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    The Price of Innocence: The Legacy Series, #1
    The Price of Innocence: The Legacy Series, #1
    The Price of Innocence: The Legacy Series, #1
    Ebook322 pages4 hours

    The Price of Innocence: The Legacy Series, #1

    By Vicki Hopkins

    2.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The year is 1878, and the setting is Paris, France. It's a place of privilege and comfort for the rich, but one of heartache and struggle for the poor. Upon the death of her father, Suzette is thrown from the comforts of middle-class life into the terror of homelessness on the streets of Paris. Without family or friends, she struggles to survive. Her journey takes her from charity houses to the grueling life of a laundress. When her plight becomes unbearable, she is enticed by the mistress of the most famous brothel in France to live in luxury and service her aristocratic clientele. On her first night, she meets Lord Holland who receives more than he bargained for in the price of her virginity.

    Just when you think the story has ended, The Price of Deception (Book Two) continues the story of Suzette and Robert.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVicki Hopkins
    Release dateFeb 22, 2011
    ISBN9780983295938
    The Price of Innocence: The Legacy Series, #1
    Author

    Vicki Hopkins

    Vicki started her writing career somewhat late in life, but can attest to the fact that it is never too late to follow your dreams. Her debut novel was released in 2009, and six books later and another on the way, she doesn't think she will stop any time soon. She is an award-winning and best selling author in historical sagas/historical romance.​With Russian blood on her father's side and English on her mother's, she blames her ancestors for the lethal combination in her genes that influence her stories. Tragedy and drama might be found between her pages, but she eventually gives her readers a happy ending.She lives in the beautiful, but rainy, Pacific Northwest with a pesky cat who refuses to let her sleep in. Her hobbies include researching her English ancestry, traveling to England when she can afford it, and plotting her next book.

    Read more from Vicki Hopkins

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      Book preview

      The Price of Innocence - Vicki Hopkins

      Prologue

      Paris, France – 1878

      Suzette nervously watched Madame Laurent take one final assessment of her appearance before leading her up the grand staircase of the opulent Chabanais. Her hand brushed a stray curl from Suzette’s cheek and then arranged a few strands strategically on her plump breasts spilling over her bodice. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about the red blotches creeping up her porcelain neck.

      As I stated earlier, I’ve procured Lord Holland for this evening. You shall not be disappointed. He’s one of the more satisfying and kind patrons we have. Madame Laurent grasped Suzette’s cold hands in firm reassurance, before announcing her final instructions.

      I know you are apprehensive, Suzette, but this is your job. I have done my best to provide for you. Do your best to satisfy him, in spite of your obvious fright. After all, this is a business. If my customers are not gratified, I will not be happy. Madame Laurent released her hands and turned to ascend the stairs ahead of her employee. Come along now. He is waiting.

      Suzette sighed, reluctant to follow the austere, brothel mistress. She was dressed as a French queen and heading for the Louis XV Chambre to lose her virginity. Her legs could barely climb the red-carpeted path to hell. Her deflowering had arrived, and Suzette was terrified.

      As she laboriously placed one foot in front of the other, her mind drifted to the events that had cruelly driven her to this moment. Tears filled her eyes as Suzette painfully recalled the last day with her loving father. Everything had changed in her innocent life—everything.

      Chapter One

      P apa, can I get you anything else?

      Edgar saw his daughter glance warily across the table at his tired, wrinkled face. He lifted the last piece of bread to his mouth, chewed it slowly, and then swallowed.

      Did you have a hard day?

      No more than usual, angel. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and then smiled at his daughter. Thank you for dinner. It was exceptionally good. You never disappoint, Suzette.

      You are welcome, Father.

      Suzette gloated over his kind approval. Each night, without fail, he thanked her for dinner. Edgar knew that she enjoyed doting over him whenever possible.

      Satisfied and full, he watched his daughter rise to her feet. Suzette removed the empty plates and dirty utensils. As she passed by his chair on the way to the kitchen, she bent down and gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek.

      I’m glad you liked it. You should go and relax. You look tired.

