The Price of Deception (31 page)

Jacquelyn embarked on a flurry of frantic
preparations the day before. Her first order of business had been
to introduce Angelique to Dorcas, who would watch the baby while
she went into central Paris to take care of pressing matters.

Thankfully, she had thought ahead and brought with
her all the fine jewels given to her as a Duchess—heirlooms of
diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and gold, which were part of the
Holland fortune. She found a jeweler, who agreed to pay her a high
price for a few pieces, and then went shopping.

There were baby clothes to purchase and all the
accessories a newborn required for a long trip. The very act of
running about procuring the items flooded Jacquelyn with an elation
she had never known. She had been rescued out of the pit of
despair. Finally, her dream of being a mother had arrived. She was
the proud caretaker of an infant girl who would grow up as her
daughter.

After she returned to her townhouse with her newly
gathered purchases, she gave instructions for Dorcas and the other
maids to repack her trunks for a journey. In the meantime, she
penned her departing letter to Philippe Moreau. As far as the
outcome of the duel, Jacquelyn thought very little of it the entire
evening. Whatever happened, she would win either way.

The misguided affection she once felt for her
husband, speedily died when he announced his love of the whore. She
buried the loss, as one buries a dead pet—with passing grief and a
desire to quickly replace her loss with another pet to take its
place. It amazed her how stone cold her heart for Robert had
become, like a gravestone etched with painful memories and lack of
love.

As she lay in her bed pondering her departure, the
baby whimpered. Jacquelyn reached over to the traveling carrier she
had purchased, and laid her hand upon the soft bundle and smiled.
She lifted the babe to her bosom and spent a few moments bonding
with the infant.

No longer did her empty arms ache for a baby. The
touch of her warm flesh awakened her maternal urges. Jacquelyn
gloried in the completion of her womanhood. With a light tender
squeeze, she felt the madness that had flowed through her veins
melt away like the winter’s snow. Spring had finally arrived. She
took a deep breath of air into her lungs as a welcomed infusion of
new life. No longer would she curse her lonely and meaningless
existence.

Jacquelyn studied the child’s hair, weaving her
delicate fingers through the strands playfully. Angelique had
inherited the darker features of her mother and father with her
brown eyes. However, her hair displayed a lighter shade of
brunette, and her complexion was fair enough to match Jacquelyn’s
tones. She imagined the child to have been birthed from her own
womb. The memory of her former parents would soon drift into
oblivion, as the wheels of the train click-clacked on the rails
taking them farther away from Paris.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” she adoringly whispered,
kissing her soft cheek multiple times. “I shall love you and give
you a wonderful life, Angelique.”

Jacquelyn had not the heart to change the angel’s
first name, for it fit her perfectly. How could one modify the name
of a gift from Heaven? “You need a middle name, though, my love,”
she pondered. “Angelique Jolene. Now that has a ring to it, doesn’t
it?”

Convinced they would never be discovered in Vienna,
Jacquelyn harbored no qualms of taking her mother’s maiden name of
Bennett. She fully intended, however, to find herself a new husband
and would use the ruse of being a widow to obtain empathy.
Certainly, she could come up with some type of dastardly story
about the loss of a husband to produce compassion from some lonely
aristocrat. Men were foolish creatures, and duping one into
believing a lie seemed an effortless pursuit to undertake.

If they found reasonable housing, the amount of money
pocketed from the sale of her jewels would provide for her needs
for quite some time. However, a husband would provide for her needs
long term, as well as the fine education she planned to give her
daughter. Jacquelyn daydreamed that one day Angelique would be the
belle of society in Vienna, and she would marry her off to a
prosperous and rich man who would love and respect her.

After obtaining forged documents to support her new
identity, a past left behind, and a future to build, Jacquelyn
embraced the day ahead. Tomorrow, they would arrive at their
destination and begin anew. Leaving had been the perfect
consequence for all she left behind. Her husband still bound to a
wife who abandoned him; a whore bound to her lover without being
able to marry him; and retribution for a man who stole a child.
Jacquelyn laughed, feeling like an executioner of divine
judgment.

