The Price of Deception (11 page)

Two weeks had passed since the chance meeting in the
park, and Suzette fretted over numerous possible outcomes. Philippe
seemed unscathed by the encounter with Robert and confident nothing
would come of it.

He’s right, I shouldn’t worry
, she thought in
an attempt to allay her fears. A voice from her past resonated in
return.
“The man is going to be Duke! He has a reputation to
protect, and he will not acknowledge a bastard child in his
lineage
.”

Perhaps the wisdom of her former maid, Madame
LeBlanc, rang true after all, in spite of the fact she despised the
woman. Certainly, Robert wouldn’t pursue the child, even if he
suspected it was his. It would be impossible to prove, as long as
he thought her dead. It would be Philippe’s word against Robert’s
speculations.

She had done as Philippe suggested and secluded
herself in their home. The little walks she took with Robert were
put aside, until they were assured Robert had returned to England.
Yet, even with Robert’s return, Suzette knew he would come back to
Paris again. What if sometime in the future he saw her on the
street? It could happen, just like it happened in the park with
Philippe. If Robert discovered her existence, then he could
pressure her for the truth about their son.

The more Suzette thought of the consequences of her
deception, the more nauseated she became with anxiety.

“Philippe, is there any way that we can determine if
Robert returned to England and we are safe?”

“Safe?”

“I’m afraid he might see me somewhere. Perhaps I
shall stay close to home until we can be assured he has left
France. How horrible it would be if he saw me!” Suzette waited for
Philippe to answer, but she sensed a slight hesitation on his
part.

“Yes, that is prudent. I’ll make inquiries, if I can,
on his scheduled return to England.”

“How?”

“I’ll see what I can find out, Suzette, about his
stay in Paris and schedule. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way
if it makes you more comfortable.”

“Well, I’m not looking forward to being a prisoner in
my own home with our son. That reminds me, as well, Philippe. I
think you and Robert should forgo any more strolls in the park? We
should be cautious.”

“If that is what you wish, Suzette.”

“I do!” she forcefully replied, leaving no room for
discussion. “I cannot bear to think what would happen should Robert
. . .”

“I doubt he will do anything, Suzette. Truly I
do.”

“I hope you’re right.” She snuggled her head again
into the corner of his shoulder. His arm tightened around her. “I’m
sorry I worry about so many things, Philippe. You’re more than
patient with me.”

“You are a bit of a worry wart,” he said, with a
chuckle. “But I understand your fears. I, for one, do not wish for
him to find out the truth.”

He released Suzette, sat up and swung his legs around
the edge of the bed. “Will you join me for breakfast?” he asked,
while fastening the tie of his robe about his waist.

Suzette stretched and yawned. “Yes, of course. In a
moment.” She flashed him a pleading glance for a few more minutes
of rest.

Philippe smiled and retreated to the bath chamber,
and Suzette watched as her husband left the room. She wanted to
feel love for him. Being an honorable Christian man, he acted
mercifully in the way he accepted little Robert as his own.

Regrettably, though, whenever she beheld her son, she
saw Robert in his face and eyes. At times, his memory proved
unbearable. To compensate, she had settled upon his likeness as a
warm reminder of the man who saved her from a life of degradation,
a path less painful than to remember a lost love.

Interrupted by a knock on the door, Suzette’s
chambermaid entered and offered to help her with her morning bath.
Time had arrived to put away her worries for the day, or at least
she would try.

* * * *

Philippe entered his office to settle in for a day of
work. He sat at his desk and studied the business ledgers. Each
time he calculated the totals, the results were the same. The quill
in his hand shook from nervous jitters realizing bankruptcy loomed
around the corner. Nothing could be done about the grave
situation.

He laid down the pen, lowered his head to the
desktop, and rested it upon the palms of his hands. The weight of
responsibility crushed his shoulders. For the first time in years,
he wrestled with fear. He hadn’t succumbed to such emotion since
his naval days and the war. A battle loomed on the horizon for
survival, and if he lost, the casualties would be
heartbreaking.

