These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘You’ll fall off the chair if you jump like that, silly chit!’ Rupert warned her.

‘Do not interrupt me,’ said Léonie reprovingly. ‘I am making a speech.’

‘Lord save us, what next will you be at?’ Rupert said, unrepentant.

‘Tais-toi, imbécile!… First I was a peasant, and then I became a page. Then I was made Monseig

neur’s ward, and now I am a Duchess! I am become very respectable, n’est-ce pas ?’

His Grace was at her side, and lifted her down from the chair.

‘My infant,’ he said, ‘duchesses do not dance on chairs, nor do they call their brothers “imbécile”.’

Léonie twinkled irrepressibly.

‘I do,’ she said firmly.

Rupert shook his head at her.

‘Justin’s in the right of it,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to mend your ways, spitfire. No more bouquets from Princes of the Blood, eh, Justin? Dignity! That’s the thing! You must let your hair grow too, and speak to me politely. I’ll be pinked an I’ll have a sister who tells all my friends I’m an imbecile! Politeness, my lady, and some of your husband’s haughtiness! That’s what you must have, isn’t it, Fan?’

‘Ah, bah!’ said the Duchess of Avon.