Angelique let out a whimpering cry, just as a knock
came at the door. “Madame, it’s Dorcas. I have the wet nurse with
me.”

“Come in,” she replied, placing Angelique back in her
bassinet. Jacquelyn had hired a wet nurse to accompany them until
they reached Vienna, having been fortunate to find one quickly
through an agency.

Dorcas had been somewhat skittish over the entire
matter of her mistress committing a crime, but promised her loyalty
regardless. Her sympathies toward her employer remained strong
after all the heartbreak she had seen her suffer. Dorcas promised
to attend to her needs for as long as she wanted her in life, in
return for secure, long-term employment.

“Madame Boucher is ready to feed the little
miss.”

“Very well.” She stood up and put her robe on for
morning tea in her cabin. “Take good care of her, Dorcas. She is,
after all, the joy of my life and my ultimate revenge.”

Jacquelyn smiled.

Chapter Twenty Six

Suzette obeyed Robert’s instructions. Her bags were
packed and placed by the door of her bedchamber for quick
retrieval. When she set them down, her hands trembled over the
possibility they would not be used.

Her anxiety the morning of the duel had wreaked havoc
upon her physical health. She had vomited from nerves and broke out
in a rash across her chest and neck. The wait proved intolerably
cruel.

To compound the horrid situation, the evening before,
Philippe returned home without Angelique. He would not tell her
where he had taken her. Instead, he yelled at her to stay out of
his affairs. Tomorrow, their daughter would return, and then she
would be expected to go back to her duties as a wife and
mother.

Suzette thought fondly of her newborn. Each
reflection of her little life tore at her soul. She had given birth
to a daughter and one whose arrival she had waited upon for many
years. Angelique represented God’s forgiveness for her past sins.
Her price, now steeped in the sin of adultery, would be to leave
her behind.

Should Robert prevail and they leave with their son,
she hoped to God that Philippe would find an ounce of mercy and
allow her to visit Angelique throughout her lifetime. She knew his
devotion to their daughter ran deep, and she would bring
consolation to him in his loss. Her anguish, however, did not
outweigh her love for Robert. What sacrifices she must make to
spend eternity with him, she would gladly embrace.

Suzette spent the night behind closed doors. The
emotions in her heart, raw and tender, brought tears to her eyes
throughout the evening’s vigil. It had become impossible to
suppress her bouts of sobbing over all that had happened and all
that would soon unfold.

Life had taken a turn—a violent turn, once again.
Only this time, it happened by her hand and none other. She deeply
regretted her choice of not telling Robert about their son. He
spoke the truth. She had made the decision for him and had not
allowed him to accept his responsibility or perhaps make other
arrangements.

Suzette refused to ponder what could have happened
between them had circumstances been different. The past would never
change. All that remained was a terrifying reality at morning’s
light.

She harbored anger toward Philippe because he
challenged Robert and put both of their lives at risk. He had
always been an arrogant man driven by honor, and more so since his
return from the navy. She should have known that he would not have
taken her adultery lightly. He would consider her a traitor.

Suzette understood the desperation Robert felt to
protect his son and accept the challenge. In doing so, he had
risked his life to bring them together. The thought of his death
proved far too painful to allow entrance into Suzette’s
imagination. After the hours crawled slowly through the night and
eventually gave way to the morning, she rose to face her
verdict.

Finally, an hour after the break of dawn, a knock
came upon her door. Suzette jumped to her feet. “Yes?” she called
out, afraid that it might be Philippe on the other side.

“There is a gentleman downstairs, Madame, asking to
see you. His calling card says that he’s Duke Robert Holland.”

Suzette threw the door open and rushed by her maid in
a frantic dash, nearly knocking her over. She picked up the hem of
her skirt and ran down the staircase toward Robert, who stood in
the foyer. Across the tiled entrance and into his arms she flung
herself, causing him to take a step backward to keep his balance.
She clutched him tightly in thankful relief.

“Robert, my dear Robert.” Suzette trembled against
his warm body, and Robert circled his arms around her gently in
return.

