Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

"Daisy's different." There wasn't the remotest comparison with his past escapades.

"Good God, Etienne, look at yourself. You're old. She doesn't want you. She wants your money."

It wasn't true, of course. Etienne was still the most handsome man in Paris. In France. She didn't know the rest of the world but she suspected he'd win out there too. Her voice was more reasonable now, like it always was when she felt an argument was settled. It was never won with Etienne. He simply let her have her way. And he would again. She felt it.

He shrugged then, as he always did. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice mild. All he wanted to do was get away. From her shrill voice and the gilded room that had housed de Vecs for four hundred years, from the modulation of Isabelle's anger into an artificial reasonableness that always grated. "I'm promised at Valentin's tonight so I'll stay at the flat. Tell Hector I'll send him a new toy tomorrow." He would have liked to go up to the nursery and hold his grandson and tell him to come and see him at the Quai du Louvre. But it wasn't fair to disturb the child with the chaos of his life. I won't be back to the Hôtel de Vec, he thought, whatever happens. Whether I win Daisy or not, I won't be back.

He couldn't face another day of the chill, cool reasonableness.

"Good-bye, Isabelle." He didn't say au revoir. It would have been hypocritical. But his polite courtesy was still functioning, his affection perhaps for all the years at least. "If you need anything, let me know."

She didn't realize the finality of his leaving. Etienne had been gone sometimes more than he was home. "We're promised for a weekend at the Prince Chaubords the next fortnight," she said. "Alphonse expects you."

"Don't forget to tell Hector," the Duc said and walked from the room feeling as old as Isabelle had said.

She couldn't help it, he resignedly thought, resting against the soft upholstery of his carriage seat on the drive along the river to his flat. She couldn't help the way she thought—that he was simply a title to have captured, the best her family could bargain for with her enormous dowry. Isabelle couldn't help that she'd been raised to become an empty-headed beauty who ignored her children and husband for her wardrobe and hairdresser and spiteful rounds of gossip with her friends. She'd been reared to that role as her mother had before her, and her childhood had been one of nannies and governesses and fawning retainers. She didn't know anything else.

He could forgive her her ignorance, but he couldn't forgive her ungenerous spirit.

They'd both been young and he'd understood the duties of his title as much as Isabelle understood her need to marry well.

The dynastic bonds were family decisions, business decisions, and he'd acceded as a dutiful heir, recognizing within the bonds of these arranged marriages a great deal of freedom was allowed. He'd accepted the patterns solidified by countless generations before him.

Except for the children.

He couldn't ignore them as many of his friends did.

As Isabelle did.

He'd adored them from the first sight of their pink newborn faces.

And the most wrenching blow would be their possible misunderstanding.

He had to talk to them soon.

He spoke to Daisy be-fore dinner at Adelaide's that evening, arriving early before the other guests. He'd discussed the divorce with Isabelle and while she hadn't immediately consented, he felt sure they could reach an agreement, he told her. Then he insisted on calling in Adelaide and Valentin to tell them their plans. When Daisy protested, the expression in Etienne's eyes, rather than his words, gave her an uneasy sense of foreboding. He said in a quiet level tone, "I love you, I intend to marry you, and I wish to make the announcement public."

Adelaide and Valentin were shocked, not because Daisy and the Duc were in love—they understood the self-indulgence and license allowed in their sophisticated world. But the Duc? Declaring his love publicly? They were clearly surprised.

"You spoke of divorce to Isabelle?" Adelaide carefully inquired, persuaded she'd misunderstood his meaning.

"This afternoon."

He was serious.

"I don't suppose she took it gracefully," Valentin bluntly said, his masculine opinion of Isabelle apparent in his tone.

"We'll work something out."

Adelaide's eyes were on Daisy, whose gaze was on Etienne. She was clearly besotted. Daisy and the Duc were seated together, his hand holding hers, and when he looked down after speaking, his smile was intimate, the smile of a man in love.

Valentin saw it too and realized the litigation was going to be brutal. Isabelle would go to any obstructive length to preserve her position as the Duchesse de Vec, but she'd sell her soul to the devil to wipe that intimate, loving smile from her husband's lips.

"If we can be of any help," Valentin said. "Have you spoken to Bourges?" Bourges was the barrister of choice for the wealthy. Etienne would need his expertise.

"No."

"I wouldn't wait. Isabelle may get to him first."

"She wouldn't deal with him. She finds him parvenu."

Valentin smiled, his mood lightened. Isabelle would wage a savage fight, but if Etienne had Bourges, he stood a chance. "He may be parvenu, but he's brilliant and if you won't call him now, I will. You can't afford to wait a minute."

"What are we talking about here," Daisy softly interposed. "Why do you need Bourges?" No one retained a man of his reputation for pitched battle unless the situation were grave.

"He's the best," Valentin replied.

"She refused, didn't she?" Daisy's dark eyes were somber.

"No," Etienne lied. "But Bourges is familiar with the process. He'd be useful." Valentin was right. Bourges had handled Taine's divorce skillfully.

"Isabelle is a monarchist," Adelaide said in explanation, the single word indicative of a personality immune to the rapidly changing world and society. "She will, at least," Adelaide went on, her voice a calming influence on Daisy's alarm, "resist an