      Edgar Rousseau exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. His daughter had correctly sensed his weary state of mind and body. He felt drained after spending the entire day lecturing. His feet pounded, and his backed ached with every move.

      He had a respectable vocation as a professor at the University of Paris, and, for the most part, he enjoyed his position. However, his day had been filled with arguing students debating the New Republic. Traditions, family roots, and passionate views were deeply inbred in the student body, most of whom came from aristocratic and bourgeoisie families.

      Confrontation went against the grain of his mild-mannered nature. He had discovered that as he grew older, it had become harder to manage the daily stress of work. Unfortunately, retiring was impossible to consider. He had a daughter to marry off, and financial matters that needed to be settled.

      Suzette headed for the kitchen, and Edgar rose from the table, silently cursing his aching joints. He felt old and decrepit. His hair had turned noticeably gray over the past year, and he had gained a considerable amount of weight around his belly.

      He meandered over to his favorite overstuffed chair, flopped into the seat, and embarked on his usual after-dinner routine of reading the newspaper. The words blurred before his tired eyes as his mind refused to concentrate on the articles. He squinted at the paper for some time and then lifted his gaze toward the kitchen.

      Edgar peered over the rims of his reading glasses and watched his petite, auburn-haired daughter perform her chores. A pang of nostalgia stabbed his heart. She had grown into the beautiful likeness of her mother. The resemblance was uncanny, and each time he considered their similarities, sadness swept over his soul. He could not help but think of his dear, departed wife, Marie. When he did, grief clutched his heart. It had been twelve years since his wife’s death, yet the wounds were as fresh as the day she died.

      After her passing, Edgar had naturally become extremely close to his daughter. Though he had hired a governess to care for Suzette as a child, he dismissed her upon his daughter’s sixteenth birthday. Suzette insisted that she was more than happy to assume the responsibilities of running a household. Edgar’s modest salary forced him to agree.

      Suzette had done well in taking over the management of their residence. He had no doubt that she would make a splendid wife, mother, and caretaker one day. Although he believed his daughter deserved better, Edgar allowed her to cook and clean because Suzette assured him that she enjoyed such tasks. He hoped that when she married, she would live comfortably enough to assign such menial jobs to the household staff.

      The newspaper no longer held his attention. He set it down and stood from his chair. His unsteady feet shuffled over to his daughter’s side. An odd sense of discomfort pressed heavily upon his chest. He needed rest.

      I think I’ll retire early. Would you mind? He placed his hand gently upon her shoulder.

      Suzette encouraged his decision. No, Father, of course not. Go and rest. I’ll be fine.

      Edgar smiled at his daughter, and with a tender kiss on her cheek, he bid her goodnight. As he slowly lumbered toward the fireplace, he briefly stopped to look at a picture of his wife on top of the mantel. Silently, he prayed that she would visit him in his dreams. He needed her comfort for his weary and lonely heart.

      A moment later, he retreated down the hall to his bedchamber. Edgar entered and then closed the door behind him, hoping to find respite and solace after a long day.

      SUZETTE WATCHED WITH concern as her father walked down the hallway to his bedchamber. After hearing the door close, she returned her attention to the pile of dirty dishes. She smiled thinking about his pause at the fireplace to look at her mother’s picture. His nightly ritual touched her heart.

      For years, Suzette hoped that his mourning would lessen, and he would remarry. It was another unanswered prayer to add to her list. When her own grief subsided over the death of her mother, she prayed that someone would fill the void. Eventually, as God’s silence grew harder to bear, she stopped asking and refused to hold onto foolish hopes.

      Naturally, her father did not want to remarry, even though Suzette longed for a mother’s tender embrace and wisdom. Now, at the age of eighteen, she ached for female companionship. She had no confidant to ask the many questions about womanhood that beset her mind.

      After finishing her chores, she removed her stained apron and hung it up on the back of the kitchen door. She walked past her father’s door, stopped, and heard the sound of snoring coming from the other side. Thankful that he had quickly fallen asleep, she smiled with relief and made her way to her room.