“It’s all right, my love. All is well. You need not
despair any longer.”

Suzette’s cries of relief continued, and Robert
stroked her back tenderly with his hands, comforting her as she
released the last bit of fear from her soul.

Finally, she pulled away and looked at him with her
tear-streaked face. “Philippe . . . is he all right?”

“Philippe is fine, love. A small wound to his
shoulder. He should heal and be well soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, under her breath.
“Thank God.” She stepped back and examined his appearance. “And
you, Robert, have suffered no harm?”

“None. I’m fine, Suzette. By the grace of God, his
bullet hit the tree behind me rather than lodging in my heart.”

She looked up into Robert’s eyes. “I’m surprised he
missed, but thankful,” she exhaled, in relief. “I don’t know,
Robert, what I would have done had you died!”

Robert embraced her while she continued her
unrestrained discharge of joy. Eventually, she pulled away, and
Robert handed her his handkerchief.

“Blow your nose, then we’ll speak of what is to
come.”

Suzette did just that, flushing in embarrassment over
her earlier expressions of relief. “What now? What becomes of us
now?” she asked, after she finished drying her eyes.

“If Philippe is a man of his word, as he seems to be
a man of honor, he will file for divorce on the grounds of
adultery. I’m not sure what my wife will agree to at this point,
but I need you to come back with me to England—you and my son. Are
you packed?”

Suzette nodded her head and suddenly smiled. “A flush
of memories washed over me when you spoke those words. I remember
the first time you told me that I must go with you.”

Robert lifted his hand and touched her cheek with his
fingertips. “I remember too, like it was yesterday.”

“I’ve not told our son that we are leaving. What
shall I say?”

“Yes, what shall you say?” bellowed the gruff voice
of Philippe, who stood menacingly in the open doorway. He had
entered unseen during their touching moment. Philippe narrowed his
eyes and glared at them scornfully.

“Philippe!” Suzette gasped and brought her hand to
her mouth. She reached out and tightly grabbed Robert’s arm.

Robert looked at him with a challenging glare. “It’s
over, Monsieur; let us not continue the war here. It is done.”

“You bastard.” Philippe lurched in his direction.
“What have you done with my daughter?”

Robert cocked his head in confusion over the
accusation.

“If you do not tell me,” he threatened, with clench
fists, “so help me God I shall find a way to tear your heart from
your chest with my bare hands.”

Robert scoffed at the allegation and looked at him in
utter disbelief. “I have no idea what you’re talking about nor do I
know where your daughter happens to be.”

Suzette’s lips sputtered. “Phil—Philippe, what are
you saying? Where is Angelique?”

Leroy entered the doorway behind Philippe and stood
there with a sorrowful face. Philippe inquired, “Do you have the
letter?”

“Yes, Monsieur,” he replied. He pulled it from his
pocket and handed it to Suzette.

“Your answer is on that sheet of paper. I took
Angelique to your wife, Duke, to care for her until after the duel.
We had formed an alliance of sorts,” he confessed. “I was concerned
that should I lose and you came to take my wife and your son that
you would also take my daughter. I wanted her safe, and she
promised that if I died, she would deliver Angelique to my sister
in Rouen.”

Suzette held the letter open, and Robert stood close
by her side as they both read the poisonous words. “Oh, my God,”
Suzette cried. “How could she do such a thing? My Angelique! My
poor baby Angelique!”

“Your Angelique?” Philippe spat from his lips. “Is
that all you think about is
your Angelique?
She’s my
daughter too, you whore!”

Suzette’s eyes filled with hot tears that burned a
trail down her cheeks. “Philippe . . .”

“I’m so sorry,” Robert gulped with emotion. “My
wife—you should have never trusted my wife. She is of unsound mind
and desperate for a child. When you gave your daughter into her
arms, she took it to her advantage to steal what belonged to you
both.”

Robert’s voice cracked, and he looked at his poor
Suzette who had turned pale with sorrowful cries. Robert took the
letter from her hand, to spare her from reading the hurtful words
again. He handed it back to the butler.