The Price of Deception (6 page)

Suzette kept a smile across her face and tried not to
show any outward concern. “You did?” she replied nonchalantly.

“He asked, ‘How’s your mother,’ and I did like you
and Daddy told me. I was quiet.”

Suzette reached out and stroked the side of his head.
“You did very well, Robert.”

“I don’t understand, Mommy. Daddy said you passed
away. What does passed away mean?”

It never dawned on Suzette that her son would not
know what Philippe’s answer meant. She debated whether to tell him,
and then decided not to elaborate on the word’s meaning—at least
not now.

“It means that Mommy is somewhere else.” Robert’s
face looked confused while he tried to understand her
explanation.

“Why, Mommy, must I be silent when people ask about
you?”

“We talked about this before, didn’t we?”

Robert shook his head. “Yes, but I don’t know
why.”

“Sometimes, Robert, people just want privacy for many
reasons. When you are older, you’ll understand.” Suzette hesitated
and tried to clarify her words.

“It’s just a game.” Philippe’s voice came from the
doorway.

“Yes!” Suzette exclaimed, supportive of his
explanation. “It’s just a game.”

Philippe glanced over at the pile of blocks strewn
across the floor. “It looks as if a catastrophe occurred. Was there
an earthquake?”

Robert giggled.

“Well, we had an incident where everything tumbled
down, I’m afraid,” Suzette interjected. “One block too many on the
wall was the culprit for the disaster.”

“Hum,” mused Philippe. He knelt down and gathered all
the blocks with his arms. He piled them into a big group in the
center of the carpet and glanced up at Robert.

“Well, are you going to help your father build the
Great Wall of China or not?”

Robert jumped off the window seat, plopped on the
floor on his knees and started his first line of blocks for their
Great Wall of China. Suzette watched the two play together. The
scene touched and warmed her heart, which calmed the last few
stressful minutes.

“Well, then, I’ll leave you two men alone to
construct your latest design.”

“Yes, please do, Madame.” Philippe flashed a smile at
Suzette.

She left them alone. Suzette could not think of any
other picture she wanted in life. Philippe had fathered little
Robert as if his own. She believed that he cared for the boy and
would protect him at all costs. There would be no cause for worry,
she concluded with each step down the hallway to her bedchamber.
None whatsoever.

Surely, Robert must have sired his own children by
now, she assumed. Even if he suspected Robert to be his son, there
would be no reason for him to set his eyes upon the lad. An
illegitimate son born out of wedlock with his mistress could
destroy his aristocratic social life, or so Suzette thought.
Regardless, Robert Holland had believed Suzette died, and life
would go on as it had in the past.

Suzette passed her bedchamber, and a sudden rush of
memories washed over her like warm oil. She had committed to
remembrance his tenderness, touch, kisses, and their first time
together. Suzette had chosen to give him her most prized
possession—her virginity. After all, he had paid for it, and she
felt the need to repay him for saving her life.

He rescued her from a lifetime of prostitution and
certain rape by that horrible Marquis who had pinned her to the
bed. She shuddered when remembering his knee prying her legs open
and the screams that came from her throat pleading for mercy.

“Robert,” she whispered, stopping in the doorway.

Vivid memories of his toned body, blond hair, and
blue eyes that she loved to look into, made her smile. Suzette
blushed as she reminisced over their intimate ways, which far
surpassed the bed she shared with her husband. For years, she
resisted the thoughts of their passion and their unbridled behavior
together. Robert had showed her ways to please him that she by no
means dared to practice upon Philippe.

She glanced at their marriage bed. Sadness engulfed
her as she struggled with her lack of contentment. She had tried to
resurrect the former affection that she held for Philippe as young
and naïve girl but failed. She could feel only one
emotion—gratefulness that he concealed the shame of her
illegitimate pregnancy.

Suddenly, the last words that Robert spoke to her
floated through her mind like a gentle, refreshing breeze. She
closed her eyes remembering the deep, velvet quality of his voice
and his entreaty spoken to her in French the day they parted.

“Never forget I was your first, oui?”

