Forbidden by Susan Johnson (good books to read for teens .TXT) 📕

unaccompanied even by his lawyer. Presumably, the theory being the President of the Court in chambers would endeavor to bring about a reconciliation without the bias of counsel. "De Goux gave me a lecture. You knew that, of course."

"You're not really serious about marrying the young lady," his brother-in-law said then, his statement declara-tive rather than inquisitory. The divorce, while surprising, was not without cause. Etienne and Isabelle had lived separate lives for years, but marriage to the exotic Miss Black? Surely he need not marry her.

"I'm very serious," the Duc said, causing Charles's eyebrows to rise into his hairline. "And don't give me a lecture on duty. I heard all I care to on the subject from De Goux." The presage of a scowl appeared. "I've given Isabelle twenty years of my life; I won't give her the rest."

"I envy you, Etienne." Charles meant it sincerely, his own wife's primary interest centered on bridge. And while the saying, "All heiresses are beautiful," had merit, Marie-Louise's only beauty had been her dowry. "But…" He shrugged, the gesture conveying his necessary obedience to family.

"I don't expect anything, Charles. She's your sister. I understand."

"If you insist on going through with a divorce," Charles warned, "Isabelle can keep the proceedings in the courts for years." He sighed. "She'll do her best to see that Miss Black is named in the divorce. She's vindictive. We both know that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the Duc pleasantly replied. "I've never been so happy and Isabelle will come around eventually. Money's always interested her."

Setting his glass down, Charles leaned forward slightly. "I don't wish to be discouraging Etienne," he carefully said, "but she won't come around. She'd kill you if she could."

For the first time, the Duc's optimism was shaken. Charles understood Isabelle better than anyone.

The Duc was much too old, many in society said, to make a fool of himself by falling in love. And his wife would never agree to a divorce. Never. Their alliance had been a dynastic marriage from the start. Not unusual with two ancient families like the de Vecs and Montignys, and if Isabelle had chosen to overlook her husband's profligacies all these years, surely one more wouldn't matter. While civil law deemed adultery sufficient reason for divorce, criminal law still allowed a husband to be excused from killing his wife and her paramour. The wife conversely, was not. So the Duc's particular style of leisure activity was very much a man's prerogative.

But the young woman he was enamored of was so dark, and also a foreigner without a title, and a lawyer. It was impossible with a family as old as de Vec's.

So they may love each other (or think they do, or she may love him, the more cynical said… After watching Etienne for all these years many felt him unlikely to be "in love") but no one was foolish enough to anticipate wedding bells.

Daisy found herself crying at odd moments and was unnerved.

The Duc told himself there was nothing worse than an old fool. But she made him feel as if life mattered again. Not again. As if life mattered for the first time.

He dried her tears with kisses. Kisses tender and grateful, like a young man's first love kisses.

"I can't ask this of you, Etienne." Daisy would whisper, tears streaming, not restrained as the world had always seen her�never with Etienne—but open and vulnerable, a young girl's heart being broken.

"I'll get a divorce if I have to give her everything," he said. Damn Isabelle, he angrily thought. As if it mattered after twenty cold years. As if it mattered that she remain the Duchesse de Vec. She had as much money as he. The children were grown… Jolie married with a child of her own.

He thought then of Hector, so special to him, sunny and warm and bubbling with laughter. He wanted Daisy to meet him. He wanted… and the thought was at once ludicrous, disastrous, and wonderful—he wanted Daisy to have a child—his child. Fool, he thought, for the thousandth time that week, that day. Damned old fool.

Daisy wanted to talk to Bourges, so the Duc arranged an appointment. Felicien had been warned to make no mention of Isabelle's unyielding posture. And in truth he had every intention of winning the Duc's divorce, if not for the Duc, for his own satisfaction.

After the amenities were covered, Daisy spoke to him in detail concerning the specifics.

How soon would the second comparution take place? Would De Goux hear Isabelle's interview as well? Would the writ of summons be delayed by De Goux or Charles? Would Isabelle cross-petition?

Bourges's answers were economical, to the point. Delays were expected; it wasn't certain yet whether Isabelle would simply contest or petition herself; De Goux was scheduled to hear Isabelle's interview in three weeks.

"Three weeks? He gave her the full time to reply?"

"As expected. De Goux owes the Minister numerous favors. We're hoping to get Delamaye for the assignation and grant of provisional measures."

"What possibility is there of that?"

Bourges shrugged. "A possibility." The Duc's expression conveyed a silent message. Bourges smiled. "A very good possibility, I might add. Delamaye usually sits for the provisional measures hearings."

Each of Bourges's replies suggested a mild equivocation, not serious in themselves, but together causing Daisy small niggling doubts. He was hedging in subtle ways, telling her certain procedural steps were uncertain, Isabelle's stance was uncertain. That at least should have been clear after Bourges had spoken to Letheve. She felt oddly aggressive after a dozen more queries, as though she might have overstepped her position, for Bourges was answering her with restraint. "Forgive me," she said at last, "I don't mean to be presumptuous. Your Civil Code is considerably different from ours in the States."

It was Felicien's turn to apologize. The lovely Miss Black from America was not only exotically beautiful, she was very astute. She'd noted the discrepancies in his answers. "The Montignys are extremely well connected—politically," he said. "Which makes the