      She closed the door and walked to the window, parted the thick curtains, and looked at the street below. Snow flurries danced about like white butterflies. The sight sent goosebumps up her spine. It had been a long winter, and she was tired of the cold. She hoped this would be the last trickle of snow because springtime was just around the corner. It would not be long before new life bloomed from the barren earth. It was by far her favorite time of the year.

      After pulling the curtains tightly shut to keep out the cold draft, she walked over to her chest of drawers. A small wooden jewelry box, with a variety of compartments, sat on a white lace doily. She pulled out a little drawer at the bottom of the case and retrieved a folded piece of paper. A smile brightened her face. It was time for her nightly ritual.

      Suzette sat on the edge of her bed and carefully unfolded the precious document. Lovingly, she lifted the tattered corners of the white parchment and read the words. Her fingers traced along each stroke of the quill until they reached the end of the message. When finished, she brought the letter to her lips and kissed it reverently. The parchment was carefully folded into the same creases and returned to its hiding place. Tomorrow night, she would resurrect it once again, read it, and kiss it goodnight just as she had done for months on end since its arrival.

      Cold and tired, she yawned and then undressed to slip into a beige, cotton nightgown. She turned out the oil lamp and climbed between the sheets. The cold made her shiver, and she pulled her wool blanket up to her chin.

      After closing her eyes, she faithfully mumbled her nightly prayers, blessing her father, and those she loved. Within a few minutes, Suzette fell asleep and traveled to the world of troublesome dreams, where she found herself lost and filled with fear.

      The chilly night passed, giving way to an unpleasant morning awakening. A little sparrow chirped as it sat on Suzette’s windowsill. She rolled over, pulled the pillow over her head, and moaned as she tried to decide whether to shoo the bird away or get out of bed. Unable to fall back asleep, she sat up and swung her pillow to the side heaving a sigh of frustration.

      For a few moments, her dark and convoluted dreams haunted her, but she shrugged them off. She raised her arms above her head and stretched. The ice-cold wooden floor greeted her bare feet as she climbed out of bed.

      Burr, she moaned. Suzette grabbed her white robe off a nearby chair. She slipped it on, tied the sash, and then headed out her door down the hallway. She stood by the bath chamber and noticed an eerie silence permeate the air. Usually, at this time of the morning, her father would be in the kitchen boiling water for his tea.

      Suzette glanced around. The only sound she detected came from the chirping bird perched on her windowsill. She walked down the dark hallway toward her father’s door and leaned her ear against the wooden barrier, expecting to hear his snore. Silence persisted. Suzette stepped back and with a light tap of her knuckles softly knocked.

      Papa? Papa?

      When no answer came, she thought perchance her father had left early for work. She walked to the sitting room to see if his jacket had been removed. It remained exactly where he placed it the evening before, hanging on the coat rack by the front door. A sense of dread clutched her heart. She turned quickly around and ran across the wood floor toward her father’s room. Her bare feet slapped against the floorboards.

      Papa? Are you in there? Can you hear me?

      Suzette knocked feverishly, but no answer came. Her hand trembled when she reached for the metal doorknob. Slowly, she turned it to the right. When the latch released, Suzette pushed the door open just enough to poke her head around the edge and peek inside. The curtains remained closed, and the room was dark and quiet. Suzette stood motionless for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Finally, they rested upon her father’s body in the bed.

      Papa, are you all right?

      When he did not answer, she pushed the door wide open and hesitantly walked to his bedside. Dressed in his overnight gown, he lay prostrate, with his face buried in the pillow. She looked at him and realized his chest neither rose nor lowered. Frantic over the lack of movement, she knelt down at his side and placed her hand on his back.

      Papa! she cried. Papa, wake up!

      The touch of his cold, rigid body spoke of death, and Suzette quickly withdrew her hand in horror over the discovery. She sprang to her feet, stumbled backward, and brought both hands to her mouth to catch her horrified scream.

      Panicked, she fled out of the bedroom and ran down the hallway crying hysterically. Unsure what to do, she paced back and forth in a distraught state of mind until the moment of clarity returned. She exited the apartment and swiftly ran to her neighbor’s door. With both fists, Suzette pounded on the wooden barrier, begging for help in a desperate, sobbing voice.

