“What,
“To ride?”
“On a horse?
“The prospect pleases you?”
“Yes, oh yes! And will you teach me to fight with a sword, Monseigneur?”
“It’s not a ladylike occupation,
“But I do not always want to be a lady, Monseigneur! If I may learn to fight with a sword I will try very hard to learn the other silly things.”
He looked down at her, smiling.
“I believe you are trying to drive a bargain with me! What if I will not teach you to fence?”
She dimpled.
“Why, then I fear I shall be very stupid when you teach me to curtsy, Monseigneur. Oh, Monseigneur, say you will! Please say it quickly! Madame is coming.”
“You force my hand,” he bowed. “I will teach you, imp.”
Madam Field entered the hall in time to see her charge execute a neat step-dance. She murmured expostulations.
CHAPTER XIII
The Duke remained at Avon for over a month, during which time Leonie applied herself energetically to the task of becoming a lady. Madam Field’s ideal of this estate was luckily not Avon’s. He had no wish to see his ward sitting primly over her stitchery, which was just as well, perhaps, for after the first attempt Leonie declared that nothing would induce her to ply a needle. Madam Field was a little flustered by this defection, and by Leonie’s taste for sword-play, but she was far too good-natured and indefinite to do more than murmur nervous remonstrances. She stood very much in awe of her cousin, and although she was by birth an Alastair she felt herself to be a wholly inferior creature. She had been happy enough with her husband, an obscure gentleman with a taste for farming, but she knew that in the eyes of her family she had disgraced herself by marrying him. This had not troubled her much while he lived, but now that he was dead, and she had returned to what had once been her own milieu, she was uncomfortably conscious of the step downwards that she had taken in her foolish youth. She was rather frightened of Avon, but she liked to live in his house. When she looked about her, at faded tapestries, at stretches of velvet lawns, at portraits innumerable, and crossed swords above the doorway, she remembered anew the glory of past Alastairs, and some almost forgotten chord stirred within her.
Leonie was enchanted by Avon Court, and demanded to know its history. She walked with Justin in the grounds, and learned how Hugo Alastair, coming with the Conqueror, settled there, and built himself a fair dwelling, which was destroyed in the troublous times of King Stephen; how it was built again by Sir Roderick Alastair; how he was given a barony, and prospered, and how the first Earl, under Queen Mary, pulled down the old building and erected the present house. And she learned of the bombardment that partially destroyed the West Wing, when Earl Henry held all for the King against the usurper Cromwell, and was rewarded for it at the Restoration by a dukedom. She saw the sword of the last Duke, the same that he had used in tragic ’15, for King James III, and heard a small part of Justin’s own adventures, ten years ago, for King Charles III. Justin touched but lightly on this period of his life; his work in that attempt, Leonie guessed, had been secret and tortuous, but she learned that the true King was Charles Edward Stuart, and learned to speak of the little war-like man on the throne as Elector George.
Her education at Justin’s hands was a source of interest and amusement to her. Up in the long picture gallery he taught her to dance, with an eagle eye for the smallest fault, or the least hint of awkwardness in her bearing. Madam Field came to play on the spinet for them, and watched with an indulgent smile while they trod each stately measure. She reflected that she had never seen her unapproachable cousin so human, as with this laughing sprite of a girl. They danced the minuet, and the long lines of ancestors gazed down upon them indulgently.
Avon made Leonie practise her curtsy, and made her combine her pretty roguishness with some of the haughtiness that characterized my Lady Fanny. He showed her how to extend her hand for a man to kiss, how to use her fan, and how to place her patches. He would walk with her in the pleasaunce, teaching every rule of deportment until she was word perfect. He insisted that she should cultivate a certain queenliness of bearing. She soon learned, and would rehearse her newest lesson before him, enjoying herself hugely, radiant if she earned a word of praise.
She could already ride, but astride only. She was disgusted with the side-saddle, and for a while rebelled against it. For the space of two days her will held fast against Avon’s, but his frigid politeness disarmed her, and on the third day she came to him with head hanging, and faltered:
“I am sorry, Monseigneur. I—I will ride as you wish.”
So they rode together in the grounds until she had mastered this new art, and then they went out over the countryside, and those who saw the Duke beside this beautiful girl cast knowing glances at each other, and shook their heads wisely, for they had seen other beautiful girls with Avon.
Bit by bit the Court, so long bereft of a mistress, began to wear a more cheerful air. Leonie’s glad young spirit pervaded it; she flung back heavy curtains, and consigned ponderous screens to the lumber room. Windows were opened to let in the wintry sun, and bit by bit the oppressive solemnity of the place disappeared. Leonie would have none of the stern neatness that was wont to reign there. She tumbled prim cushions, pushed chairs out of place, and left books lying on odd tables, caring nothing for Madam Field’s shocked protests. Justin permitted her to do as she pleased; it amused him to watch her gyrations, and he liked to hear her give orders to his expressionless lackeys. Clearly she had the habit of command: unusual she might be, but never did she exhibit any lack of breeding.
Her lessons were soon put to the test. On one occasion he said suddenly:
“We will suppose, Leonie, that I am the Duchess of Queensberry, and that you have just been presented to me. Show me how you would curtsy.”
“But you cannot be a duchess, Monseigneur,” she objected. “That is ridiculous. You don’t
“The Duchess. Show me the curtsy.”
Leonie sank down and down.
“Like this: low, but not so low as to the Queen. This is a very good curtsy I am doing,
“It is to be hoped you would not talk all the time,” said his Grace. “Spread out your skirts, and do not hold your fan like that. Show me again.”
Leonie obeyed meekly.
“It is very difficult to remember everything,” she complained. “Now let us play at piquet, Monseigneur.”
“Presently. Curtsy now to—Mr. Davenant.”
She swept her skirts right regally, and with head held high extended one small hand. Avon smiled.
“Hugh is like to be
At that she sank down with bent head, and raised his hand to her lips.
“No, my child.”
She rose.
“That is the way I do it, Monseigneur. I like it.”
“It is incorrect. Again, and the proper depth. You curtsied then as to the King. I am but an ordinary mortal, remember.”
Leonie searched in her mind for a fitting retort.
“Lawks!” she said vaguely.
His Grace stiffened, but his lips twitched.
“I—beg—your—pardon?”
“I said lawks,” said Leonie demurely.
“I heard you.” His Grace’s voice was cold.
“Rachel said it,” Leonie ventured, peeping up at him. “She is Lady Fanny’s maid, you know. You do not like it?”
“I do not. I should be glad if you would refrain from modelling your conversation on that of Lady Fanny’s
