The Price of Deception (7 page)

More than anything in the world, Jacquelyn wanted a
baby. Her whole character had been bred to marry an aristocrat.
Part of her duty as a faithful wife included producing an heir to
the Holland name.

Every woman possessed a natural yearning to be a
mother. Jacquelyn had played the role with dolls since childhood.
She loved rocking babies in her arms, nurturing, cooing, and
nuzzling her nose against their soft skin. Nothing in the world
exhilarated her more than the scent of a newborn.

When her sister-in-law and friend, Marguerite, bore
children, she fussed over them to such an extent that her husband
reprimanded her behavior. Apparently, she had become an
embarrassment to the family. Marguerite didn’t appreciate her
constant handling of her children. But what did they expect? It
satisfied her innate desires being able to touch a child and
fantasize the babe came from her womb.

As she sat quietly, waiting for her tea, she mused
over the emptiness of her life. She had been deeply depressed for
years. Jacquelyn tried to hide her anguish from Robert, but it
proved difficult. Her soul, void of any contentment and happiness,
aggravated her mental state. Jacquelyn’s existence had been
relegated to a loveless marriage, a husband who frequented the bed
of others, and a home empty of children.

Why bother to breathe when there is no purpose to
life?
She asked herself the same question over and over when
engulfed in seasons of deep despair.
Why bother to
breathe?

Could she stop breathing? Could she hold her breath
long enough to make her heart stop? Perhaps she could smother
herself with a pillow one night and leave her tormentors and mental
anguish behind in her dead body. Would there be peace? Would Heaven
embrace her in mercy or would Hell torment her for eternity?

“Madame, your tea.”

Jacquelyn flinched and broke her thoughts away from
her hopeless predicament. She glanced up at Dorcas and retrieved
the cup and saucer.

“Thank you. Please close the door on the way
out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, with a quick curtsy before
obeying her command.

As she watched her back out of the room and close the
door, Jacquelyn felt envious of her uneducated and simpleminded
lady’s maid. Dorcas, a middle-aged woman, plain and unpretentious,
had never married. Short in stature, her eyes unmemorable, marked
her with drab plainness. Irrespective of her lack of
attractiveness, Dorcas’ personality possessed an extraordinary
kindness that Jacquelyn admired.

Even as a maid the woman has purpose
, she
thought to herself. Jacquelyn envied her uncomplicated subservient
life with little worry.

She turned her gaze out the window to the empty
gardens void of the laughter of children and mumbled under her
breath again, “
Why bother to breathe?”

Jacquelyn took a sip of tea. A tiny tear rolled down
her cheek and then another and another, until they doused her fair
complexion in a river of sorrow. There were days she felt as if she
would go mad, if God did not grant her a baby. Perhaps today she
would.

* * * *

Robert’s antsy manner followed him the entire way
down the hall to his private quarters. He needed time alone to
think and sort out his volatile emotions. If he stayed in the
presence of his bothersome wife, it would afford no peace
whatsoever.

He removed his coat, flung it upon a chair, and
embarked on a frantic pace the width of his study. Clearly
agitated, he needed to calm down, so he walked over to his favorite
decanter of brandy and poured a glass.

After a few quick gulps, he emptied the contents and
poured another. The liquid burned down his throat, and Robert knew
soon its alcoholic effects would flow through his veins and deliver
relief. His dependency upon spirits had increased to a worrisome
degree. He’d face that another day. Right now, he needed a
drink.

He sat in his leather chair, lifted his booted heels
on the desktop, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Robert purposely
drew in a few deep breaths until he felt his heart rate lower and
the relentless pounding in his chest dissipate. The past hour had
been absolute torture.

Robert pondered the last time he saw Suzette, and the
vision of her beauty lingered fresh in his mind. When he had parted
her side years ago, he did so because he wished to do the right
thing for her sake. He needed to be a man of honor. Philippe’s
words were brutally true. He had made her his personal whore.
Suzette deserved better.