Forget? How could she ever forget? She could only
bury her sentiments deep within her heart. Her love for him
remained.

“I still love you, Robert. I always have and always
will.”

She finally admitted her adulterous emotional sin,
which she harbored every day since her marriage to another man.
Guilt stabbed her conscience and fate whispered in her ear the
haunting phrase of Sir Walter Scott.

“Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we
practice to deceive.”

“
Someday I’ll pay for this,” she
declared. Her eyes stared at her bed while she lost herself in the
imagination of her lover’s arms. “There will be a price to pay for
not telling him the truth. I know it.” 

Chapter Five

Robert peered over his shoulder one more time. His
eyes met Philippe’s, and the nervous expression upon the man’s face
disturbed him to the core. Robert watched with a dark glare as
Philippe’s steps quickened around a corner. His wife tugged at him
again until finally he turned back to the path that lay ahead.

Oblivious to the tight grip Jacquelyn exerted on his
forearm, his mind relived the last few minutes. His heart broke
with bitter grief over the passing of Suzette. Philippe’s words
echoed like the beat of a morbid death march.

“I’m afraid that Robert’s mother passed away last
winter.”

Robert’s endearing Parisian mademoiselle had died.
Forever his dreams of her charm and their lovemaking would haunt
him until he passed to a place where he hoped to see her again. The
loss crushed him, and Robert felt his chest tighten with
emotion.

“Robert. Robert!”

Jacquelyn demanded his attention with a screech and
pulled his thoughts back to the present.

“Yes, what is it?” He hoped the conversation would
not focus on recent events. His wishes were quickly dashed.

“Who was that man?”

“An old acquaintance, like I said before. Nothing
more.” Their walk continued deeper into the gardens, and Robert
wanted to turn his prying wife toward the exit.

“Well, I find it quite curious that little boy was
named after you.”

“Me?” Robert quipped back in defense. “Are you so
naive as to think every boy in the city named Robert is named after
me
?” Robert sighed at the utter stupidity of her
comment.

“Well, no,” Jacquelyn replied meekly lowering her
head like a scolded puppy. “I thought perchance the man chose the
name to honor you in some manner, since you apparently know one
another.”

“I can assure you, the child was not named after me.”
Robert wondered why Philippe had even allowed Suzette to do such a
thing. Didn’t the child’s name torment him with the remembrance of
the bed he and Suzette shared as lovers?

“Well, I just thought it curious, that’s all. The boy
even looks . . .”

Jacquelyn’s words trailed off, and Robert’s heart
stopped cold. He halted their walk through the gardens and turned
to face his wife. The conversation needed to cease before it went
further.

“That’s enough, Jacquelyn. There is nothing there
besides a young lad named Robert—a common name and nothing more.”
Robert reached for her forearm, grabbed her, and gave her a little
shake. He raised his voice, “Nothing more!”

Jacquelyn’s eyes darted away from her husband and
fell to the path beneath their feet. “Of course, Robert. You know
how I am about children. I just wish we—” Her voice quivered.

Pained for his aggressive stance and unnecessary
roughness, he saw the familiar disappointment in his wife’s eyes.
Her face turned flush, and her green eyes brimmed with tears that
threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“I know.” Robert softened his harsh tone. “Believe
me, Jacquelyn, I know. I wish we had children. You know I do.”

He released his firm grip and gathered his wife into
his arms. Robert kissed her gently on the cheek and then whispered
in her ear. “It will happen. Be patient.” He wanted to say that her
prayers would one day be answered, but something in his spirit told
him it was a lie.

She wrapped her arm around his, and he patted her in
return. Their stroll continued in silence until he suggested a
change of plans.

“When we return to England, I’ll invite Marguerite
and Lord Chambers to stay for a few weeks. They can bring their two
children, and we’ll let them run the estate and make a ruckus.
Would you like that?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Jacquelyn responded with
renewed enthusiasm. “I miss your sister. We have much to catch up
on and having children in the household would be a welcome sight
indeed.”

“Good,” Robert concluded. “Then it’s done. I’ll pen a
letter to Marguerite before we sail home and ask that they meet us
upon our return to Surrey.”

