These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘You will be so late!’ Léonie cried. ‘All because you dressed me. I will wait for you, madame, shall I?’

‘Yes, child, of course! I want to be there when Jus – when they see you. Come and sit with me while I finish my toilette.’

But Léonie was in no mood to sit still. She paraded in front of the mirror, curtsied to herself, fluttered her fan, and sniffed at her roses.

Rachel worked swiftly to-night, and soon my lady stood up in a gown of rose silk, with a petticoat of silver lace, and the most enormous hoop Léonie had ever seen. My lady whisked the haresfoot across her face again, slipped bracelets on to her arms, and fixed nodding feathers into her marvellous coiffure.

‘Oh, madame, it

is very fine, I think!’ said Léonie, pausing in her perambulations to and fro.

My lady pulled a face at her own reflection.

‘It matters naught what I look like to-night,’ she said. ‘Do you like the silver lace, child? And the shoes?’ She lifted her skirts and showed a pretty ankle.

‘Yes, madame. I like it – oh, much! Now let us go downstairs and show Monseigneur!’

‘I am with you in a moment, my sweet life. Rachel, my fan and gloves! Léonie, hold your bouquet in the other hand, and slip the riband of your fan over your wrist. Yes, that is excellent. Now I am ready.’

‘I am so excited I feel as though I should burst!’ said Léonie.

‘Child! Remember you are to put a guard on your tongue! Let me hear no “bursts” or “pig-persons” on your lips to-night, as you love me.’

‘No, madame, I will remember. And not “breeches” either!’

‘Certainly not!’ tittered Fanny, and sailed out to the staircase. At the head of it she paused, and stood aside. ‘Go before me, child. Slowly, slowly! Oh dear, you will break hearts, I know!’ But this she said to herself.

Léonie went sedately down the broad stairway that was brilliantly lit to-night with branches of tall candles set in the niches of the wall. Below, in the hall, gathered about the fire, the gentlemen were waiting, his Grace with orders glittering on a coat of purple satin; Lord Rupert in pale blue, with much rich lacing, and an elegant flowered waistcoat; Marling in puce; and Davenant in maroon. Léonie paused half-way down the stairs and unfurled her fan.

‘But look at me!’ she said reprovingly.

They turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and saw her with candles on either side, a little figure, all white, from the ordered curls to the jewelled heels: white brocade cut low across the shoulders, white lace to form a petticoat, white roses at her breast and in her hand. Only her eyes were deep, sparkling blue, and her parted lips like cherries, her cheeks faintly flushed.

‘You beauty!’ gasped Rupert. ‘By – Gad, you beauty!’

His Grace went forward to the foot of the stairs, and held out his hands.

‘Come, ma belle !’

She ran down to him. He bowed low over her hand, whereat she blushed, and curtsied a little way.

‘I am nice, Monseigneur, do you not think? Lady Fanny did it all, and see, Monseigneur, she gave me this pin, and Rupert gave me the flow – no, the fan. It was M. Davenant gave me the flowers, and M. Marling this pretty ring!’ She danced over to where they stood, just staring at her. ‘Thank you very much, all of you! Rupert, you are very grand to-night! I have never seen you so – so tidy, and tout à fait beau!’

Lady Fanny came down the stairs.

‘Well, Justin? Have I succeeded?’

‘My dear, you have surpassed yourself.’ His eyes ran over her. ‘Your own toilette leaves nothing to be desired.’

‘Oh!’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I am naught to-night.’

‘You are très grande dame, my dear,’ he said.

‘That, perhaps,’ she nodded. ‘It was my intention.’

Rupert lifted his quizzing glass.

‘You always look a beauty, Fan; I’ll say that for you.’