The Price of Deception (29 page)

“Oh, really?” she drawled, with little concern. “Some
sort of manly challenge, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I’ve challenged him to a duel by pistols. I
felt obligated to inform you, Duchess, in case you wish to see your
husband beforehand. The outcome might be less than desirable for
your future.”

“You seem intent on bodily harming Robert.”

“I intend to regain my honor for what he has done to
me and my wife, and if bodily harm returns that honor to me, then
yes.”

“Well, you Frenchmen certainly have a way of settling
differences in a rather violent manner,” she puffed, with an air of
indifference. “If that is what you feel you need to do, then by all
means, proceed. You have my blessing.”

Shocked by her cold aloofness over his announcement,
he pried further. “You must feel very little toward your husband,
Duchess, to be so unconcerned for his safety.”

“Well, I might say the same for you, since I should
warn you that Robert is an expert shot when it comes to a pistol.
I’d be worried, sir, that you could stand to lose more than you
think, due to your confident arrogance.” Her eyes flashed at him.
“If you do lose, no doubt Robert will still attempt to claim
Suzette, Robert, and your little angel that you so dearly love.”
She glanced at Angelique in the carriage and smiled
endearingly.

Philippe pondered an alternate outcome. It was one
that he had already entertained at length. He had thought of the
possible conclusion, if he should not return. Robert would take
Suzette and both his children. He would keep them as his own, even
if the Duchess never divorced him. Suzette, widowed and without
resources to survive, would depend upon him once again to care for
her. In return, she would undoubtedly pay him in gratitude with her
flesh.

The Duchess reached over and picked up Angelique’s
hand in her own, rubbing her silky skin with her thumb. “She’s such
a darling.”

Philippe engulfed with panic that Robert could
possibly become the father of his daughter, went ahead with his
plans.

“I’ve already had that thought,” he announced. “And
have made alternative arrangements in this matter. I do not wish to
have Robert raise my daughter, nor my adulterous wife. Should
something happen to me, then it is my will that my sister, Julianne
Bordeaux, who in lives Rouen, become guardian. She is married, with
children of her own, and will provide a good home.”

Philippe looked at the Duchess, hoping that she would
agree to his forthcoming proposal. “If I die, Robert will return to
my home and claim everything. My daughter needs to be taken safely
elsewhere until the war between us finally comes to an end.”
Philippe entreated the Duchess.

“Would you take her, Angelique I mean, back to your
residence until tomorrow morning? Should I survive, I will return
for her afterward and give you my condolences regarding your
husband. Should I perish, then take this letter of introduction and
deliver my daughter to my sister in Rouen,” he said, pulling out an
envelope from the pocket inside his vest. “I want Angelique in
protective care and away from Robert should he try to take
her.”

His daughter whimpered and began to fuss. Philippe
leaned into the carriage and pulled her into his arms comforting
the babe.

“You would trust me with such a mission?” Jacquelyn
asked, her eyes ablaze with the prospect of caring for an
infant.

“Well, yes, of course. I have no doubt that you will
treat my daughter kindly while she is in your care. Frankly, there
is no one else to trust with this undertaking. We have both
suffered at the hands of our spouses. Therefore, I have confidence
in you and your good name to help me now, as I would help you in
your time of need.”

“Then, I am most honored to be given this charge,
Monsieur. I shall take care of her this afternoon and evening, and
no doubt will have the joy of returning her to your arms in the
morning.”

Robert handed her the letter of introduction and
waited for her to take it before continuing in a sorrowful
prose.

“Duchess, I know my wife stole from you what was
yours. I am mournful over her behavior and the harm it has caused
you.” Philippe choked down a lump in his throat as he continued. “I
mean to shoot to kill, Madame, and should I succeed, I humbly ask
for your forgiveness for taking the life of your husband. He has
taken my life from me, my business, my honor, and my beloved wife.
And if given the opportunity, he would rob me of my adorable
Angelique, as well. I cannot allow such treachery to prevail.”

Philippe lowered his head and kissed his daughter on
her cheek. She looked up at him with tiny eyes. He felt the hand of
the Duchess reach over and touch his forearm.

