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With his hand on the door Avon paused, and looked back.

‘My good sir,’ he said haughtily, ‘I am weary of your horse. It has served its turn, and shall be restored to you.’ He went out with Merivale, and shut the door behind him. ‘So. One moment, Anthony. Johnson!’

The butler came forward.

‘Your Grace?’

‘Bid them harness Thunderbolt and Blue Peter to the curricle at once, place my large valise in it, and tell one of the women to pack some clothes for Mistress Léonie. Within half an hour, Johnson.’

‘Very good, your Grace,’ bowed the old man.

‘And now, Merivale, this way.’

‘By Gad, you’re a cool devil!’ exclaimed Merivale, and followed him to the library.

His Grace went to his desk and extracted from it a brace of gold-mounted pistols.

‘Briefly, Anthony, the matter is this: Léonie is Saint-Vire’s daughter.’

‘I never knew he had a daughter!’

‘No one knew. You thought he had a son, perhaps?’

‘Yes. Well, naturally! I’ve seen the boy many times.’

‘He is no more Saint-Vire’s son than you are,’ said his Grace, snapping the breech of one of his pistols. ‘His name is Bonnard.’

‘Good God, Alastair, do you mean to tell me that Saint-Vire had the audacity to exchange the children? Because of Armand?’

‘I am delighted to find that you understand the situation so well,’ said the Duke. ‘I beg you will let it go no further, for the time is not yet.’

‘Very well, but what a piece of villainy! Does he know that you know?’

‘I had best tell you the whole story,’ sighed Avon.

When they at length emerged from the library Merivale’s face was a study of mingled emotions, and he appeared to be speechless. Jennifer met them in the hall.

‘You are going, sir? You – you will bring her back?’

‘That I cannot say,’ Avon replied. ‘She will be safe with me, my lady.’

Her eyes fell.

‘Yes, sir, I feel that that is so.’

His Grace looked at her.

‘You surprise me,’ he said.

She put her hand out, hesitating.

‘She has told me so much. I cannot but be sure of your – kindness.’ She paused. ‘Sir, what – what lies between you and me is past, and should be forgotten.’

His Grace bowed over her hand; his lips were smiling.

‘Jenny, if I said that I had forgotten you would be offended.’

‘No,’ she answered, and a laugh trembled in her voice. ‘I should be glad.’


Tags: Georgette Heyer Alastair-Audley Tetralogy Romance