These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘Chesterfield’s conversation is marvellous.’

‘A little tedious. Yes, Léon, what now?’

‘Shall I bring wine, Monseigneur?’

‘Mr Davenant has certainly trained you well. No, Léon, you shall not bring wine. I trust he has been no trouble, Hugh?’

Léon cast Davenant an anxious glance. There had been one or two slight battles of will between them. Hugh smiled at him.

‘His behaviour has been admirable,’ he said.

His Grace had seen the anxious look, and the reassuring smile.

‘I am relieved. May I now have the truth?’

Léon looked up at him gravely, but volunteered no word. Hugh laid his hand on Avon’s shoulder.

‘We have had a few small disputes, Alastair. That is all.’

‘Who won?’ inquired his Grace.

‘We reached the end by a compromise,’ said Hugh solemnly.

‘Very unwise. You should have insisted on utter capitulation.’ He took Léon’s chin in his hand, and looked into the twinkling blue eyes. ‘Even as I should have done.’ He pinched the chin. ‘Should I not, infant?’

‘Perhaps, Monseigneur.’

The hazel eyes narrowed.

‘Perhaps? What is this? Are you so demoralised during this one short week?’

‘No, oh no!’ Léon’s dimples quivered. ‘But I am very obstinate, Monseigneur, sometimes. Of course I will always try to make myself do as you wish.’

Avon released him.

‘I believe you will,’ he said unexpectedly, and waved one white hand to the door.

‘I suppose it is useless to ask where you have been?’ said Hugh, when Léon had gone.

‘Quite.’

‘Or where you intend to go next?’

‘No, I believe I can answer that. I am going to London.’

‘London?’ Hugh was surprised. ‘I thought you intended to remain here some months?’

‘Did you, Hugh? I never have intentions. That is why mothers of lovely daughters eye me askance. I am constrained to return to England.’ He drew from his pocket a fan of dainty chicken-skin, and spread it open.

‘What constrains you?’ Hugh frowned upon the Duke’s fan. ‘Why that new affectation?’

Avon held the fan at arm’s length.

‘Exactly what I ask myself, dear Hugh. I found it awaiting me here. It comes from March, who begs –’ He searched in his pocket for a folded sheet of paper, and putting up his glass, read the scrawled lines aloud. ‘Begs – yes, here we are. “I send you this pretty trifle, which I give you my word is now become the rage here, all men who aspire to be beaux using them both in warm weather and cold, so that we rival the ladies now in this matter. I beg you will make use of it, my dear Justin; it is cunningly painted, you will agree, and was procured by me from Geronimo, expressly for you. The golden sticks should please you, as I hope they will do.”’ Avon raised his eyes from the letter to observe the fan, which was painted black, with a gold design, and gold sticks and tassels. ‘I wonder if I do like it?’ he said.

‘Foppery!’ answered Hugh shortly.

‘Undoubtedly. Natheless it will give Paris something fresh to talk about. I shall purchase a muff for March. Of miniver, I think. You perceive that I must return to England forthwith.’