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  "Don't forget to tell Hector," the Duc said and walked from the room feeling as old as Isabelle had said.

  She couldn't help it, he resignedly thought, resting against the soft upholstery of his carriage seat on the drive along the river to his flat. She couldn't help the way she thought—that he was simply a title to have captured, the best her family could bargain for with her enormous dowry. Isabelle couldn't help that she'd been raised to become an empty-headed beauty who ignored her children and husband for her wardrobe and hairdresser and spiteful rounds of gossip with her friends. She'd been reared to that role as her mother had before her, and her childhood had been one of nannies and governesses and fawning retainers. She didn't know anything else.

  He could forgive her her ignorance, but he couldn't forgive her ungenerous spirit.

  They'd both been young and he'd understood the duties of his title as much as Isabelle understood her need to marry well.

  The dynastic bonds were family decisions, business decisions, and he'd acceded as a dutiful heir, recognizing within the bonds of these arranged marriages a great deal of freedom was allowed. He'd accepted the patterns solidified by countless generations before him.

  Except for the children.

  He couldn't ignore them as many of his friends did.

  As Isabelle did.

  He'd adored them from the first sight of their pink newborn faces.

  And the most wrenching blow would be their possible misunderstanding.

  He had to talk to them soon.

  * * *

  He spoke to Daisy be-fore dinner at Adelaide's that evening, arriving early before the other guests. He'd discussed the divorce with Isabelle and while she hadn't immediately consented, he felt sure they could reach an agreement, he told her. Then he insisted on calling in Adelaide and Valentin to tell them their plans. When Daisy protested, the expression in Etienne's eyes, rather than his words, gave her an uneasy sense of foreboding. He said in a quiet level tone, "I love you, I intend to marry you, and I wish to make the announcement public."

  Adelaide and Valentin were shocked, not because Daisy and the Duc were in love—they understood the self-indulgence and license allowed in their sophisticated world. But the Duc? Declaring his love publicly? They were clearly surprised.

  "You spoke of divorce to Isabelle?" Adelaide carefully inquired, persuaded she'd misunderstood his meaning.

  "This afternoon."

  He was serious.

  "I don't suppose she took it gracefully," Valentin bluntly said, his masculine opinion of Isabelle apparent in his tone.

  "We'll work something out."

  Adelaide's eyes were on Daisy, whose gaze was on Etienne. She was clearly besotted. Daisy and the Duc were seated together, his hand holding hers, and when he looked down after speaking, his smile was intimate, the smile of a man in love.

  Valentin saw it too and realized the litigation was going to be brutal. Isabelle would go to any obstructive length to preserve her position as the Duchesse de Vec, but she'd sell her soul to the devil to wipe that intimate, loving smile from her husband's lips.

  "If we can be of any help," Valentin said. "Have you spoken to Bourges?" Bourges was the barrister of choice for the wealthy. Etienne would need his expertise.

  "No."

  "I wouldn't wait. Isabelle may get to him first."

  "She wouldn't deal with him. She finds him parvenu."

  Valentin smiled, his mood lightened. Isabelle would wage a savage fight, but if Etienne had Bourges, he stood a chance. "He may be parvenu, but he's brilliant and if you won't call him now, I will. You can't afford to wait a minute."

  "What are we talking about here," Daisy softly interposed. "Why do you need Bourges?" No one retained a man of his reputation for pitched battle unless the situation were grave.

  "He's the best," Valentin replied.

  "She refused, didn't she?" Daisy's dark eyes were somber.

  "No," Etienne lied. "But Bourges is familiar with the process. He'd be useful." Valentin was right. Bourges had handled Taine's divorce skillfully.

  "Isabelle is a monarchist," Adelaide said in explanation, the single word indicative of a personality immune to the rapidly changing world and society. "She will, at least," Adelaide went on, her voice a calming influence on Daisy's alarm, "resist an easy settlement."

  "That's why you need Bourges?" Turning back to the Duc, Daisy's expression was less anxious.