Philippe didn’t wish to jeopardize Suzette’s
security. He had learned early in their marriage that she often
needed reassurance of their financial wellbeing. Those weaknesses
never existed beforehand. She had been such an innocent, unspoiled
woman, who trusted him implicitly during their youth.

His mind drifted back to the days when both were
untouched by the cruelties of the world. Life had altered them
equally in character. He had grown into a hardened and determined
male from years of war on the high seas. Being a Lieutenant in the
French Navy and commanding men below his rank had molded him to a
man of control and absolutes. His circumstances, surroundings, and
the people in his life had to conform to his wishes and desires, or
anxiety and anger crept into his heart.

Suzette had been flung from innocence into maturity
through her experiences on the street after the death of her
father. Her struggle to survive and her illicit affair had
unquestionably altered her personality, as well. She had been
destitute and used, which resulted in her need to cling to him for
security.

“Damn,” he muttered aloud, as he rose from his chair.
He walked over to the window and looked out into the active
business district streaming by his office—hansom cabs, growler
carriages, individual horse riders, and citizens going about their
day. Humanity passed by without a care in the world. He, on the
other hand, existed as an unknown behind a window. No one cared
whether he succeeded or failed, except perhaps one, who would soon
be lost.

Jacques Duval, his business partner, lay at the brink
of death. Bedridden and gravely ill, Philippe daily waited for word
of his demise. Together they were a formidable team of two
enthusiastic businessmen. The past five years they built a sound
shipping company, until recently, when everything began to unravel
like a ball of yarn. The business hung by one frayed thread, which
would soon break; and when it did, he would tumble into financial
ruin.

When Philippe had purchased his half interest in the
company years ago, it stood stable and thriving. Then their luck
turned sour, and a run of unfortunate happenstances took over
instead. It seemed the sea gods were hell-bent on their
destruction.

The original shipping fleet consisted of three fine
vessels, captained by good men and faithful crews transporting
goods from exotic countries to Europe. Everything ran smoothly,
until a monsoon had destroyed one of their ships and the entire
cargo sank to the bottom of the ocean.

The tragedy resulted in extra expenses and a damaged
reputation. Their insurance failed to cover all the losses, so they
made restitution to their customers from business profits. Accounts
cancelled one by one, as others yielded to superstitious nonsense
that they would share in their string of terrible luck. The recent
news of Duval’s terminal illness added to the stigma that Duval
& Moreau Shipping had fallen under a curse.

As the orders dwindled, they were forced to lay off
crew members and sell the second ship in the fleet of three.
Philippe could barely keep things afloat with one vessel
transporting goods.

When he returned to his desk, he sat down and picked
up the ledger once more. The stark reality of his situation made
him feel like his business would be lost in the depths of the
ocean. He’d be going down with the ship and forced to declare
bankruptcy to avoid the creditors that demanded payment.

His personal assets were in jeopardy. He had
purchased a home far too expensive for his earnings in order to
give Suzette the best in life. As a result, he now reaped the
consequences of his foolish spending during times of profit.

If matters didn’t change soon, he’d have to sell
their home and live less expensively. The servants would be let go,
as well as the governess. The household and rearing of their
children would need to be solely upon Suzette’s shoulders, while
Philippe found work elsewhere. No other choice remained.

Only one last desperate chance to salvage the company
existed—find an investor. With their recent failures, it would be a
monumental task to attract a wealthy infusion into a dying venture;
but he could think of no other course to survive.

“Excuse me, Monsieur, but a courier has brought you a
note.” Philippe’s clerk, Roland, entered and handed him an
envelope, which he immediately tore open. Word from Jacque’s family
had arrived. Last rights had been administered, and if he wished to
say his goodbyes, he had to come now.

“Watch the office,” he ordered, as he stood to his
feet. “I’m afraid this is it. Monsieur Duval is very grave. I must
attend him.”

“I’m very sorry to hear, that sir. Please, I beg you,
give my condolences to his family.”

