The Price of Love

by Vicki Hopkins

  Unexpectedly, Suzette reached out and touched her forearm gently. “Thank you for this gift. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

  Shocked over the physical gesture of her mother’s hand, she flinched. It felt strange and uncomfortable, and a lump formed in her throat. The eyes of her mother radiated sincere thankfulness, but Jolene remained indifferent.

  “You are welcome,” she replied, void of emotion. Slowly, she pulled away from her touch. She trembled as she crossed the hall and entered her room. Overtly displayed emotion in front of the duke and duchess had been something she tried to suppress at all costs. It might give rise to suspicions about her identity, but the act to compose herself had not been an easy one.

  “Oh, there you are,” Maria greeted her with a smile. “This is a beautiful residence.”

  Jolene sighed. “Yes, it is grand and comfortable, Maria. It shall do quite well for what I have planned in the weeks ahead.”

  Maria cocked her head and looked at her strangely.

  “When you are finished unpacking my things, I would like a bath drawn. Then I need some time alone to rest and read.” It was time to pull out the diary and delve into the story of Jacquelyn’s arrival to Paris.

  While Maria performed her chores, Jolene thought about how strange it felt to be in Paris. She had been born here, and Parisian blood flowed through her veins. In the past, she saw herself as Austrian. Now that she knew the truth, she frankly felt like a jumbled mess of two competing countries.

  “I think the city is beautiful,” Maria said.

  The statement pulled Jolene’s crazed thoughts in another direction.

  “It looks so different than London,” Maria continued. “It’s as if you can sense the excitement in the air and touch it with your fingertips.” She giggled like a little girl. “Oh, to be in love in the city of love,” Maria sighed wistfully.

  To be in love? It was the furthest thought from her chaotic mind. Jolene cringed as she remembered Geoffrey’s arrival in the days ahead. Rather than feeling enthralled he would join them, she worried that he would take her aside once more and try to seduce her in some romantic setting. It would be disastrous if she lost all sense of propriety. As it stood right now, she had lost all sense of her identity.

  “You are right, Maria. The atmosphere here in the city of light and love is charged with a peculiar atmosphere. I feel it in my heart, even though I do not understand its meaning entirely.”

  * * * *

  Robert, with the help of a footman, unpacked his clothing. His suite looked as luxurious as the rest of the residence. After his clothes and personal items were placed in the closets and drawers, he asked the servant for the whereabouts of the study, library, and the stairs to the cellar.

  “As you leave your suite, monsieur, turn to the right back toward the sitting room. You’ll find the study down the hall on the left and the library two doors down on the right.”

  “And the cellar?”

  The footman kept a straight face. “You’ll need to speak to the housekeeper, Madame Dubois, as she keeps the keys to the cellar in her pocket.”

  Disappointed he couldn’t check the vintage of the wine, he wandered down the hall instead. He reached the study, shoved the door open, and walked into a more masculine décor. The walls were covered in mahogany wood paneling. A large desk sat in the middle of the room with leather chairs on both sides.

  Robert strode to the window and surveyed the landscape outside. The residence was located near the left bank of the Seine not far from Notre Dame, though it did not have a view of the river itself. The neighborhood consisted of other expensive homes lining the street.

  Satisfied he had examined the room thoroughly, he walked to the library down the hall. After pushing open two French doors, he stood in the threshold astonished and overwhelmed. By far, this room had become his favorite. An impressive collection of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The recognizable scent of bound paper volumes filled his nostrils. The room burst with light that filtered through large windows that overlooked the gardens below. Comfortable chairs with tables and lamps were strategically arranged for reading.

  Robert wandered over to the bookcase and began looking at the titles. Multiple works written by Victor Hugo lined the shelves. He pulled one out and noted it was an original edition of Les Misérables from 1862. Shaking his head over the collection, he carefully placed it back and wandered down the row. The entire library appeared filled with works from famous French novelists and poets, but it contained little, if any, English literature. The viscount’s reading preferences were obviously prejudiced.

  “Anything good to read?” He heard his father’s voice and spun around to see him standing in the doorway.

  “Yes, if you like French authors. We’ll need to bring mother in here. She will spend hours reading to her heart’s delight.”

  His father walked over to his side and tilted his head looking at the titles on the spine. “Hugo, I see,” he said. “Hmm, any Shakespeare?”

  “I haven’t found anything yet, but since I’ve only looked at one-eighth of this massive collection, I’m hoping that I will eventually find a book or two from an English author.”

  The duke walked over to the tall windows, clasped his hands behind his back, and peered out over the gardens. “This is an impressive townhome. The one we owned years ago was comfortable but not as grand as this residence.”

  Robert turned around and looked at his father, who appeared to be lost in thought over the past. “I doubt it had been decorated entirely with Louis XVI furniture,” he chuckled.

  “Hardly,” drawled his father. “My wife Jacquelyn had distinct tastes in furnishing and artwork.” He turned around and scanned the room more closely. Spying a decanter of brandy on a sideboard, he headed for the alcohol.

  “Care for a drink?”

  “If mother catches you this early...” Robert warned.