      I need help! Please, I need help! Her hot tears burned her cheeks. A moment later, the door swung open.

      My word, child! What is the matter? Monsieur Pelletier looked astounded at Suzette’s frantic actions. His wife stood by his side with a wide-eyed look on her face.

      Suzette gasped. It’s Papa. I can’t wake him up! Sobs choked her throat. I...I...I think he’s dead.

      Oh my God, Suzette!

      He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and swiftly headed toward their apartment. His wife, Adele, followed closely behind, shaking her head.

      Suzette led them to her father’s bedroom and then stood by the door, terrified to enter. She watched Monsieur Pelletier approach the bed.

      Edgar? Edgar!

      Monsieur Pelletier received no response and bent down to touch the body. He nodded his head and turned to Suzette with an empathetic look.

      He’s dead, I’m afraid. Not wishing for her to gaze upon death, he took the wool blanket and pulled it up until it hid her father’s body underneath.

      I’m terribly sorry, Suzette. He must have died in his sleep. God rest his soul.

      He reverently made the sign of the cross, along with his wife, Adele. Suzette stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move. She sobbed loudly, and Madame Pelletier drew near to her side. Suzette buried her head in Adele’s shoulder and lost herself in grief.

      There, there, Suzette, Madame Pelletier offered in motherly comfort while stroking her back. It will be all right. Your father is in heaven now. Don’t despair.

      Her words brought little comfort to Suzette’s heart. Anxiety tightened her chest, choking the air from her lungs, and she wondered if she would perish, too.

      Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand upon her shoulder. It must have been a stroke or a heart attack. God is merciful. He probably died peacefully in his sleep. Your father was a good man.

      You should arrange for the body to be taken somewhere, William. Adele’s eyes pleaded for her husband’s help.

      Suzette abruptly pulled from her embrace. What do you mean take his body?

      Well, he can’t stay here, dear. His remains must be moved.  A look of panic spread across her face, and she inquired if Suzette had others to help her through this difficult time. Do you have a family here, dear? Is there anyone who can help you?

      No, she replied, with a forlorn look on her face. There is no one except my aunt and her husband, but they moved to the Americas years ago.

      Oh, I see, dear. She turned to her husband and implored him to do something. Go on, William. Get your hat and coat and take this child with you to the funeral parlor for arrangements. Please!

      Yes, of course.

      He put his arm around Suzette and encouraged her to get dressed. Suzette stood paralyzed as she looked at the body of her father. Her audible sobbing had turned to silent tears that rolled freely down her flushed cheeks. Overcome with shock, Suzette realized she could no longer inhale any air. Black spots danced across her field of vision, and she floated into darkness and into the arms of Monsieur Pelletier standing nearby.

      MUFFLED VOICES, FOOTSTEPS, and clanging noises echoed in the recesses of Suzette’s mind, finally bringing her back to consciousness. She opened her eyelids and blinked a few times until she focused on the white plaster ceiling above her bed. After a quick glance down at her body, she discovered herself wrapped up in a blanket. Her pounding head rested upon a pillow.

      Her first waking thoughts gave way to chaos. Why was she there? Like a cold bucket of water splashed in her face, the shock of her earlier discovery came flooding back.

      She flung the covers off her nightgown-clad body and ran out of her room down to her father’s bedchamber. She pleaded like a child the whole way. Please, God, let it be just a terrible dream. When she entered the doorway, an empty bed greeted her swollen eyelids, and the sick realization returned.

      Suzette stood shrouded in sorrow for a few moments and then turned and wandered into the kitchen. The floor shifted beneath her feet as she fought dizziness. Monsieur and Madame Pelletier were speaking to one another unaware of her arrival. She stopped in the doorway and exhaled in anger.

      Where is he?

      Oh, dear, you’re up. Madame Pelletier came to her side and gently brushed the unruly curls from her face. Are you all right? We were worried about you. Grief overcame your senses, and you fainted.

      Yes, I’m all right. Where is he? she demanded again.

      Monsieur Pelletier placed his hand on her forearm in reassurance. He’s at the funeral parlor down the street, Suzette. I took the liberty of having their staff take your father’s body from the apartment to a more appropriate place.