“Be not dismayed, Monsieur Moreau. I understand what
his black, selfish heart has done to us both. I leave the outcome
in God’s hands, but should he perish, I shall not grieve his loss.”
Jacquelyn lowered her eyes, sniffled, and then painfully
continued.

“You see, Monsieur, I lost him years ago, and have
mourned many times over, with grievous tears, the absence of my
husband’s love.”

Philippe handed Angelique into the arms of the
Duchess, who scooped her up perfectly and held the babe to her
bosom. Her eyes brimmed with adoration that calmed any worries in
Philippe’s soul over Angelique’s safety.

“She is yours until the morning. If I do not come to
your residence by 11 a.m., you may assume that I have lost. Take my
daughter to my sister in Rouen with the letter of introduction. She
is a kindhearted woman, who will receive you because your goodness.
My Angelique will be well cared for in life.”

“Of course,” she answered, her facial expression
turning somber. “God be with you.” Jacquelyn lowered the babe back
into the carriage.

They spoke their goodbyes, and Philippe watched as
the Duchess wheeled his daughter down the garden lane. “Goodbye, my
little one. Daddy will be back to fetch you soon,” he called after
her. Philippe, convinced he done wisely, turned and went home to
prepare for dawn.

Chapter Twenty
Four

“Walk away,” Giles heartily entreated. “No one will
think you a coward, my lord. In fact, they will think you a wise
man for not resorting to violence.”

“I cannot,” Robert groaned. He slipped his arms
through his white linen shirt and fumbled with the buttons down the
front. “Do you forget my son’s future is at stake? What if the
idiot sends Robert away? I shall never see him again.” He finished
fastening his shirt and picked up his vest laying on the bed.

“No, no, I cannot—I will not forfeit my only
heir.”

“I fear for you, Duke. The man has a military
background. Surely, he is proficient with the weapon—”

“As I am!” he roared, interrupting Giles with his
negative ranting. “Enough. Now, fetch me my jacket, and let’s get
on with it. I want this over, so I can begin my life.”

Robert nervously pulled his arms through the sleeve
of his black jacket. He had dressed casually for what would prove
to be an unpleasant meeting. He grabbed his leather gloves, shoved
them into his pocket, and headed for the door.

“Is the carriage downstairs?”

“Yes, sir. We should arrive at dawn at the prescribed
location, if we leave now.”

“Very good. After we embark on this horrid affair, I
want you to inspect the weapons and make sure all is above
board.”

Giles nodded his head. “Yes, sir, I will see to
it.”

“And if it goes not the way we hope, tell me what you
will do,” Robert pressured him, as they headed out the door and
made their way downstairs.

Giles, out of breath trying to keep up with Robert’s
quick pace, hurriedly answered. “I will depart immediately and
proceed to the residence of Monsieur. Moreau. I will leave on the
ruse that I’m procuring the undertaker to take care of your
remains.”

“Fine. Thank you.” Robert climbed into the carriage.
Giles entered and then banged on the roof to instruct the driver to
proceed to the destination he had given him.

Robert’s instructions were to meet Philippe in a
grove in the southern side of the city wall. The location,
supposedly secluded, had been often used for such occasions as
planned this morning. He glanced out the window, thankful for a
decent day. The sky, pink with the colors of sunrise against the
billowy clouds, reminded Robert of blood.
This will indeed be a
bloody affair
, he thought, as the daylight would soon breach
the horizon.

The horses that pulled the carriage increased their
gait as they left the city proper and began traversing a country
road heading toward their final destination. Robert glanced over at
Giles, whose poor face was contorted with worry. He wrung his hands
together like a little old woman.

Robert felt odd. Though his soul remained calm, his
body began to react to the stress. An occasional quiver rushed
through his arms and legs. Whatever the outcome, all would go well.
He had to believe for the sake of all he loved.

He would keep his promise to Suzette and would not
shoot to kill. A wound to the shoulder would suffice to make his
point. Philippe would not die. Then, as agreed to in the challenge,
he would leave and get Suzette and Robert and take them back to
England.

