These Old Shades Read online

‘Then you will obey me. It is understood?’

  There was a long pause. Léonie stared hopelessly into the cold hazel eyes. Her lip trembled, and a large tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘Yes, Monseigneur,’ she whispered, and drooped her curly head.

  Avon leaned forward, and put his arm about the childish figure, drawing it close.

  ‘A very good infant,’ he said lightly. ‘You will learn to be a girl to please me, Léonie.’

  She clung to him, her curls tickling his chin.

  ‘Will – will it please you, Monseigneur?’

  ‘Above all things, child.’

  ‘Then – I’ll try,’ said Léonie, a heartbroken catch in her voice. ‘You won’t l-leave me with y-your sister for l-long, will you?’

  ‘Only until I can find someone to take care of you. Then you shall go to my house in the country, and learn to curtsy, to flirt with your fan, to simper, to have the vapours –’

  ‘I – won’t!’

  ‘I hope not,’ said his Grace, smiling faintly. ‘My dear child, there is no need for such misery.’

  ‘I have been Léon for so – so long! It will be so very, very hard!’

  ‘I think it will,’ said Avon, and took the crumpled handkerchief from her. ‘But you will try to learn all that you are taught, that I may be proud of my ward.’

  ‘Could you be, Monseigneur? Of – of me ?’

  ‘It is quite possible, my infant.’

  ‘I should like that,’ said Léonie, more happily. ‘I will be very good.’

  The Duke’s fine lips twitched.

  ‘So you may be worthy of me? I wish Hugh could hear.’

  ‘Does – does he know?’

  ‘It transpired, my child, that he always knew. Allow me to suggest that you rise from your knees. So. Sit down.’

  Léonie resumed her place on the settle, and gave a doleful sniff.

  ‘I must wear petticoats, and not say bad words, and always be with a woman. It is very hard, Monseigneur. I do not like women. I wish to be with you.’

  ‘And I wonder what Fanny will say to you?’ remarked his Grace. ‘My sister, Léonie, is all a woman.’

  ‘Is she like you?’ asked Léonie.

  ‘Now, how am I to take that?’ inquired his Grace. ‘She is not like me, infant. She is golden-haired and blue-eyed. I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said Bah!’

  ‘You seem partial to that observation. It is not at all ladylike, my dear. You will obey Lady Fanny, and you will not flout and scorn her because of her golden hair.’

  ‘Of course I shall not. She is your sister, Monseigneur,’ answered Léonie. ‘Will she like me, do you think?’ She looked up at him with a troubled gleam in her eyes.

  ‘Why not?’ said his Grace flippantly.

  A little smile flitted across Léonie’s mouth.

  ‘Oh – oh, I do not know, Monseigneur!’

  ‘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.’

  Léonie looked up at him suspiciously.

  ‘You’ll not go?’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘Promise! Please, you must promise!’

  ‘This passion for oaths and promises!’ sighed Avon. ‘I promise, my infant.’

  Léonie released his hand then, and went into the adjoining room. Avon shut the door behind her, and turned to face his wrathful sister. From his pocket he drew his fan, and spread it open.

  ‘You are really very foolish, my dear,’ he said, and came to the fire.

  ‘I am at least respectable! I think it very unkind and insulting of you to bring your – your –’

  ‘Yes, Fanny? My – ?’

  ‘Oh, your ward ! It’s not decent! Edward will be very, very angry, and I hate you!’

  ‘Now that you have unburdened yourself of that sentiment no doubt you will allow me to explain.’ His Grace’s eyes were nearly shut, and his thin lips sneered.

  ‘I do not want an explanation! I want you to take that creature away!’

  ‘When I have told my story, and if you still wish it, I will take her away. Sit down, Fanny. The expression of outraged virtue is enti