  “She’s taking a nap. I’m afraid the trip and excitement of being back in Paris has weakened her resolve to keep me away from the spirits strategically placed through the home.”

  His father pulled the stopper out of the top and poured half a glass. “Here, I’ll feel less guilty if you drink with me,” he said, offering the liquor. Robert took it from his hand, and his father poured an equal amount for himself. He replaced the stopper, and the duke turned around looking at his choice of seats.

  “Sit with me a minute, son.” He lowered himself into a comfortable wing-backed chair. As he took a sip, his eyes roamed over the walls of books.

  Robert found a chair next to him and settled in for a rare moment of personal attention from his father. The past year they had been estranged on many levels, but now an opportunity presented itself. His father did not act like a pompous, demanding dictator of the Holland realm.

  The thought brought him to another recollection. The discussion over dinner a few weeks ago lingered in his mind. It had been nearly impossible for Robert to imagine his father in his youthful years sowing his seeds of rebellion in Paris. Quite aware that Paris afforded pleasures that he hadn’t tasted, such as the risqué theatres, casinos, and houses of love, it was hard to imagine his father participating in such acts.

  For a brief moment, he felt vindicated for his past carousing. He had to admit that visiting a brothel to try out purchased pleasures would incite most men. Of course, if Jolene found out his participation, there would be no telling what scorn she would rain upon him. Good lord, he thought, scrunching his brow. My sister is altering my moral values. This is disturbing.

  “It is extremely generous of the komtesse to rent this palatial townhome. I’m sure the rent must be emptying her purse a bit,” his father said, leaning more comfortably into the chair.

  Robert held no surprise that even his father wondered about her financial status. “Well, as Geoffrey mentioned, she did inherit her stepfather’s wealth, residence, and lands. I would imagine that she is well off.”

  Slowly his fathe
r raised a brow and curled a smile at the corner of his lips. “Might I inquire if the two of you are becoming romantically involved?”

  With a throaty laughter, Robert dismissed his assumption. “Heavens no,” he emphatically said, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “We have similar interests, but beyond that we have both expressed no interest in each other romantically.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” he sighed. “I thought the two of you would make a good couple.”

  “Not every woman sparks my interest,” Robert clarified. “I do have my own set of standards in what I’m looking for in a lady. Frankly, I think the komtesse takes too lofty a view of morality for my taste.”

  His father’s brow rose over his statement. Nevertheless, it felt good to expel his preferences from his lips to solidify his true feelings. The thought that his sister had begun to influence his choices, made him shift in his chair.

  “Shame,” his father replied, looking disappointed. He took a drink and then gazed thoughtfully at Robert. “You know,” he began, “I think that she has been a good influence upon you since her arrival.” He appeared smug over his astute observation that even Robert had struggled not to acknowledge.

  “She is an exceptionally mature woman for eighteen years of age,” Robert replied. “As well as being wealthy and stunningly beautiful, she possesses intelligence that makes her wise beyond her years.” After pointing out Jolene’s virtuous characteristics, he felt lacking in his own.

  His father smirked. “Well, whatever it is, I think it’s rubbing off on you.”

  “I doubt that,” he defended himself. “You know, I possess those qualities as well, except for the stunningly beautiful characterization. It’s just that you rarely see me express them in your presence,” he smirked. Apparently, not accepting his self-inflated accolades of his own personality, the smile on his father’s face faded.

  “And what of Geoffrey? Does he have intentions to win her heart?” He scowled, clearly agitated over the thought. “I wouldn’t doubt Edmund encouraging him to marry for money—the vulture.”

  Robert’s brotherly worry for her welfare rose in his own mind. “I feel the same concern. Nevertheless, the komtesse has a good head on her shoulders. Her mind is focused on something other than finding a husband at the moment.”

  “Well, good for her.” His father suddenly shoved his hand into his inside coat pocket and retrieved a piece of paper. “As I promised,” he said, handing it to him. “Philippe’s whereabouts.”

  Surprised he had chosen this moment to reveal his stepfather’s address, he hesitated before taking it. His father noticed.

  “Change your mind?” His hand retreated.

  “No, no,” Robert urgently replied. He reached forward and grabbed it, noting two addresses penned on the paper.

  “This is the last information that I received from my contact in Paris. I hope that Philippe is still at one of these locations. The first is his home, which I believe is across the river. And you will find the second his place of employment at a cigar shop near the Louvre.” The duke took a sip of his drink and slumped back in his chair.

  “It’s been almost eighteen years,” Robert said. “How in the world have you been able to keep tabs on him?”

  His father focused on a random piece of lint on his pant leg delaying his response. Using the distraction, he brushed it off while keeping his lips sealed in a straight line. Obviously, he felt uncomfortable revealing his conscience concerning the matter. Robert, about to dismiss it altogether and change subjects, halted when his father cleared his throat.

  “After I brought you and your mother to England, I felt guilt-ridden over the loss of her daughter. I felt partially responsible. After all, my wife used the situation to her advantage to hurt your mother. Philippe’s emotions had been expendable in Jacquelyn’s mind. Why should she care?”

