These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘She will be kind to you for my sake.’

‘Thank you,’ said Léonie meekly, and with eyes downcast. Then, as Avon said nothing, she peeped up, and the roguish dimple appeared. Seeing it Avon ruffled her curls as though she still had been a boy.

‘You are refreshing,’ he said. ‘Fanny will try and make you like the rest of her sex. I believe that I do not want that.’

‘No, Monseigneur. I will be just myself.’ She kissed his hand, and her lip trembled. She controlled it, and smiled through her tears. ‘You have taken my handkerchief, Monseigneur.’

Ten

Lady Fanny’s Virtue is Outraged

Lady Fanny Marling, reposing on a settee, found life monotonous. She pushed away the book of poems, over which she had been yawning, and started to play with one golden curl that had strayed over her shoulder and lay glistening on the lace of her wrapper. She was en déshabillé, her fair hair unpowdered, and loosely dressed beneath a Mechlin cap whose blue ribands were tied under her chin in a coquettish bow. She wore a blue taffeta gown, with a broad fichu about her perfect shoulders and as the room in which she sat was furnished in gold and blue and white she had reason to be pleased with herself and her setting. She was pleased, but she would have liked it better had there been someone with her to share the aesthetic pleasure. So when she heard the clang of her front-door bell her china-blue eyes brightened, and she stretched out her hand for her mirror.

In a few minutes her black page tapped upon the door. She put the mirror down, and turned her head to look at him.

Pompey grinned and bobbed his woolly head.

‘Genelman to see ma’am!’

‘His name?’ she asked.

A soft voice spoke from behind the page.

‘His name, my dear Fanny, is Avon. I am fortunate to find you at home.’

Fanny shrieked, clapped her hands, and flew up to greet him.

‘Justin! You! Oh, how prodigiously delightful!’ She would not permit him to kiss her finger-tips, but flung her arms about his neck, and embraced him. ‘I declare, ’tis an age since I have seen you! The cook you sent is a marvel! Edward will be so pleased to see you! Such dishes! And a sauce at my last party which I positively cannot describe!’

The Duke disengaged himself, shaking out his ruffles.

‘Edward and the cook would appear to have become entangled,’ he remarked. ‘I trust I find you well, Fanny?’

‘Yes, oh yes! And you? Justin, you cannot imagine how glad I am that you have come back! I vow I have missed you quite too dreadfully! Why what is this?’ Her eyes had alighted on Léonie, wrapped in a long cloak, her tricorne in one hand, a fold of the Duke’s coat in the other.

His Grace loosened the tight hold on his garment, and allowed Léonie to clutch his hand.

‘This, my dear, was, until yesterday, my page. It is now my ward.’

Fanny gasped, and fell back a pace.

‘Your – your ward! This boy? Justin, have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘No, my dear, I have not. I solicit your kindness for Mademoiselle Léonie de Bonnard.’

Fanny’s cheeks grew crimson. She drew her small figure up, and her eyes became haughtily indignant.

‘Indeed, sir? May I ask why you bring your – your ward here?’

Léonie shrank a little, but spoke never a word. Very silky became Avon’s voice.

‘I bring her to you, Fanny, because she is my ward, and because I have no duenna for her. She will be glad of you, I think.’

Fanny’s delicate nostrils quivered.

‘You think so? Justin, how dare you! How dare you bring her here!’ She stamped her foot at him. ‘You have spoiled everything now! I hate you!’

‘You will perhaps accord me a few minutes’ private conversation?’ said his Grace. ‘My infant, you will await me in this room.’ He went to one end of the room and opened a door, disclosing an antechamber. ‘Come, child.’