These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘There’s no fear of that, you little rogue,’ he said, and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

‘No, and I am so glad. And now go and put on that new puce coat. ’Tis prodigious modish, and I want you to look very nice to-night.’

‘Are we not dining out?’ he asked. ‘I thought –’

‘Dining out! Good gracious, Edward, and that child a visitor, and only just arrived! No indeed!’ With that she rustled out of the room, full of a new importance.

An hour later, when Marling sat in the withdrawing-room awaiting his wife, the door was flung open, and Fanny sailed in. Behind her came Léonie, hesitantly. Edward rose quickly, staring.

‘My love,’ said Fanny, ‘this is my husband, Mr Marling. Edward, Mademoiselle de Bonnard.’

Marling bowed; so also did Léonie, but paused in the act of doing so.

‘I must curtsy, is it not so? Bah, what skirts!’ She smiled shyly up at Edward. ‘Please pardon me, m’sieur. I have not learned to curtsy yet.’

‘Give him your hand, child,’ commanded Fanny.

The small hand was extended.

‘Please, why?’ asked Léonie.

Marling kissed her finger-tips punctiliously, and released them. Léonie’s cheeks were tinged with colour, and she looked doubtfully up at him.

‘Mais, m’sieur –’ she began.

‘Mademoiselle?’ In spite of himself Marling smiled.

‘C’est peu convenable,’ explained Léonie.

‘No such thing,’ said Fanny briskly. ‘Gentlemen do always kiss the lady’s hands. Remember that, my love. And now my husband will give you his arm to the dining-room. Lay but the tips of your fingers on it, like that. What ails you now, child?’

‘It is nothing, madame. Only that I am not at all myself. I think that I look very strange.’

‘Tell the silly child that it is not so, Edward,’ sighed her ladyship.

Edward found that he was patting Léonie’s hand.

‘My dear, ’tis as my lady says. You look very proper and charming.’

‘Ah bah!’ said Léonie.

Twelve

His Grace of Avon’s Ward

A fortnight later, when Léonie was practising a court curtsy before the mirror in her room, Fanny entered with the announcement that Avon had come at last. Léonie arose from her curtsy with more haste than grace.

‘Monseigneur!’ she cried, and would have flown from the room, had it not been for Fanny, who resolutely barred her passage. ‘Let me go! Let me go! Where is he?’

‘’Pon rep, Léonie, that is no way to receive a gentleman!’ said her ladyship. ‘To run downstairs like a hoydenish miss, with your hair in a tangle, and your gown caught up! Come back to the mirror.’

‘Oh, but –’

‘I insist!’

Léonie came reluctantly and was passive while Fanny arranged her gown of primrose silk, and combed out the unruly curls.

‘Léonie, you tiresome creature, where is your riband?’