“Egad, ’tis Fanny! Lord, who’d have thought it?”
Léonie ran to the window.
“It is! It is! Mon Dieu, que c’est amusant! Monseigneur it is Lady Fanny!”
His Grace went in a leisurely fashion to the door.
“So I understand,” he said placidly. “I fear your unfortunate duenna is indeed dead, infant.” He opened the door. “Well, Fanny?”
Lady Fanny came briskly in, embraced him, and let fall her cloak to the ground.
“La, what a journey I have had! My sweetest love, are you safe indeed?” she embraced Léonie. “I have been in a fever of curiosity, I give you my word! I see you are wearing the muslin I sent you. I knew ’twould be ravishing, but never tie your sash like that, child! Oh, and there is Rupert! Poor boy, you look quite too dreadfully pale!”
Rupert held her off.
“Have done, Fan, have done! What in thunder brought you over?”
Lady Fanny stripped off her gloves.
“Since my cousin was nigh dead with the vapours, what would you?” she protested. “Besides, ’twas so monstrous exciting I declare I could not be still!”
The Duke put up his glass.
“May I ask whether the worthy Edward is aware that you have joined us?” he drawled.
My lady dimpled.
“I am so tired of Edward!” she said. “He has been most provoking of late. I doubt I have spoiled him. Only fancy, Justin, he said I must not come to you!”
“You astonish me,” said his Grace. “Yet I observe that you are here.”
“A pretty thing ’twould be an I let Edward think he could order me as he chooses!” cried her ladyship. “Oh, we have had a rare scene. I left a note for him,” she added naively.
“That should console him, no doubt,” said his Grace politely.
“I do not think it will,” she answered. “I expect he will be prodigiously angry, but I pine for gaiety, Justin, and Gaston said you were bound for Paris!”
“I do not know that I shall take you, Fanny.”
She pouted.
“Indeed and you shall! I won’t be sent home. What would Léonie do for a chaperon if I went? For Harriet is in bed, my dear, and vows she can no more.” She turned to Léonie. “My love, you are vastly improved, ’pon rep you are! And that muslin becomes you sweetly. La, who gave you those pearls?”
“Monseigneur gave them to me,” Léonie said. “They are pretty, n’est-ce pas?”
“I would sell my eyes for them,” said her ladyship frankly, and shot a curious glance at her impassive brother. She sank down into a chair with much fluttering of skirts. “I implore you, tell me what happened to you, for Harriet is such a fool, and so taken up with her vapours that she can tell me naught but enough to whet my curiosity. I am nigh dead with it, I vow.”
“So,” said his Grace, “are we. Where do you come from, Fanny, and how have you had speech with Harriet?”
“Speech with her?” cried my lady. “Oh lud, Justin! ‘My head, my poor head!’ she moans, and: ‘She was ever a wild piece!’ Never a word more could I get from her. I was near to shaking her, I give you my word!”
“Be hanged to you, Fan, for a chatterbox!” exclaimed Rupert. “How came you to Avon?”
“Avon, Rupert? I protest I’ve not seen the place for nigh on a twelvemonth, though indeed I took some notion to visit my dearest Jennifer the other day. But it came to naught, for there was my Lady Fountain’s rout, and I could scare leave—”
“Devil take Lady Fountain’s rout! Where’s my cousin?”
“At home, Rupert. Where else?”
“What, not with Edward?”
Fanny nodded vigorously.
“She should suit his humour,” murmured the Duke.
“I doubt she will not,” said Fanny pensively. “What a rage he will be in, to be sure! Where was I?”
“You were not, my dear. We are breathlessly awaiting your arrival.”
“How disagreeable of you, Justin! Harriet! Of course! Up she came to town in Gaston’s charge, and was like to expire in my arms. Some rigmarole she wept down my best taffeta, and at last held out your letter, Justin. She vowed she’d not come to France, do what you would. Then I had more wailings of her sickness did she so much as set eyes on the sea. Oh, I had a pretty time with her, I do assure you! She could but moan of an abduction, and Rupert’s hat found in Long Meadow, hard by the wood, and of some man come to find a horse, and you setting off for Southampton, Justin. ’Twas like the threads of a sampler with naught to stitch ’em to. Gaston could tell me little more—la, Justin, why will you have a fool to valet?—and the end of it was that I was determined to come and see for myself and find what ’twas all about. Then, if you please, what says Edward but that I am not to go! ’Pon rep, things have come to a pretty pass between us, thought I! So when he went away to White’s—no, it was the Cocoa Tree, I remember, for he was to meet Sir John Cotton there—I set Rachel to pack my trunks, and started off with Gaston to come to you. Me voici, as Léonie would say.”
“Voyons!” Léonie’s eyes sparkled. “I think it was very well done of you, madame! Will you come to Paris too? I am to make my curtsy to the World, Monseigneur says, and go to balls. Please come, madame!”
“Depend upon it, I shall come, my love. ’Tis the very thing for which I have been pining. My sweetest life, there is a milliner in the Rue Royale who has the most ravishing styles! Oh, I will teach Edward a lesson!”
“Edward,” remarked his Grace, “is like to follow you demanding my blood. We must await his coming.”
“Dear Edward!” sighed my lady. “I do hope that he will not
