“I will start mine explanation, Fanny, with an announcement. I am not in love with Léonie. If you will believe that it will make matters more simple.” He tossed the fan on the couch, and drew out his snuffbox.
“But—but if you are not in love with her, why—what—Justin, I don’t understand! You are most provoking!”
“Pray accept my most humble apologies. I have a reason for adopting the child.”
“Is she French? Where did she learn to speak English? I wish you would explain!”
“I am endeavouring to do so, my dear. Allow me to say that you give me very little opportunity.”
She pouted.
“Now you are cross. Well, start, Justin! The child is pretty enough, I grant you.”
“Thank you. I found her in Paris one evening, clad as a boy, and fleeing from her unpleasant—er—brother. It transpired that this brother and his inestimable wife had made the child masquerade as a boy ever since her twelfth year. She was thus of more use to them. They kept a low tavern, you see.”
Fanny cast up her eyes.
“A tavern-wench!” She shuddered, and raised her scented handkerchief to her nose.
“Precisely. In a fit of—let us say—quixotic madness, I bought Léonie, or Léon, as she called herself, and took her home with me. She became my page. I assure you she created no little interest in polite circles. It pleased me to keep her a boy for a time. She imagined that I was in ignorance of her sex. I became a hero to her. Yes, is it not amusing?”
“It is horrid! Of course the girl hopes to intrigue you. La, Justin, how can you be such a fool?”
“My dear Fanny, when you know Léonie a little better you will not accuse her of having designs upon me. She is in very truth the infant I call her. A gay, impertinent, and trusting infant. I have a notion that she regards me in the light of a grandparent. To resume: as soon as we arrived at Dover I told her that I knew her secret. It may surprise you to hear, Fanny, that the task was damnably hard.”
“It does,” said Fanny frankly.
“I was sure it would. However, I did it. She neither shrank from me nor tried to coquette. You can have no idea how refreshing I found it.”
“Oh, I make no doubt you found it so!” retorted Fanny.
“I am glad that we understand one another so well,” bowed his Grace. “For reasons of mine own I am adopting Léonie, and because I will have no breath of scandal concerning her I bring her to you.”
“You overwhelm me, Justin.”
“Oh, I trust not! I believe you told me some months ago that our cousin by marriage, the unspeakable Field, had died?”
“What has that to do with it?”
“It follows, my dear, that our respected cousin, his wife, whose name I forget, is free. I have a mind to make her Léonie’s chaperon.”
“Lud!”
“And as soon as may be I will send her and Léonie down to Avon. The infant must learn to be a girl again. Poor infant!”
“That is all very well, Justin, but you cannot expect me to house the girl! I vow ’tis preposterous! Think of Edward!”
“Pray hold me excused. I never think of Edward unless I can help it.”
“Justin, if you are minded to be disagreeable—”
“Not at all, my dear.” The smile faded from his lips. Fanny saw that his eyes were unwontedly stern. “We will be serious for once, Fanny. Your conviction that I had brought my mistress to your house—”
“Justin!”
“I am sure you will forgive my plain speaking. That conviction, I say, was pure folly. It has never been my custom to compromise others in my numerous affairs, and you should know that I am sufficiently strict where you are concerned.” There was peculiar meaning in his voice, and Fanny, who had once been famed for her indiscretions, dabbed at her eyes.
“How c-can you be s-so unkind! I do not think you are at all nice today!”
“But I trust I have made myself plain? You realise that the child I have brought you is but a child?—an innocent child?”
“I am sorry for her if she is!” said her ladyship spitefully.
“You need not be sorry. For once I mean no harm.”
“If you mean her no harm how can you think to adopt her?” Fanny tittered angrily. “What do you suppose the world will say?”
“It will be surprised, no doubt, but when it sees that my ward is presented by the Lady Fanny Marling its tongue will cease to wag.”
Fanny stared at him.
“I present her? You’re raving! Why should I?”
“Because, my dear, you have a kindness for me. You will do as I ask. Also, though you are thoughtless, and occasionally exceedingly tiresome, I never found you cruel. ’Twere cruelty to turn my infant away. She is a very lonely, frightened infant, you see.”
Fanny rose, twisting her handkerchief between her hands. She glanced undecidedly at her brother.
“A girl from the back streets of Paris, of low birth—”
“No, my dear. More I cannot say, but she is not born of the canaille. You have but to look at her to see that.”
“Well, a girl of whom I know naught—foisted on me! I declare ’tis monstrous! I could not possibly do it! What would Edward say?”
“I am confident that you could, if you would, cajole the worthy Edward.”
Fanny smiled.
“Yes, I could, but I do not want the girl.”
“She will not tease you, my dear. I wish you to keep her close, to dress her as befits my ward, and to be gentle with her. Is it so much to ask?”
“How do I know that she will not ogle Edward, this innocent maid?”
“She is too much
