“He drives very well,” Léonie said hopefully. “I do not think that he will break his neck, but you are quite right, tout même, Fanny: it makes one very anxious.”
“And not content with making absurd wagers, which of course he must lose — ”
“He will not lose,” cried her grace indignantly. “And if you like I will lay you a wager that he will win!”
“Lord, my dear, I don’t know what you would have me stake,” said Lady Fanny, forgetting the main issue for the moment. “It’s very well for you with all the pin money and the jewels Avon gives you, but I give you my word I expect to find myself at any moment in that horrid place Rupert used to be clapped up in. If you can believe it I’ve not won once at loo this past month or at silver-pharaoh, and as for whist, I vow and declare to you I wish the game had never been thought of. But that’s neither here nor there, and at least I have not to stand by and watch my only son make himself the talk of the town with his bets and his highwaymen, and I don’t know what more beside.”
Léonie looked interested at this. “But tell!” she commanded. “What highwayman?”
“Oh, it was nothing but just to match the rest of his conduct. He shot one last night on Hounslow Heath, and must needs leave the body upon the road.”
“He is a very good shot,” Léonie said. “For me, I like best to fight with swords, and so does Monseigneur, but Dominique chooses pistols.”
Lady Fanny almost stamped her foot. “I declare you are as incorrigible as that worthless boy himself!” she cried. “It’s very well for the world to call Dominic Devil’s Cub, and place all his wildness at poor Avon’s door, but for my part I find him very like his mamma.”
Léonie was delighted. “Voyons, that pleases me very much!” she said. “Do you really think so?”
What Fanny might have been goaded to reply to this was checked by the quiet opening of the door behind her. She had no need to turn her head to see who had come in, for Léonie’s face told her.
A soft voice spoke. “Ah, my dear Fanny,” it said, “lamenting my son’s wickedness as usual, I perceive.”
“Monseigneur, Dominique has shot a highwayman!” Léonie said, before Fanny had time to speak.
His Grace of Avon came slowly to the fire, and stretched one thin white hand to the blaze. He carried an ebony stick, but it was noticeable that he leaned on it but slightly. He was still very upright, and only his lined face showed his age. He wore a suit of black velvet with silver lacing, and his wig, which was curled in the latest French fashion, was thickly powdered. His eyes held all their old mockery, and mockery sounded in his voice as he answered: “Very proper.”
“And left the body to rot on the road!” snapped Lady Fanny.
His grace’s delicate brows rose. “I appreciate your indignation, my dear. An untidy ending.”
“But not at all, Monseigneur!” Léonie said practically. “I do not see that a corpse is of any use at all.”
“La, child, will you never lose those callous notions of yours?” demanded Fanny. “It might be Vidal himself speaking! All he would say was that he could not bring a corpse to the drum. Yes, Avon; that is positively the only excuse he gave for his inhuman conduct.”
“I did not know that Vidal had so much proper feeling,” remarked his grace. He moved towards a chair and sat down. “Doubtless you had some other reason for visiting us today — other than to mourn Vidal’s exploits.”
“Of course, I might have known you would uphold him, just to be disagreeable,” said Lady Fanny crossly.
“I never uphold Vidal — even to be disagreeable,” replied his grace.
“Indeed, and I cannot conceive how you should. I was only saying to Léonie when you came in that I have never seen my son in such scrapes as he is always in. I do not believe John has ever caused me one moment’s anxiety in all his life.”
The Duke opened his snuff-box — a plain gold case delicately painted en grisaille by Degault and protected by cristal de roche. “I can do nothing about it, my dear Fanny,” he said. “Recollect that you wanted to marry Edward.”
Under her rouge additional and quite natural colour rose in Fanny’s cheeks. “I won’t hear one word against my sainted Edward!” she said, her voice quivering a little. “And if you mean that John is like his dear father, I am sure I am thankful for it”
Léonie interposed hurriedly. “Monseigneur did not mean anything like that, did you, Monseigneur? And me, I was always very fond of Edward. And certainly John is like him, which is a good thing, just as Juliana is very like you, only not, I think, as pretty as you were.”
“Oh my dear, do you say so indeed?” Lady Fanny’s angry flush died down. “You flatter me, but I believe I was accounted something of a beauty in my young days, was I not, Justin? Only I hope I was never so headstrong as Juliana, who is likely to ruin everything by her stupid behaviour.” She turned to Avon. “Justin, it is too provoking! The foolish chit has taken a fancy to the veriest nobody, and I am forced — yes, forced to pack her off to France till she has got over it.”
Léonie at once pricked up her ears. “Oh, is Juliana in love? But who is he?”
“Pray do not put such an idea into her head!” besought Lady Fanny. “It’s no such matter, I’ll be bound. Lord, if I had married the first man whom I fancied I loved — ! It’s nothing but a silly girl’s first affair, but she is such a headstrong child I vow I do not know what she will be at next. So off she goes to France. John is to take her.”
“Who,” inquired his grace languidly, “is the nobody?”
“Oh, no one of account, my dear Justin. Some country squire’s son whom young Carlisle is sponsoring.”
“Is he nice?” Léonie asked.
“I dare say, my love, but that’s nothing to the point. I have other plans for Juliana.” She gave her laces a little shake, and went on airily: “I am sure we have spoken of it often enough, you and I, and I cannot help feeling that it would be a charming match, besides fulfilling my dearest wish. And I have always thought them remarkably well suited, and I make no doubt at all that everything would have been on the road to being settled by now had Juliana not taken it into her head to flout me in this way, though to be sure, I do not in the least blame her for appearing cold to him, for it is no more than he deserves.”
She paused for breath, and shot a look at Avon out of the corners of her eyes. He was quite unperturbed; a faint smile hovered over his thin lips, and he regarded his sister with an air of cynical amusement. “I find your conversation somewhat difficult to follow, my dear Fanny,” he said. “Pray enlighten me.”
Lady Fanny said shrewdly: “Indeed, and I think you follow me very well, Justin.”
“But I don’t,” Léonie said. “Who deserves that Juliana should be cold? It is not the poor nobody?”
“Of course not!” replied her ladyship impatiently. She seemed strangely loth to explain herself. Léonie glanced inquiringly at the Duke.
He had opened his snuff-box again, and held a pinch to one nostril before he spoke. “I apprehend, my love, that Fanny is referring to your son.”
A blank look came into Léonie’s face. “Dominique? But — ” She stopped and looked at Fanny. “No,” she said flatly.
Lady Fanny was hardly prepared for anything so downright. “Lord, my dear, what can you mean?”
“I do not at all want Dominique to marry Juliana,” Léonie explained.
“Perhaps,” said Lady Fanny, sitting very erect in her chair, “you will be good enough to explain what that signifies.”