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Etienne had his driver break all records getting to Bourges's office where Felicien was waiting for the re-suits of his visit to Isabelle's.

Walking through the two reception rooms on his way to Felicien's office, the Duc smiled in greeting to all the employees, his smile turning into a wide grin by the time he waved Bourges's young assistant aside and pushed open the door to the office himself.

"You're looking at an extremely happy man, a jubilant, exhilarated man… a man who once again believes in the concept of justice." Etienne threw open his arms expansively to include the world in his felicitous embrace.

"A miracle of some sort has obviously occurred," Bourges said, an answering smile on his face. In shirtsleeves at the end of the day, he pushed his rolled sleeves up a fraction, crossed his arms behind his head, and leaning back in his chair, added, "Give me the glorious details."

"First, Letheve will be here within the hour. With his hat in hand, I presume." Taking hold of a chair, Etienne pulled an early Chippendale armchair closer to Felicien's desk. "As for details, they are indeed glorious, but also slightly disreputable and definitely iniquitous." The Duc's smile was jovial.

"I assume we aren't talking about a decision over tea after these past months of dealing with the Duchesse's malevolent concept of justice."

"There may have been tea," the Duc said with feigned recall. "Although their hunger was of another sort."

"They? My imagination runs—"

"Wild is the appropriate word, Felicien. Definitely. And 'they' were my wife Isabelle, who didn't believe in divorce until very recently, and her friend from the gallery showing of the other night. I can see by your face, you anticipate my recital."

"In flagrante delicto."

"Precisely."

Ever the lawyer, Felicien said, "Was Charbeau a witness?"

"Eventually. Opportunely, as it were, at the consummation."

Even Bourges was slightly shocked and he'd seen a great deal in his climb from the gutters. He was aware the variety of vice didn't differ so much from class to class, only manifesting itself in more luxurious surroundings at the top. But the Duchesse de Vec was a haughty, arrogant women who somehow gave the illusion of never completely losing her self-control. "You saw it all?"

"Every perverse urgency."

"You could have killed them both."

"I know. I told her that."

Bourges arched his dark brows slightly. "Maybe you were too kind."

"The thought crossed my mind briefly. But that kind of act is performed in passion and passion isn't an emotion I can conjure up with Isabelle."

"It's also done in cold calculation."

"It would save a great deal of money, wouldn't it? But, Lord, you have to hate more than I do. Hell, when I saw them there on that hideous pink satin sofa Isabelle has had recovered so many times—and now I know why—hate was the furthest thing from my mind. My spirits soared higher than the snowcapped heights of the Himalayas. Freedom! I thought. Glorious freedom!"

"How little do you want to leave her?"

Etienne's mouth curved into a smile. "What a difference. I went as a supplicant, quite literally willing to beg. Did her luck finally run out or is there divine justice after all?"

"I think you'd never looked before," Bourges quietly replied.

"You mean, had I, I would have discovered this long ago."

"Very long ago, and I think, too, you were hoping to settle the divorce like a gentleman."

"And you knew better."

"I've seen so many. One learns."

"What do you suggest?"

"Return her dower portion; no more is legally required."

"I'd like my home back. I realized today the host of memories in the Hôtel de Vec are important to me. I can give her sufficient funds to build or buy another residence."

"You needn't be generous."

Etienne shrugged. In his own immense happiness, he was beyond vindictiveness. "I can afford it… and settle a sum on her for maintenance."

"With some stipulations. To protect you and Daisy from any possible malice."

"You define those then. I understand the wisdom in your suggestion, but I don't feel inclined to deal with every eventuality. I'm benevolent in victory and feel ashamed in a strange way for my own enormous happiness… for Daisy and our child and
my
future. Surely Isabelle's diversions with the younger sons of aristocrats who've bought a bishopry for their family crest can't be entirely satisfying… over time. And I'm speaking as a reformed devotee of my own particular style of amusement."

"Ah, love," Felicien softly said, aware of the enormous changes he'd witnessed in the Duc de Vec from the man who'd first come into his office, self-contained, aloof, operating within the circumspect perimeters of the privileged class he'd been born into. He was transformed.

"I recommend it," Etienne said simply.

"Are you still leaving tomorrow?" Bourges asked, knowing love was motivating the Duc's precipitous departure.

"Yes. You'll have to take complete charge. Telegram your questions and I'll respond promptly. Justin will be in Paris for a few weeks more before he leaves for the East. He is my factor in my absence for anything you might require signed."

"What should be done with the Worths' proposal?"

"Pay them something for their willingness to aid me. They can name their price."

"And what of the Amsterdam venture?"

"I only want my money back… what it cost me to buy Verlaine and Marveil out. I'm benign to them as well. Negotiate something after they've bought into the worthless mines. They should be pleased to have gotten off so lightly."

"No revenge?"

"Daisy and I are having a child," he said. "Daisy and I are going to be married once this divorce is processed. Revenge has dropped very low on my list of priorities."

"A small warning in your paradise of happiness."