He returned to his wife that day and settled into a
routine as a dutiful son. As the doctors had predicted, his
father’s health, after his marriage to Jacquelyn, made a speedy
decline. Heart failure, they told the family. Robert painfully
witnessed his father turn into a weakling before his eyes. The
illness progressed excruciatingly slow, until the end finally
arrived. Bedridden and unable to draw a simple breath, Robert’s
father slipped into eternity while he stood at his bedside. Though
crushed and devastated, he held back any external emotions of grief
for the sake of his mother and sister.

The Dowager Duchess, Mary, did not handle the death
of her husband well. They buried his father in the family plot
alongside his ancestors on their estate. Because of her loss, his
mother turned into an inconsolable, depressed, and demanding woman
who gave him no rest.

She turned the entire household into a blackened
state of bereavement. As soon as the funeral ended, she insisted
that Robert, his sister, and every one of the staff observe the
full respectable time of mourning dictated by society. She would
have carried it on for years had Robert not put his foot down.

Newly married and joined to a wife, who clung to him
like a leech, Robert felt stifled by her and crushed by his
mother’s demands. Jacquelyn required his constant attention and
bemoaned her barrenness as the years progressed. She became
obsessed with the state of pregnancy, so much that she insisted on
decorating a nursery for the baby before its arrival.

Presently, the chamber remained empty, like a
monument to the unborn. Robert hated its existence. He allowed her
to proceed with the decorations. It proved to be a foolish act that
only fed her obsession. Often he would find Jacquelyn sitting in
the rocking chair by the window pretending to hold a child in her
arms. She’d rock back and forth and blindly stare into the distance
at only God knows what.

When his sister gave birth, a new kind of obsession
entered his wife’s way of life. She became an aunt that overstepped
the boundaries Marguerite tried to maintain. He constantly worried
over Jacquelyn’s sanity.

His sister married shortly after their father’s
death. Lord Chambers, who always gave Robert an uneasy sense, had
proposed to Marguerite. Reluctantly, he agreed to the match after
his sister begged and confessed her undying love for the rich and
handsome Lord of Yorkshire.

Robert struggled with jealousy that his sister had
the opportunity to marry for love, while he, on the other hand, had
married for duty. The couple quickly bore two children—a boy named
Geoffrey, and two years later, a girl named Nora.

Robert found their children to be well behaved. His
sister had hired a talented governess who had done well, and he
held no hesitation in inviting them to the estate. Nevertheless, he
had committed himself to the invitation upon return to England to
give his wife an opportunity to play with their children.

To keep his earlier promise, he picked up his pen and
wrote a request to Marguerite to join them upon their return in a
fortnight. Fourteen days. It seemed like such a short amount of
time. Robert feared he would not have an opportunity to look
thoroughly into the matter of his accidental encounter.

He took a few more sips of his brandy and
contemplated his intended visit to Rue des Moulins. He decided
against another private mistress, but he had not given up his
occasional trips to the brothels of France. Robert justified his
actions simply. He deserved the comforts of a passionate woman to
pacify his dreary sexual life.

His marriage to Jacquelyn had proven physically
frustrating, to say the least. He held no passion for his wife—none
whatsoever. He had tried to teach her new ways of ecstasy, but to
no avail. On his wedding night, Jacquelyn presented herself as a
woman committed to fulfill her wifely duty and nothing more.
Lately, she only lay beneath him for one thing—his seed. It
frustrated the hell out of him.

He finished the note and inserted it into an
envelope, addressed it, and set it aside to give to his butler to
post in the morning. Satisfied he had fulfilled his promise, he sat
down to relax for a moment when he heard a knock.

“Come in.” The door opened, and his wife sheepishly
stood in the threshold.

“Dinner is served in the dining room, Robert.”

He had no appetite whatsoever for food. “I don’t
think I’ll dine this evening, Jacquelyn. Do so without me.” He
anticipated her reaction with disdain.

“Why, might I ask? Are you not hungry?”

He pulled out his watch from his vest pocket, flipped
the golden lid open, and glanced at the time. “Six o’clock. I’m
late for a poker game at the Jockey Club with some friends.”

