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They swam in the river to cool off as he'd promised and then lay in the damaged golden bed, damp and refreshed, drinking the champagne François had left. They spoke of mundane things, the fishing at Poilly, the Duc's gardener, the village school he supported, Daisy's friendship with Adelaide, the style of horse best suited for hunting. And when the sun's shadows began lengthening, he carried her back to his cottage through the willow grove and flower gardens up the curved staircase to his austere bedroom so different from the sumptuous ornament of the river barge.

"I've redone the cottage," Etienne said when Daisy mentioned the stark difference in decor. "Accumulating my own preferences for comfort. The original interior relied rather heavily on eyelet-lace and pink." He smiled at her seated Indian fashion in the middle of his bed, dressed only again in his white shirt, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, the picture of natural beauty. "You wouldn't have liked it. Are you tired?"

She shook her head no. "Happiness must be an antidote to fatigue."

"You must stay," he said very simply.

She didn't pretend not to understand. She only said, "Yes, I know," as simply.

They lay in bed while the sun gave way to twilight, holding each other, kissing and smiling and agreeing the world was the best of all possible worlds.

"Marry me," Etienne quietly said, tracing the silky curve of Daisy's brow with his fingertip.

"I surely would if you didn't already have a wife." Daisy was so ecstatically happy no dark cloud, however real, intruded.

He wanted her like this always—beside him and smiling, making him whole, giving him joyful reason to think of his future. "Don't joke, I'm serious. I'll see my lawyer tomorrow. For enough money, Isabelle will be practical. Good God, our entire marriage has been practical."

"Are you sure?" Daisy wasn't referring to Isabelle exclusively. Was he sure of permanence with her, this man known for fickleness? His answer wouldn't matter though. Regardless of his reply, magnanimous in her utter love, she would allow him anything.

Etienne didn't want her to be blasé or even practical because, for the first time in his life, he wasn't. He wanted her to feel as totally committed as he. "Would you share me?"

"If I had to."

"I won't share you. I won't," he repeated, his voice a low growl.

"Nor would I," she softly said. "If you must know."

He smiled. "Good."

She smiled back. "I was trying, I thought I could, I wanted to, I would take you for five fleeting minutes a week, I thought, if I must. If that was all I could have. But I would have made impossible demands ultimately, I suppose. I'm not the passive type."

"I noticed," he said with a lavish grin.

They made plans, joyful plans for their future.

Etienne Mattel, Duc de Vec, had never been so happy in his life.

And Daisy Black understood the nature of bliss.

"You must be joking."

Isabelle said the next afternoon, seated behind a silver tea service in her private drawing room, cool as the ice blue of her gown.

"Believe me, I've never been more serious in my life. I want a divorce."

Full of his plans, happy, the Duc had gone to see her directly when she returned from Deauville. He was determined to present his case in an objective, open way. Determined also, to pay Isabelle handsomely for his freedom.

She could initiate the divorce; he would take full blame; whatever grounds she chose to cite, he would not contest. She had simply to name her price.

"There has never been a divorce in our families. I won't hear of it."

"The world is changing, Isabelle. Even the Church lost its power to restrict divorce in France. The law was passed seven years ago because the population demanded it."

"Which is precisely what is wrong with politics in this country today. The rabble are allowed a voice. And you see what happens. No, Etienne, there has never been a divorce in the Montigny family and there never will. Milk or lemon?"

The Duc took a calming breath, gazed for a moment at the pattern of the parquet floor beneath his feet and said, "Lemon."

"Charles asked for you at Deauville." His wife handed him the cup of tea. "I told him he should remember you dislike salt air." She said it with a sense of propriety and her usual rudeness.

"I don't dislike salt air. I was busy."

"With this new paramour of yours?"

"I intend to have this divorce, Isabelle," he said, ignoring her question. "If you won't institute it, I will."

"She must be very special, this one." Her smile was gelid. "Tell her, though, I have no intention of divorcing you. Furthermore," she went on, her voice rising slightly in pitch when she considered the whispers and humiliation divorce proceedings would entail, "if you proceed with this madness of yours, I'll fight you in court..
. forever
!"

"Can't we be reasonable about this, Isabelle? Our marriage hasn't been"—he stumbled over the wording in his attempt to maintain a degree of courtesy—"friendly in years."

"Two of the oldest families in France were united in our marriage, Etienne. That was the basis of our marriage and it will remain the raison d'être of our union. I don't recall the nuptial vows requiring 'friendship.'"

"Perhaps
I
require friendship."

"And surely that hasn't been lacking in your life." Her pale brows rose quizzically. "Or do you call that something else?"

"I'm determined, Isabelle." He set his teacup down untouched.

"No, you're just made for a young woman
again
," she spat out. "Do you know how many times I've seen that light in your eyes? Do you realize how many there have been?" Her voice was shrill on the inflections. "I've lost count, you've lost count, but they're invariably young and pretty and available." Her indignation mottled the whiteness of her skin, set the Montigny diamonds bobbing emphatically. "You're infatuated
again
! You don't need a divorce. This is business as usual for you, Etienne."

"Daisy's different." There wasn't the remotest comparison with his past escapades.

"Good God, Etienne, look at yourself. You're old. She doesn't want you. She wants your money."

It wasn't true, of course. Etienne was still the most handsome man in Paris. In France. She didn't know the rest of the world but she suspected he'd win out there too. Her voice was more reasonable now, like it always was when she felt an argument was settled. It was never won with Etienne. He simply let her have her way. And he would again. She felt it.

He shrugged then, as he always did. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice mild. All he wanted to do was get away. From her shrill voice and the gilded room that had housed de Vecs for four hundred years, from the modulation of Isabelle's anger into an artificial reasonableness that always grated. "I'm promised at Valentin's tonight so I'll stay at the flat. Tell Hector I'll send him a new toy tomorrow." He would have liked to go up to the nursery and hold his grandson and tell him to come and see him at the
Quai du Louvre
. But it wasn't fair to disturb the child with the chaos of his life.
I won't be back to the Hôtel de Vec
, he thought,
whatever happens. Whether I win Daisy or not, I won't be back
.

He couldn't face another day of the chill, cool reasonableness.

"Good-bye, Isabelle." He didn't say
au revoir
. It would have been hypocritical. But his polite courtesy was still functioning, his affection perhaps for all the years at least. "If you need anything, let me know."

She didn't realize the finality of his leaving. Etienne had been gone sometimes more than he was home. "We're promised for a weekend at the Prince Chaubords the next fortnight," she said. "Alphonse expects you."

"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 myself," 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."