The Duc's green eyes met his swiftly across the muted light of the evening-shrouded room.

"Even with capitulation, the actual court procedures in divorce will take some months."

"How many months?" Etienne was counting the time until his child would be born.

"Four, maybe five, possibly six."

"Make it four."

"I'll do everything I can."

"I have to see Justin yet, and Georges. Both need funds for their expedition." The Duc rose and put out his hand to Bourges. "Thank you in advance and for all you've done. We'll send you a wedding invitation." He smiled. "I'm not entirely sure what a Montana wedding entails."

The thousand-year de Vec heritage echoed for a moment in his words, the royal prerogatives and noblesse distinctive. "But I'm extremely grateful to be the bridegroom," he added, a telling humbleness in his voice.

"Do you know when you'll be back?"

"It depends on Daisy."

Bourges nodded, understanding the Duc's feelings. "I'll wait to hear from you then. And congratulations."

"Thank you." Etienne shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as a chill ran down his spine. "It was a close thing, wasn't it?"

"It was a miracle," Felicien said quietly, "of gigantic proportions."

Nine days later the Duc was in Montana, standing on the train station platform in Helena, a chill autumn wind blowing his hair into disarray as he gazed down the street leading into town. Louis was inside checking to see that all their luggage had arrived intact, and he was wondering if he'd given the wrong date in his telegram from Chicago.

When Daisy still hadn't come after some time, the Duc called
¹¹
the Braddock-Black house and was told Miss Daisy was in court. When he left his name, the butler expressed astonishment he'd arrived in Helena, apologized thoroughly for not having someone there to meet him. He would have a carriage sent immediately.

"An emergency called her to court today, Your Grace," the man politely added. "You weren't expected until the evening train."

As it was ten o'clock in the morning, Etienne asked when Daisy would return.

"For dinner, Your Grace. I could have her informed of your arrival," the cultured tones of the Braddock-Black majordomo added. And he apologized again for the misunderstanding.

"Don't bother her in court," Etienne said. "I'll have my man bring my things in the carriage."

The Duc promptly sent Louis off and had himself driven to a real estate agency. Since he had an entire day to himself, he'd find a home. After not seeing Daisy for over a month, he didn't relish living under the Braddock-Black roof as a guest, nor did he like hotel living. Neither venue offered him the privacy he wished.

After viewing several photographs,
¹²
the Duc selected two ranches as possible choices and was driven out by an extremely deferential agent. Both ranches had been put up for sale by their British owners after the disastrous winter of eighty-six when three-quarters of the cattle had died. The bubble had burst on many foreign investors that year, leaving numerous abandoned businesses behind.

"Will you be grazing cattle, Your Grace?" the agent asked, curious about the quiet Duc who had picked his two most expensive properties without inquiring about the land. He wished only to know whether the ranch houses were livable.

"Probably not," the Duc said, gazing out on the beauty of the mountainous landscape rimming the horizon.

"Will you be staying permanently?"

The Duc turned to look at him with a mild scrutiny, not familiar with being asked personal questions by strangers. Americans had a frankness and open friendliness he always found disconcerting. "Probably not," he said again because the man seemed to expect some answer.

"All the remittance men lost their shirts the winter of eighty-six. Just thought I'd warn you, if you were thinking about raising cattle. Got better properties for that than these two ranches."

"Actually, I looking for a house that's private," the Duc said in a mild voice, the very moderation of his tone causing the owner of Burnet Properties to wonder what the Duc had in mind.

Foreigners were all a strange lot, her reflected, scrutinizing the Duc with a sidelong glance. Remittance men sent by their families to live down some disgrace before returning to society in Europe; Scots businessmen with the knack for making money but not conversation, like this fellow; that French couple a few years back who bought a place on Winter Mountain and thought they could farm. None of them knew squat about ranching. But he liked the color of their money. So he smiled at the large, well-dressed man beside him on the buggy seat and said, "Well, if it's privacy you want, both these places are so private your chimney smoke ain't even seen by a soul until they get through that pass over yonder."

"I need a telegraph line put in. How soon could I get that done?" Bourges would be trying to get in touch with him immediately and he'd prefer not going through public channels.

"Depends."

"Depends?" He already knew the man's answer.

"On how much money you have."

"Good." Business was done the same everywhere.

He liked the house at the second ranch better. It was larger, had been more recently lived in, and didn't smell of stale tobacco smoke like the first one. They were both built rustically of logs with large verandas running across their facades, but the one in the Clear River valley had an additional small porch on the second floor, giving the master bedroom access to the outdoors… and the magnificent view. Standing on the bedroom balcony, Etienne took in the quiet majesty of the mountain landscape, the rushing river slicing through the grassy valley the dark pines and colored aspen covering the rough mountain terrain. The property was close to town, a consideration for Daisy whose daily schedule required her presence in the capital. Taking out his pocketwatch, he checked the time. Not yet three. An opportunity still for shopping. Turning to the agent who was rolling a cigarette with a familiar ease, Etienne said, "This one will do."