‘Well, I’m dashed if I can believe she would . . . The long and the short of it is that I did propose marriage and Miss Macleod told me that she had galloping consumption and was not like to live very long. I wanted children, of course, and so I said in that case I must withdraw my proposal. She made me swear not to tell anyone I had proposed, but, dash me, when I saw her uncle and aunt outside the door, I could only babble some nonsense at them and take to my heels.’
    ‘Was there anyone else courting her about that time?’
    ‘There was the Honourable James Fordyce at Just Hall, that’s the other side of the town, but I don’t know if he was serious about her.’
    This time Amy agreed to stay at the inn while Mr Haddon went to interview Mr Fordyce. When Mr Haddon returned, Amy listened eagerly to his news. Fiona had told Mr Fordyce that her mother had died mad, that there was madness in the family, and that she could never marry.
    ‘So she must hate the very idea of marriage!’ exclaimed Amy. ‘Why, I wonder?’
    ‘There must be some ladies who do not wish to marry,’ pointed out Mr Haddon.
    ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘There ain’t a single one.’
    Mr Callaghan learned that Effy was to visit an old friend one afternoon. The butler had, of course, been told not to admit any visitors, but Mr Callaghan thought he would try his luck. Harris was, after all, not the butler who had seen him forcibly ejected from the house by Miss Amy the previous year.
    He presented his card barely five minutes after Effy had left. Harris bowed and said Miss Macleod was not receiving callers, but eyed the huge posy which Mr Callaghan held in front of him with a sympathetic eye.
    Mr Callaghan pressed a guinea into the butler’s hand and murmured he was sure Miss Macleod would be more than happy to receive him.
    Harris took the card and retreated up the stairs to the drawing room. Fiona was restless and bored. Her days of misery and bullying under the Burgesses’ rule had at least made her appreciate every free moment. But now she felt she had too much time on her hands and too little to do. Obscurely, she blamed Lord Peter. What an irritating man! She had felt quite comfortable before she met him. At first she did not recognize Mr Callaghan’s name. Then she remembered him as the fribble from the Park. Although there was very little chance of Lord Peter’s ever finding out about Mr Callaghan’s visit, Fiona felt she was somehow scoring a point by agreeing to see this freak of fashion.
    Mr Callaghan came in and handed her the bouquet and bowed and scraped and bowed and scraped until Fiona became heartily tired of curtsying in return.
    ‘Pray sit down, sir,’ begged Fiona, already regretting her impulse to see him.
    ‘Lady of my heart,’ began Mr Callaghan, his pale eyes flashing fire. ‘I have written a poem in your honour.’
    He unrolled a long piece of parchment.
    ‘How kind,’ said Fiona faintly. ‘May I not read it later?’
    ‘No, no. ’Twill melt your heart. Hark!’ Mr Callaghan proceeded to read.
    ‘Fiona, walking in the Park
    Doth make my pulses race.
    I do not pursue her for a lark
    Or for the fun o’ the chase.
    I sigh, I pant . . .’
    He broke off. There were sounds of arrival from the hall downstairs.
    ‘Do go on, Mr Callaghan,’ said Fiona, her eyes full of tears of suppressed laughter.
    ‘No, no, better leave.’ Mr Callaghan rolled up the parchment and rushed to the