  He halted for a moment, took a slow sip of alcohol. Robert remained silent allowing him to collect his thoughts.

  “When I hired a detective to look for Angelique, I kept him on retainer for years to keep me informed of Philippe’s whereabouts.”

  “For what purpose?” Robert did not understand his father’s reasoning.

  “Well, for one, the man deplored me and your mother for what happened, especially after he failed to blow off my head.”

  “Point taken,” Robert nodded. “Did you think he would follow you to England and try again?”

  A puff of air escaped his father’s lungs. “Well, what do you think, son? The man wanted me dead.”

  “I understand your concern,” Robert said.

  “In addition, I feared that if he did find Angelique, he would keep that information from Suzette as further punishment.” He brushed his pant leg again apparently irritated over another spot on his black suit. “Your mother’s sorrow weighed heavily upon my heart. I could not allow him to cause further damage to the woman I loved.”

  “So all these years, you had your contact in Paris inform you of his movements.” Robert leaned forward as if to take closer stock of his father’s motives.

  “Well, after he drove the business into the ground, and I lost my investment, yes. He hit a pretty rough patch in his life for some time, which only added to my guilt.”

  His father rose to his feet clearly agitated and strode over to the window. He tilted his head back and emptied the contents of his glass down his throat. After a few moments of silence, he turned around and looked at Robert.

  “Finally, after some time, he settled into a mundane employment here and there throughout Paris. Apparently, he never remarried.”

  Robert sat silently pondering the effect of what had happened over eighteen years ago. Everyone had paid a terrible price. Watching his father during another moment of vulnerability had presented a rare insight into his personality. For a brief moment, with his guard down, Robert asked his father a question that he had pondered for many years.

  “Had you not returned to France and broken their marriage apart, things would have turned out much differently.” Thinking of Jolene up on the second floor and with the knowledge he possessed of her existence, he couldn’t help but ponder the direction their lives had taken. “I would have grown up never knowing you.” He paused a moment. “But I can’t help but wonder if you regret how it turned out.”

  “Regret?” His father shook his head. “I have no regrets being married to your mother. She is the sheer essence of my being, and without her my life would not be worth living.”

  His father strode to the decanter and poured another drink. When he pulled the stopper, Robert witnessed his hand tremble. He had never seen him in such a state. After taking another sip, he returned to the chair and sat down. He gazed into Robert’s eyes with remorse.

  “You know very little of our past, Robert, as far as your mother and I are concerned. Some of which I shall tell you; some of which I shall not.”

  The “shall not” irked Robert. He wanted to know it all, if not for himself, for Jolene’s sake. “What are you willing to tell me?” he asked.

  “When I returned to Paris with Jacquelyn for a respite, we encountered Philippe by chance in a park. I didn’t know you were my son.”

  “I surmised that you did not know,” Robert admitted.

  “Before your mother became pregnant, I was married to Jacquelyn, but your mother was my mistress.” In a nervous move, his father brought his shaky hand to his hair and raked his fingers through his locks. “I did despicable things even to her in my youth,” he said, closing his eyes. “I used her for my pleasure and kept her unaware that I had married.”

  “Had you been courting her with the promise of marriage and then changed your mind?”

  “Well, not exactly courting, son. My father would have never approved of the match. By that time in my life, he had made his own marital arrangements. And he damned well expected me to comply.”

  “So you married and lied to mother.” The past few weeks left Robert reeling in revelations. What
more could there be? His father had been a womanizer, deceiver, and home breaker. Finally, Robert understood his sister’s inability to feel any affection for his parents because of their past actions.

  “Well, my deceit got me exactly what I deserved. Philippe came back into her life and told your mother everything about my roguish behavior. He confronted me and convinced her to leave England. Of course, they agreed to keep her pregnancy a well-kept secret.” His father heaved a sigh. “My punishment, I suppose.”

  Things had complicated tenfold. “Now you really have me lost,” Robert admitted. “What do you mean Philippe came back into her life?”

  “They were engaged before I met her. Long story...” His answered trailed off, and he waved his hand as if to ask not to go down that road.

  Robert’s head ached. At least his past escapades were a trifle, compared to these sordid affairs.

  “When I met Philippe in the park with you in hand, he lied to my face and said that your mother had died. I left that encounter grief stricken but troubled. After all, your name was Robert, and you were a spitting image of me,” he huffed.

  “I still am,” he responded. He raked his fingers through his own blond hair imitating his father’s habit.

  “As if the man could hide it,” he mumbled. “When I returned to England, I started to investigate the truth myself. It was then that I discovered your mother was indeed alive and you were my son. How do you think I felt?”

  “Deceived, I would imagine,” Robert replied. Reaping what you sowed, he thought to himself.

  “And ecstatic at the thought of having a son. You have no idea how deep my own disappointment ran in Jacquelyn’s barrenness. Of course, I went back to Paris to seek you and your mother. I didn’t think twice about it.”

  “Is that when you asked uncle to send Philippe away? How did that come about?” The story was becoming far too compelling to stop now.

  His father snorted a laugh. “I’ll admit that I even surprised myself at the lengths I’d go to get him out of the picture.”