  "Yes." He didn't say he could also use Bourges because the lawyer had political alliances with the judicial system that might be of help. He didn't say Bourges was perhaps the only man in the country who could launch an offensive to Isabelle's irrevocable refusal. He didn't say he intended to win his divorce, with or without Bourges.

  "I think the occasion calls for a bottle of champagne."

  Valentin proposed, genuinely happy for his friend who had had too little love, who had, despite his amorous reputation, lived a very solitary life.

  Adelaide was already reaching for the bell-pull. The Duc squeezed Daisy's hand and kissed her gently on the cheek. She loved him with all her heart, she thought, smiling at him.

  At dinner that night, while no disclosure of his plans was made, for the Duc had yet to speak to his children and Bourges, the de Chantel guests cast knowing glances at each other. The Duc was obviously in love, and the sumptuous and wealthy Miss Black from America, while less open in her feelings, clearly returned his sentiments. They were cheerful and gay, although plainly distracted by their shared affection; the Duc said, "Pardon me?" numerous times in the course of the evening, requiring some comment be repeated before he heard it. And the beautiful Daisy Black's eyes glowed with an exuberant joy outshining her diamonds. When they danced later, after dinner and more champagne, after the men over port and cigars had roguishly teased Etienne about the schoolboy light in his eyes, everyone agreed the Duc was smitten.

  Sending notes around, the Duc saw his children very early the next morning before any possible gossip might have reached them. He wasn't concerned that Isabelle might talk to them. Her relationship with the children was formal, a restrained dialogue over tea, occasionally. Even Hector was brought to her when she felt impelled to give some instructions on his upbringing. She rarely visited Jolie or Justin's apartments and never the nursery.

  He rode with his son in the Bois shortly after sunrise, the two men so similar in height and dark good-looks, although Justin's youth was apparent in his slim, rangy build. Justin, at barely twenty, hadn't yet developed the powerful physique of his father. They spoke first of Justin's trip, imminent and a source of much excitement to him. Etienne recommended his favorite haunts in Cairo, offered some fatherly words of caution, and ended with his usual question prior to Justin's jaunts. "Did Legere give you the letters of credit?"

  "Yes, Papa. Also the letters of introduction."

  "Don't forget, the French consul likes Havana cigars. I'll have some of mine sent round before you leave. You should at least present yourself out of courtesy."

  "Don't worry, Papa, I shall. His wife's very attractive."

  Quickly glancing at his son, Etienne met a sunny, light-hearted smile. He'd lived too long in the world to offer hypocritical advice. Instead he mildly said, "Perhaps Robert would like a case of my special brandy with the cigars. I'll see to it."

  Since the Duc rode often in the morning with his son, Justin saw no particular significance in the occasion, and as they cantered through the carefully kept acres of the Bois, meeting very few other riders in the postdawn hour, Justin kept up a running monologue on his preparations for Egypt. The Duc had to finally interrupt because their circuit of the grounds was almost complete.

  "I've something of importance to say."

  "I know, Papa, I'll be careful. I always am."

  The Duc smiled at the vitality in his son's expression, feeling for a moment immense pleasure in Justin's happiness. At least .in the desolation of his marriage, his children hadn't suffered. "It's about your maman and m
yself," he said, his voice perhaps conveying the consequence of what he was about to say, because Justin slowed his mount and gave his father his full attention.

  "I've asked her for a divorce."

  "Finally," his son said.

  He'd not expected so succinct a response. Nor one so dégagé'. "You're not disturbed?" As a parent he felt responsibility for living up to his children's expectations.

  "What took so long?" his son quietly asked.

  At which point the Duc explained about Daisy at some length, saying at the end, "I'd like you to meet her before you leave…"

  "With pleasure," Justin said to his father's hesitancy, aware what profound changes were about to alter his father's life. "Jolie will support you too, Papa." Justin's declaration was simply put, a child's offer to help. "But," he added with a grin, "I'm glad I'm on my way to Egypt before the fireworks start. You know Maman will go for the jugular."