“Of course,” Philippe replied. He took his top hat
and headed for the door.

Philippe left and hired a cab that soon brought him
to the Duval residence. He worried about Mrs. Duval and their
ten-year-old daughter. When Jacques passed, there would be little
left for each of them, since his estate would pass to a nephew.

“Oh, Philippe, you’ve come.” Grace Duval took
Philippe by the hand and led him to her husband’s room. “The priest
has given his last rights, it won’t be long now.” Tears streamed
down her face.

“I shouldn’t be here. This time belongs to your
family to be at his side.” Philippe felt like an intruder upon an
intensely private moment of final goodbyes, but Grace insisted.

He entered the chamber and saw Jacques’s face white
as a sheet. His partner took short, shallow breaths with great
difficulty. Jacques looked semi-conscious but then stirred.
Philippe warily walked to his bedside.

“I’m here, Jacques,” he whispered. He touched his
hand but swiftly pulled it away after feeling his cold flesh.
Philippe, painfully aware only moments remained, nervously fiddled
with the rim of his hat between his fingers.

Jacques opened his eyes and shook his head,
acknowledging Philippe’s presence. “Take care of them . . .” he
begged in a raspy voice. Philippe knew exactly what he meant.

“Of course, Jacques, be at peace. I shall watch over
your family with ardent care.” He nodded a few times and then
closed his eyes. Philippe turned to see his wife standing in the
doorway crying, with her daughter by her side.

“Please,” he pleaded, “these last moments should be
yours—not mine.”

As they approached Jacques’ bedside, he drew in a
deep breath, and then slowly expelled his last ounce of earthy air
from his lungs. His wife and daughter sobbed and clung to his
body.

Philippe, upon seeing the scene, released his own
tears of grief and turned to leave the room. He refused to observe
the private grieving of immediate family. More than a business
partner had been lost. A good friend had passed into eternity.
Philippe felt dreadfully alone and deserted.

Perhaps he should have returned to the office, but he
had not the heart to do so. His chest tightened with emotion. The
time had arrived to tell Suzette of their current affairs, as much
as he despaired doing so. If he didn’t take care of it quickly, he
would hide the truth from her as long as possible. She needed to
know, so he could make the necessary arrangements to scale down
their life into a manageable financial state.

When he arrived home, he found Suzette playing with
little Robert in another game of blocks. For a few moments, he
stood in the doorway beholding the child that looked nothing like
him. He bore his father’s light features and blue eyes. At times,
he wished he could dye the boy’s hair to match his own.

Even though in times past Robert’s appearance hadn’t
bothered him, lately it irritated and reopened a wound he thought
had healed. An ounce of resentment had crept back into his heart
amidst other troubles. He cared about the little boy, for Suzette’s
sake, but now he saw in his face a new threat—another mouth to
feed.

“I see you’re block building again. What are you two
up to this time?”

Suzette rose to her feet from her sitting position on
the floor. The palm of her hands smoothed her wrinkled skirt, as
she walked over to him in surprise.

“Philippe, you’re home early.”

He accepted her peck on the check and returned one
upon her forehead. “Yes, I need to speak with you.”

He knelt down before little Robert, who feverishly
built his next creation. “Do you mind if I take mommy away for a
few minutes?”

Robert shook his head no. Philippe stood back up,
grasped Suzette’s hand, and led her downstairs to the parlor. When
they arrived, he closed the door behind them and motioned for her
to sit in the settee.

“What is it?” she demanded impatiently. “You’re
worrying me. Is everything all right? Has Robert returned?”

Philippe sat next to her. His face noticeably
displayed the strain of the past few hours.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Suzette. Jacques
Duval passed away not more than an hour ago.”

Suzette gasped and brought her hand to her mouth.
“Oh, my God, no! His poor wife and daughter! What happened?”

“He’s been ill for some time now.” He lowered his
eyes to the floor and waited for her reaction. “I didn’t tell you,
so you wouldn’t worry.”