“We’ve barely arrived in Paris and already you are
off with your men friends?” Jacquelyn questioned in anger. “Why
must you go out nearly every evening when we are in Paris?”

Robert observed the ire in his wife’s eyes and
returned his own gaze of disapproval. “I come to Paris to relax,
Jacquelyn. I’ve told you that before. We spent the day together.
Must I spend every waking hour of my life with you, as well?”

“No doubt you spend it in the arms of some
Mademoiselle,” she flipped back in his face.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He hurriedly
slipped his arms into his jacket.

“You know what I mean,” she spat. “If you spent more
time in our marriage bed, perhaps I would get pregnant. Instead,
you choose to play poker games and God knows what else every
evening!”

Robert’s jaw clenched. He hated these moments of
confrontation with Jacquelyn, but he knew if he didn’t smooth
things over, she’d make his life hell for the next few weeks. He
straightened the suit coat on his tall frame, and then walked over
and stood in front of her.

“I’m on holiday, Jacquelyn. My duties at home
strangle me. When I come to Paris you should know after all these
years I use the time away to relax.” He reached out and took her
hands into his gently. “I’m merely going for a game of poker with
Vicomte de Rieux—nothing more.”

Jacquelyn stood silent before him, and Robert saw her
relent in response to his tenderness.

“You blame me for my barrenness. I know you do.”

“I blame you for nothing,” Robert said emphatically.
“There is no way of knowing who is responsible, and I have not the
mind of God in this matter.”
Whatever that may be,
he
thought.

The stark reality of whose fault it had been looked
at him in the face. Jacquelyn unquestionably carried the guilt of
their childless marriage. The young boy he met earlier in the day
could actually be his. If that were the case, it wasn’t his
defective seed by any means. He had married Jacquelyn for one
reason, to give his father an heir to the Holland line. The precise
purpose he had chosen her as his wife would never be fulfilled. As
he stood and held her cold hands in his, he knew it to be
truth.

He kissed her softly on the cheek and then ran his
hand down the side of her face. “I’ll try not to be overly late
this evening.” Robert hesitated. “Would you enjoy an evening at the
Garnier tomorrow night?”

Jacquelyn’s eyes rose from the floor and widened with
excitement. “Oh, Robert, I’d love to spend an evening at the
opera.”

“Good then. It’s done. The opera tomorrow
evening.”

He gave his wife a hurried kiss on her lips. Robert
headed for the door. Giles helped him on with his overcoat, hat,
and cane.

“There is a posted letter on the corner of my study
desk. See that it is mailed tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, your lordship.”

Jacquelyn stood nearby. He smiled and then exited
their residence. His booted feet couldn’t carry him fast enough to
the cab that waited at the curb.

Chapter Six

Robert grunted in pleasure and rolled over next to
the curvaceous blonde-haired woman next to him. He felt relaxed,
spent, and immensely satisfied. As usual, his purchase for the
night paid off. She never disappointed him, with her lively
foreplay and lack of inhibitions.

He turned on his side, leaned on his elbow, and
propped up his head in the palm of his hand. Robert smiled at the
Nordic beauty. Unable to keep his hands off her bulging breasts, he
fondled them with teasing desire.

“You haven’t changed one bit, Nadine!” He paused for
a moment. “I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank God you
left the Chabanais and came here.”

Nadine watched the hand of her patron playfully roam
her flesh. She enjoyed his fondling touch.

“Well, after all, Robert, you’re my favorite,” she
cajoled, with a twinkle in her eye. “Besides, Rue des Moulins
offered me more for my seasoned professionalism than that greedy
Madame Laurent.”

She took a lock of his blonde hair and twirled it
with her finger. Teasingly, Nadine licked her lips while looking
into his blue eyes.

“You poor Englishmen. Every one of you that I bed is
so starved for love. Don’t your English wives know anything about
sexual pleasure?”

Robert smiled. “You should be thankful they don’t;
otherwise, your French brothels would go broke.”

Nadine let out a hearty laugh and then settled down
into a blissful moment of hair twirling, while he played with her
flesh.