His mind drifted to Angelique, knowing that if the
babe had to be left behind, Suzette would make a great sacrifice to
abandon her child to be with him. Philippe would never agree to
hand Angelique over, and no doubt the courts would grant him sole
custody because of her infidelity. A part of him, felt thankful it
would play out, as it should.

The carriage slowed, and Robert’s heart pounded
against his ribcage sending blood pumping through his veins. His
hands shook, so he clenched them together to suppress the
tremors.

Finally, they came to the edge of a wooded glen and
stopped. The driver jumped down and opened the door.

“I believe this is the location. There are gentlemen
waiting a few yards off to your left, Monsieur.”

Robert exited, and Giles followed close behind. A
slight breeze rustled the leaves in the trees above, and the sun
breached the horizon and filtered through the wooded canopy. The
heat of the rays hit the cool ground and produced a knee-high midst
that weaved its way across the grass.

A group of men stood waiting near a tree. He looked
at Philippe, who stood like a confident jackass. One man held the
dueling pistols in a box, and another unrecognizable individual
stood by Philippe.

Robert stopped and looked at each of them before
speaking. “Gentlemen, let’s get on with it.”

“Yes, let’s,” snarled Philippe, as he shot a
dagger-like glare in Robert’s direction.

“This is my personal assistant, Mr. Giles Woodward,
who will be my witness. And these gentlemen are?”

Philippe answered. “Monsieur Pelletier, is the
third-party who has officiated over many duels in Paris. Monsieur
Leroy is my butler and witness.”

“I would like my assistant to examine the weapons,
please, before proceeding,” Robert requested.

Monsieur Pelletier replied, “Yes, of course.” He
walked over to Giles, opened the wooden box, and presented the
matched engraved and gilded weapons for inspection. Giles looked at
the single flintlock pistols, checked both chambers, noted they
were loaded, then concluded they were in working condition.

“Thank you, they look agreeable.”

Monsieur Pelletier kept the case open and invited
both men to stand in front of him. “Gentlemen, you may choose your
weapons. Monsieur Moreau, because this duel is your challenge, you
will have first choice.”

Philippe studied both pistols and grabbed the gun on
the right. Robert reached over and retrieved the gun on the left.
Pelletier snapped shut the lid of the box and shoved it under his
arm.

Robert’s heart pounded in his ears as he waited for
the instructions to stand back-to-back with Philippe Moreau and
then pace off, turn, and shoot. For a quick moment, he thought
himself quite insane for agreeing to accept the challenge. He had
put his life on the line to win his cherished Suzette and the son
he loved. The stakes were high. In the next few minutes, he could
very well be dead.

He held the pistol in his right hand and looked at
the maker’s engraved name on the stock, feeling the weight, and
gauging its handling. Made by a French gunnery, it felt somewhat
different than the English pistols he had been accustomed to
holding. He prayed the use of a foreign weapon would not hamper the
accuracy of his aim, even though he was a first-rate shot.

Pelletier announced the conditions to them both in a
gruff, loud voice.

“Monsieur Moreau has requested that the duel be to
first blood, in which case the matter will be settled upon one man
being wounded. However, if one man is severely wounded, and that
wound leads to death, Monsieur Moreau will receive full and
complete satisfaction of the disrespect done to his name.”

Robert knew then his nemesis intended to shoot to
kill. His gut turned into a hard knot as the moments slipped
precariously toward battle.

“
Gentlemen, please proceed to the
clearing, stand back to back, with pistols in hand. I shall count
to twenty paces, upon which you will stop upon the number twenty,
turn, and fire your weapons. Do you understand my
instructions?”

Robert nodded affirmatively. Philippe called out a
confident “yes” in response.

“Very well then.”

Quickly, Robert glanced over at Giles who stood on
the sidelines watching. The man looked pale as the moon, and Robert
lifted his lips in a forced smile. He gave him a quick wink for an
ounce of reassurance that all would be well.

“One, two, three . . .”

Robert moved his booted right foot in front of him
and stepped in cadence with the numbers that were spoken. Twenty
paces—it seemed like such a long distance, which would indeed make
it a more difficult aim. He wondered why Philippe hadn’t chosen a
lesser number to do him in at point blank range and be done with
it.