  "It's going to be one damned mess." Etienne sighed. "She'll marshal all the conservative judges and ministers. The closed ranks of the monarchists will stand firm. I hate to think of my lecture from her cousin the Archbishop."

  "Don't forget Belle-mire Montigny," Justin said with a lift of his dark brow. "I'm sure she'll descend on you with her aging Jesuit advisors." His grin widened. "Maybe Egypt isn't far enough. There's always Indo-China. Would you like to consider an Eastern journey?"

  "Yes." The Duc's own smile was rueful. "Unfortunately… my absence wouldn't solve this dilemma. I'm dead serious about marrying Daisy and it's pleasant in a grim, yet hopeful way to be serious about something after so many years. Thank God, this is the last dynastic marriage in the de Vec family. Jolie is happy and you—"

  "—are happy, Papa. And I'm not going to marry for another ten years at least."

  The Duc smiled. "Unless Robert's pretty young wife turns your head."

  "Papa!" His reply was disclaimer and protest both. "She flirts with everyone."

  They were crossing into the Rue de Rivoli now, the traffic still light, only shopgirls and tradesmen going to work, along with an occasional freight wagon passing by. "I've, asked Jolie to come to see me when Hector finishes his breakfast. Would you like to join us?"

  Justin hesitated for a moment, his day busy with details of his departure. But he thought then of all the times his father had comforted him in his childhood, or been available for advice or money or influence when he'd gotten himself into a scrap, or simply listened to him from his nursery days on with genuine interest, and he said, "Of course."

  When Jolie walked through the door of the breakfast room a scant half hour later, Hector in tow, Justin said, "He's done it at last. That's the remarkable news. Hi, Hector, tell Uncle Justin what you want me to bring you back from Egypt."

  "Camel," Hector said, causing Justin to look up at his sister in surprise.

  "You've been talking about Egypt for months now. Consequently he's been talking about Egypt for months and even two-year-olds know what a camel is when they hear about it daily." Her smile was serene.

  "I didn't know what a camel was when I was two."

  "Papa hadn't been to Egypt yet. Are you really, Papa?" she casually said, turning to her father who was holding Hector in his lap, showing him the moving astrological signs on his pocket watch. "At last?" She smiled.

  "Why is everyone saying 'at last' to me? Have I been ignoring some significant intimations all these years?"

  "Everyone knows you and Maman don't get along."

  "Which isn't particularly unusual."

  "Perhaps for your generation," Justin interposed.

  "You're going to need Bourges."

  "Why does everyone seem to think I need Bourges?"

  "Papa, sometimes you're so naive," his daughter said to the man generally considered the least naive in Paris. "Maman would sooner see you dead than divorced."

  "What 'vorce?" Hector asked, taking a moment from his attempt at dismantling Etienne's watch to gaze up at his mother.

  "Sometimes people don't get along and then they get a divorce," she explained. To her father's raised brows, she added, "He's certainly going to hear enough about it in the coming months. I believe in being honest. You always were, Papa."

  She pronounced the last sentence with an energetic affirmation to which Etienne couldn't help but smile. "Perhaps though," he said, coming from an older school of honesty, "we could continue the details of this discussion later. I simply wanted to tell you before someone else did. And," he added with a grin, "I was beginning to miss Hector already last night."

  "You're welcome, Papa, you know that… anytime."

  "Under the circumstances—"

  "Hector can come over whenever you like. If I'm not home, I'll give instructions to Nurse to bring him over. If you have any sentimental attachment to that watch, Papa, perhaps we should lure Hector's attention away with some of those strawberries. Hector, darling," she coaxed without waiting for her father's response, "look at this strawberry like Madame Squirrel eats." With the consummate experience of a mother, she offered the strawberry with one hand and rescued Etienne's watch with the other. "Now tell me about Adelaide's pretty young friend," she said, sitting down, her smile like her father's, dazzling and amiable. "Of course I keep track of you," she said, in response to her father's surprised expression. "Someone has to."

