seriously. “To be alone like that, and in someone’s power is very uncomfortable, I can assure you, and me, I know.”
“The mother will never rest till she has caught Vidal, but what of Justin, Léonie? I vow I’ll have no hand in this. He can be so excessively unpleasant, you know.”
“I have thought of Justin, but though I do not like to deceive him, I see that this time I must. If Dominique must marry the girl I will make up a clever lie to tell him, and he must not know that it was all due to Dominique’s folly. That would make him very enraged,
“He’ll not believe you,” Lady Fanny said.
“Yes, he will believe me, perhaps, because I do not lie to him — ever,” said Léonie tragically. “I have thought of it all, and I am very miserable. I shall write to him one big lie, that cousin Harriet is indisposed, and I have gone to stay with her, and she is so old he will certainly not find that surprising. Then, if it is necessary that Dominique marries this girl whom already I detest, I will make him do it, only it will not appear that I was ever in Paris, for I shall come home, and I shall know nothing of Dominique at all. Then Dominique will write to tell Monseigneur that he is married — and if it is true the girl is Sir Giles’ granddaughter it is not after all so very dreadful — and I shall pretend how glad I am, and perhaps Justin will not mind so much.”
Fanny caught her hands. “My dearest love, you know he will be furious, and when Justin is angry he is more dangerous than ever Dominique could be.”
Léonie’s lip trembled. “I know,” she said. “But at least it will not be so bad as the truth.”
Chapter XI
On the following morning Mrs. Challoner, chancing to look out of the window, was edified to perceive a very elegant equipage drawn up at her door. She said instantly: “The Duchess!” and hurried over to the mirror to arrange her cap. She told Sophia that if she dared to speak a word outside her part she would lock her in her bedchamber for a week: Sophia was about to retort in kind when Betty opened the door and announced in a voice pregnant with awe: “The Duchess of Avon, mam!”
The Duchess came in, and Mrs. Challoner was so surprised she forgot to curtsy. She had expected a lady quite twenty years older than the youthful-looking creature who stood before her, and had prepared herself to meet something very formidable indeed. Great violet-blue eyes, a dimple, and copper curls under a chip-hat did not belong to the Duchess of her imagination, and she stood staring in a disconcerted way instead of greeting her grace with the proper mixture of pride and civility.
“You are Mrs. Challoner?” the Duchess said directly.
She spoke with a decided French accent, which further surprised her hostess. Sophia was also surprised, and exclaimed without ceremony: “Lord, are you Vidal’s mamma, then?”
Léonie looked at her from her head to her heels till Sophia blushed and began to fidget. Then she once more surveyed Mrs. Challoner, who remembered her manners, told her daughter to hold her tongue, and pulled forward a chair. “Pray, will not your grace be seated?”
“Thank you,” Léonie said, and sat down. “Madame, I am informed that your daughter has eloped with my son, which is a thing I find not very easy to understand. So I come to you that you may explain to me how this is at all possible.”
Mrs. Challoner dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and protested that she was nigh distracted with grief and shame. “For Mary is a good girl, your grace, and elope with his lordship she would never do. Ma’am, your son has abducted my poor innocent child by force!”
“
Mrs. Challoner let the handkerchief fall. “From under my roof? How could he do that? No, indeed!”
“It is what I ask myself,” said the Duchess. “He laid a trap for her, perhaps, and seized her in the street, and carried her off with a gag and a rope.”
Mrs. Challoner eyed her with hostility. The Duchess met her look limpidly, and waited. “You don’t understand, ma’am,” said Mrs. Challoner.
“Assuredly I do not understand. You say my son abducted your daughter with force.
Mrs. Challoner flushed scarlet. “Ma’am! I must beg of you!”
“It is not then a rape?”
“Oh, I — yes, indeed and it is, and I will have justice done, ma’am, and so I tell you!”
“I too desire to have justice done,” said the Duchess softly. “But I am not a fool, madame, and when you talk to me of rapes you talk of what I do not at all believe. If your daughter was not willing she could make a great outcry, and it seems to me that in London there is someone who will hear and come to her rescue.”
“I see, ma’am, you have not heard the whole. Let me explain to you that it was not Mary his lordship wanted, but my little Sophia here. He has been for ever upon my doorstep, and I fear, ma’am, he has quite turned the child’s head. I blush to confess it to your grace, but he attempted to seduce Sophia, of course unbeknownst to me. I do not know what lies he told her, but he had it all arranged to fly with her. I have reared her very strict, ma’am, and how should she dream he did not mean marriage? She thought he would take her to Gretna Green. Oh, I’ll not deny it was mighty foolish and wrong of her, but girls will have these romantic fancies, your grace, and heaven knows what persuasions his lordship may have used. No, Sophy, be quiet!”
Léonie looked at the indignant Sophia, and smiled. “You present to me my son in a new rôle,” she said. “I have never known him to take so much trouble. It seems he was in love with you quite
“He did love me!” Sophia said chokingly. “He never looked at Mary! Never!”
“Hold your tongue, Sophy! Not but what it is true, ma’am. His lordship was mad for the child. But Mary took it into her head ’twas not marriage he intended, and what she did was to save her sister from ruin.”
“It is of a nobility almost incredible, madame. What did this Mary do?”
Mrs. Challoner threw out her hands dramatically. “She took Sophia’s place, ma’am. It was night, and she was masked, for Sophia has found an old loo-mask gone from her drawer. What she had in mind to do I know not, but she meant to return, your grace. And all this was five days ago, and there is no sign of my poor girl. His lordship has run off with her to France.”
“Indeed?” Léonie said. “You have good information, madame. Who told you that M. le Marquis has gone to France? It is not known to many.”
Mrs. Challoner cast a startled glance at Sophia. “I told mamma,” Sophia said sullenly.
“You interest me — oh, but very much, mademoiselle! You thought,
“I see that your grace has guessed it!” Mrs. Challoner said desperately. “Sophia, leave the room. I have something of a private nature to say to her grace.”
“I won’t leave the room,” Sophia answered rebelliously. “You mean to make Vidal wed Mary, and it is not fair! He loves me, me, me! Mary stole him, the mean cat, but she shan’t have him!”
“Ah, I perceive the truth!” said Léonie. “It is Miss Mary Challoner who has abducted my son. I make her my compliments.”
“It is no such thing!” broke in Mrs. Challoner. “Alas, it is true that Sophia here would have gone with my lord to France, and dreadful it is to me to have to own to it. But girls will be for ever reading romances, ma’am, as I make no doubt your grace knows. Yes, Sophia was swept off her feet by his lordship’s wiles, but Mary stepped in with some scheme of her own to send my lord packing. She has saved her poor sister at the price of her own honour, ma’am!”
Léonie said thoughtfully: “It is strange, I find, that this so noble sister did not rather inform you, madame, of what mademoiselle here meant to do. You, who have reared your daughters with such strictness, could have arranged matters more easily, is it not so?”
“Indeed, and I do not know why Mary did not tell me, ma’am, but she is an odd secret girl, and will for ever
