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The Duc de Vec's call on Bourges turned out to be less warmhearted and merciful. Felicien Bourges pointed out in a precise, swift commentary the limitations of France's negotiated divorce law. It was not a secular law of mutual consent, so should Isabelle choose not to petition for divorce or contest the Duc's petition, the proceedings could drag on in the courts through various cross-petitions and appeals at great length. Furthermore, if the Duchesse had to be petitioned for divorce, proving material injuries before a judge most likely in the debt of the Minister of Justice, Comte de Montigny, might not only be difficult but…

"Are you telling me it's impossible?" The Duc's tone conveyed his opinion of that word. Bourges was extremely young. Perhaps his reputation while not necessarily undeserved, had been shaped by fortuitous circumstances. Did he have the experience?

"No. I simply wished to define the obstacles." Felicien Bourges, the son of a peasant, who had risen by hard work and talent through the difficult route of a scholarship student in an educational system antagonistic to scholarship students, understood obstacles. It was his inspiration and his genius.

Men of the Duc's privileged background were only familiar with compliance. Did this casually seated man so used to command realize the extent of his difficulties? Bourges wondered.

"Will the divorce take long?" Etienne asked. Since Bourges hadn't said the divorce was impossible, it was possible. And if he
had
said it was impossible, Etienne would simply have found another barrister.

"The Duchesse's brother is Minister of Justice. Very unfortunate." The young lawyer leaned forward slightly as if emphasizing his point.

"Surely only a hindrance."

"A formidable one. But," Felicien added in the self-possessed tone at odds with his very youthful appearance, "not insuperable."

"How long?" the Duc repeated.

"That depends on the Duchesse. She is opposed, you say?"

"So she said. Personally, I believe she has a price. I told her she had simply to name it."

The woman he was so anxious to marry must be most unusual, Felicien thought, or perhaps
enceinte
. He knew the Duc by reputation and de Vec's priorities with the women in his past had never been matrimonial. "Is there some anxiety about… the time period?"

The Duc smiled at his euphemistic query and at the familiar phrasing. "None other than my own selfish desire to marry again."

"You realize of course, the lady you wish to marry cannot be named accomplice in the divorce decree or you'll be prohibited by law from marrying her."

"Then you must see she's not." The Duc spoke with patrician assurance.

How nice it would be, Bourges thought, if the law could be so easily administered. "I suggest we speak to the Duchesse's counsel first… as a preliminary procedure."

"Old Letheve will be scandalized."

"She hasn't secured other counsel then?"

"When I spoke to her last, yesterday, she felt, I think, that all was resolved—between us. You may speak to Letheve first if you wish. I don't know how things are handled in… these situations, but perhaps if you spoke to her without involving her family's law firm, she could express her wishes privately. I'm amenable to any of her requests, save one."

The Duc was reticent as most of his class was, Bourges noted about his privacy. He had the distinct feeling that had the Duc been able to avoid this meeting today he would have, and while he found that refinement well-bred and mannerly, in the coming negotiations for divorce with an unwilling wife, the Duc's commitment to good breeding would be tested. As an initial warning, Felicien said, "This could be very costly, in terms of property and amiability both. You're aware of that."

"I'm hoping your expertise will preserve the latter—such as it is between Isabelle and myself. I don't care about the property."

"You're willing to accede to any of her demands? It isn't necessary, of course. The law is more protective of your property rights than your wife's. Provided we can overcome any judicial maneuvering her family may interpose. Her family, you realize, is her greatest asset."

"My greatest obstruction, you mean."

"With her brother as Minister of Justice and her cousin, Archbishop of Paris, her support unfortunately is strategic. Now if Montigny was Minister of the Interior or Trade—" he shrugged, "the judges wouldn't be so apt to do his bidding."

"But since they're appointed…"

"An unfortunate situation."