  * * *

  The Duc de Vec's call on Bourges turned out to be less warmhearted and merciful. Felicien Bourges pointed out in a precise, swift commentary the limitations of France's negotiated divorce law. It was not a secular law of mutual consent, so should Isabelle choose not to petition for divorce or contest the Duc's petition, the proceedings could drag on in the courts through various cross-petitions and appeals at great length. Furthermore, if the Duchesse had to be petitioned for divorce, proving material injuries before a judge most likely in the debt of the Minister of Justice, Comte de Montigny, might not only be difficult but…

  "Are you telling me it's impossible?" The Duc's tone conveyed his opinion of that word. Bourges was extremely young. Perhaps his reputation while not necessarily undeserved, had been shaped by fortuitous circumstances. Did he have the experience?

  "No. I simply wished to define the obstacles." Felicien Bourges, the son of a peasant, who had risen by hard work and talent through the difficult route of a scholarship student in an educational system antagonistic to scholarship students, understood obstacles. It was his inspiration and his genius.

  Men of the Duc's privileged background were only familiar with compliance. Did this casually seated man so used to command realize the extent of his difficulties? Bourges wondered.

  "Will the divorce take long?" Etienne asked. Since Bourges hadn't said the divorce was impossible, it was possible. And if he had said it was impossible, Etienne would simply have found another barrister.

  "The Duchesse's brother is Minister of Justice. Very unfortunate." The young lawyer leaned forward slightly as if emphasizing his point.

  "Surely only a hindrance."

  "A formidable one. But," Felicien added in the self-possessed tone at odds with his very youthful appearance, "not insuperable."

  "How long?" the Duc repeated.

  "That depends on the Duchesse. She is opposed, you say?"

  "So she said. Personally, I believe she has a price. I told her she had simply to name it."

  The woman he was so anxious to marry must be most unusual, Felicien thought, or perhaps enceinte. He knew the Duc by reputation and de Vec's priorities with the women in his past had never been matrimonial. "Is there some anxiety about… the time period?"

  The Duc smiled at his euphemistic query and at the familiar phrasing. "None other than my own selfish desire to marry again."

  "You realize of course, the lady you wish to marry cannot be named accomplice in the divorce decree or you'll be prohibited by law from marrying her."

  "Then you must see she's not." The Duc spoke with patrician assurance.

  How nice it would be, Bourges
thought, if the law could be so easily administered. "I suggest we speak to the Duchesse's counsel first… as a preliminary procedure."

  "Old Letheve will be scandalized."

  "She hasn't secured other counsel then?"

  "When I spoke to her last, yesterday, she felt, I think, that all was resolved—between us. You may speak to Letheve first if you wish. I don't know how things are handled in… these situations, but perhaps if you spoke to her without involving her family's law firm, she could express her wishes privately. I'm amenable to any of her requests, save one."

  The Duc was reticent as most of his class was, Bourges noted about his privacy. He had the distinct feeling that had the Duc been able to avoid this meeting today he would have, and while he found that refinement well-bred and mannerly, in the coming negotiations for divorce with an unwilling wife, the Duc's commitment to good breeding would be tested. As an initial warning, Felicien said, "This could be very costly, in terms of property and amiability both. You're aware of that."

  "I'm hoping your expertise will preserve the latter—such as it is between Isabelle and myself. I don't care about the property."

  "You're willing to accede to any of her demands? It isn't necessary, of course. The law is more protective of your property rights than your wife's. Provided we can overcome any judicial maneuvering her family may interpose. Her family, you realize, is her greatest asset."

  "My greatest obstruction, you mean."

  "With her brother as Minister of Justice and her cousin, Archbishop of Paris, her support unfortunately is strategic. Now if Montigny was Minister of the Interior or Trade—" he shrugged, "the judges wouldn't be so apt to do his bidding."

  "But since they're appointed…"

  "An unfortunate situation."

  "I suggest you speak first to Isabelle." Etienne hesitated. "If she'll see you." His lashes lowered fractionally. "I'm sorry. Isabelle is a member of an ancien régime family that resists the reality of the Revolution."