Convinced he had patched things up for the moment,
Robert directed his wife back toward the exit of the gardens. Their
outing had emotionally drained him; he had much to think about.

The vision of the young boy, who held up his five
fingers and proudly announced his name of Robert Philippe Moreau,
brought a smile to his face. Robert struggled with the similarities
of name, appearance, and date of birth. He could very well be the
boy’s father. He wanted to believe it, though he had no proof.

His existence eased the loss of Suzette, but he
realized Philippe Moreau would never allow him to know the truth.
The thought that he could be educating his son, shot a vulgar
flurry of curses through his troubled mind.

“Robert, I’m tired. Can we go home?”

Surprised at his wife’s request, he willingly agreed.
“Yes, of course.”

They meandered their way back toward the exit of the
gardens. Robert glanced around watching for signs of Philippe, but
saw nothing. They had disappeared into the streets of Paris,
probably never to be seen again. For now, he would let the matter
go.

* * * *

Jacquelyn clung tenaciously to Robert’s hand to
steady her weak legs upon their return. The walk in the park had
done nothing to revive her spirits or her body. Perhaps a nap would
help instead.

She noted Robert’s pensive face and forced smile his
way hoping to change his apathetic disposition. “Thank you,” she
spoke, batting her eyelashes at him in a flirtatious tease. He
remained unmoved and said nothing in response.

After they arrived home, Jacquelyn handed her jacket
to Dorcas, who greeted them at the door. Her lady’s maid unpinned
her feathered hat. Jacquelyn watched her husband out of the corner
of her eye wondering what he would do next. The usual gloomy
demeanor had returned.

“I’ll be in my study if you need me.” Jacquelyn’s
eyes followed him as he disappeared down the long hallway of their
Parisian townhouse. A moment later, Robert retreated from sight,
and Jacquelyn heard the latch of his door click shut.

A sneer of disgust curled her lip, sick of the
multiple times he fled from her presence. He spent more hours
behind closed doors while in Paris than he had the past whole year
in London. Jacquelyn wondered why.

It seemed a pattern had emerged over the years. They
had lived comfortably in their Surrey estate, but Robert maintained
his townhouse in London and the one in Paris. Jacquelyn adored
Paris thinking it the most beautiful city in the modern world. The
shopping—well, the shopping for any woman of title offered the best
in Europe. Fashions were at their pinnacle, and Jacquelyn loved to
amass the latest styles of gowns and hats from a world-famous haute
couture.

Yet the fact remained that each holiday abroad,
Robert’s behavior changed. He became a recluse and preferred to
hide during the day. His suggested walk that morning tremendously
surprised Jacquelyn. Even if they spent the night out for dinner or
the opera, nothing differed. His mind drifted elsewhere.

Occasionally, he would disappear for an evening with
the declaration he needed time alone at the Jockey Club for drinks
and poker with old friends. Jacquelyn doubted every word that fell
from his deceitful lips. She had her own suspicions, though she
could prove nothing.

Robert’s Parisian male acquaintances would comment in
her presence about their outings. They sounded purposely spoken for
her benefit to corroborate his whereabouts. Like a sixth sense God
gives every wife about her husband’s fidelity, she knew something
had to be amiss. Indisputably, he bedded others for entertainment
while in Paris.

“Will there be anything else, Duchess?”

“Perhaps a cup of tea in the sitting room. I could
use a moment alone.”

Jacquelyn dejectedly walked into the parlor. She sat
in an oversized chair near the window and stared blindly into the
adjacent garden. Instead of children playing amidst the green
grass, the gardens lay bare except for budding roses and
hedges.

Her empty arms throbbed like a chronic disease eating
away at her soul. She felt cursed by God and abandoned by her
husband. Today, like so many others, she despised life. Even to
take a mere breath, proved an unpleasant task.

For five years, they had tried to have a baby, but
Jacquelyn’s menses repeatedly arrived to wash away any hope of
conception. There were a few times when she would be late or
skipped her monthly discharge. Those instances raised her hopes to
the heavens, only to be dashed later by the first sight of
blood.