"I suggest you speak first to Isabelle." Etienne hesitated. "If she'll see you." His lashes lowered fractionally. "I'm sorry. Isabelle is a member of an ancien régime family that resists the reality of the Revolution."

"And their wealth has insulated them from that necessity." Bourges's voice was touched lightly with sarcasm. "In any event, I'll attempt to make an appointment, Monsieur le Duc."

Felicien had dealt with nobles of Isabelle's reactionary persuasion before so his request for an appointment with the Duchesse de Vec was made with her secretary, his motive discreetly veiled with a charity function the Duchesse was known to lend her name to.

She was standing at her desk when he was shown into her reception room two mornings later, an imperious figure despite her petite dimensions. "I didn't realize, Monsieur Bourges, the Convent of the Carmelites had retained you." Her inflection implied they'd better have a cogent reason for doing so, as must he for presuming to bother her. "I'm not here for the Dames Carmelites." While she was reaching for the bell-pull, he added, "Monsieur le Duc has authorized me to offer you your choice of his properties."

Avarice stayed her hand. "I already have his properties."

"Not precisely, Madame le Duchesse. Not in legal terms." By law the Duc was sole administrator of his property as well as the Duchesse's dotal property. Felicien moved a step closer to the desk; they were separated by a dozen feet now and each took the other's measure.

His tailor was Kriegck. Apparently he was wealthy from defending the merchants of Paris. He wore his hair long like an actor, and then, with the presumption of her class, her eyes fell to his fingernails.

"No dirt, Madame," Felicien said with a control developed after years of being scrutinized by wealthy people intellectually inferior to him. "It was all left behind at Loire-et-See. And my valet is meticulous." He had never been this close to her before, although they occasionally frequented the same social gatherings. She seemed smaller at close range, extremely well-kept, and with the eyes of a predator.

"The dirt is never left behind, Monsieur Bourges." All his successes and hard work dismissed by her in one brief statement. "You may inform the Duc your visit was wasted. The Montignys do not divorce." This time she pulled on the bell-rope with vigor.

The Duchesse de Vec was the paradigm for all he found most reprehensible in the aristocracy. Arrogant, rude, with a disrespect for those born outside the rarefied enclaves of ancien regime families bred into them from the cradle; they truly believed in divine rights for themselves and their class.

"I suggest you obtain counsel, Madame le Duchesse." His gaze swept the gilded room, decorated as her intimate reception salon, large enough in reality to house a dozen families. "In order," he added with a cool smile, "to insure you retain at least this property." He knew how to bow; he'd paid for the best instructors in all forms of social graces, but he didn't bow to the Duc's wife. In fact, for the first time in years he allowed his anger to show. "The Duc is most anxious to divorce," he said, a rage he'd thought long vanished prompting him, "so tell Letheve we will be proceeding with dispatch."

Isabelle had seated herself at her desk, her interest focused on writing as though Bourges no longer existed. If she'd heard him she didn't respond; she seemed actually not to have heard him at all.

How had the Duc tolerated the woman for so long, Felicien wondered, turning at a small sound, to see a footman holding the door open for his departure. She seemed without charitable qualities.

His anger remained, an odd and residual survivor from his long-ago past, well beyond his morning call. Even late that night, after hours of diversion in the intricate legalities he found so satisfying, after dinner and the theater, the skeleton of memory remained. She had made him feel desperately poor again. Unequal. Beneath her notice.

The Duchesse de Vec had made an ardent enemy.

Two days later the Duc received a visit from his brother-in-law Charles. It wasn't unexpected; Bourges had initiated the petition with both dispatch and zeal.

The Duc welcomed Charles into his study at the Quai du Louvre apartment, offered him a cognac, and when they'd both been served and the footman departed, their casual conversation came to an end.

"Speak up, Charles," Etienne said, his smile pleasant. "We've know each other long enough to be frank."

"You presented your petition to the President this morning."

It was the first step in bringing the action before the court. Etienne had presented his petition in person, 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.