      Gone. They had taken her father away, and Suzette felt lost.

      You’ll have to go there later today, dear, and make the arrangements, Madame Pelletier informed her. Don’t worry, though. My husband will go with you so that you don’t have to do this horrible burden all alone. 

      I don’t want to be alone, Suzette replied as a tiny tear trickled down her cheek.

      Are you sure there is no one to help you, Suzette? Maybe a friend, perhaps, or your father’s coworkers?

      I don’t think so, she answered, trying to think of anyone she knew. Perhaps people at work, but my father never spoke of anyone, in particular.

      Well, what about friends? You know, people your father visited.

      We rarely socialized with others. He said he was always tired when he came home from work, and we just kept each other company.

      The Parish, perhaps? What about Father Joseph? I’m sure he will help you during this difficult time.

      Yes, yes, I’m sure he would help me, she agreed. Suzette turned and looked at Monsieur Pelletier. What should I do next?

      I’m afraid, my dear, much needs to be done. You should dress, have something to eat, and then we’ll go to the funeral parlor to discuss the matters that need to be arranged.

      All right, then, she responded, acting like an obedient child. She felt dependent upon her neighbors for guidance. Suzette had never dealt with such ominous matters before like funeral arrangements. Her mother died when she was a small child, and her father took care of all the details of her burial.

      Bewildered, Suzette returned to her room to dress and closed the door for privacy. She stood in front of her long mirror with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were red, and her complexion looked pasty white. Suzette’s wretched appearance confirmed what she felt inside—a part of her had died, too.

      Her hands shook as she reached for the hem of her nightgown, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to her feet. Naked, cold, and alone, she stood shivering, stripped of all that she had loved. It would take some time before Suzette would be ready to accompany Monsieur Pelletier to the funeral parlor to take care of her father’s remains because once again hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

      Chapter Two

      M ademoiselle, I am so sorry for your loss.

      Suzette looked at the man who stood before her dressed entirely in black. His facial expression appeared sympathetic, but she wondered if he actually felt compassion, or if his words were merely routine gibberish. Wary of his sincerity, Suzette refused politely to acknowledge his greeting.

      Monsieur Pelletier had escorted Suzette to the burial service where they had taken her father’s remains. Upon entering the building, she felt death greet her at the door. It seemed reminiscent of the cold presence that followed her in a dream the night before. She shuddered over the similarities.

      The surroundings, pleasantly decorated with palm plants, green settees, and landscaped art on the walls, did little to comfort or diminish her nerves. The manager appeared to notice her distrustful demeanor and then attempted again to make her feel welcome.

      Monsieur Lefevre, at your service. He turned to Monsieur Pelletier and acknowledged his arrival with a nod. Please, Mademoiselle Rousseau, follow me.

      Monsieur Pelletier gave Suzette a reassuring look, and she followed the man clothed in black through a narrow hallway that led to his office.

      Please, have a seat, he said, motioning to a chair in front of his mahogany desk.

      Still dazed, she sat and glanced around the room and then loudly inquired about the whereabouts of her father’s body. Where is he?

      A bit surprised by her demanding question, he cleared his throat before answering. He is in our deceased holding area, mademoiselle. I assure you that we have treated his remains with the greatest respect.

      Embarrassed by her loud outburst, she sheepishly replied, Thank you.

      Now, let us talk about funeral arrangements, shall we? The director opened a black notebook. He picked up his quill and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk ready to write the arrangements for the sale.

      Casket, he said, in a businesslike manner. We have a large selection of caskets, at varying prices.

      Prices? Suzette squawked.

      Yes, prices, Mademoiselle Rousseau. After seeing the panicked look on her face, he replaced the quill in its holder, folded his hands on the desk in front of him, and leaned forward.

      Let me ask you a question before we go further. How much can you afford? If I know what you can spend, then I can show you items that are in that price range. He tilted his head and glanced over at Monsieur Pelletier with a smile.

      Suzette didn’t know the answer. Her father took care of financial matters, and she knew nothing about his private affairs. He gave her an allowance for clothes and shoes when she needed them. Other than that, the amount of money now in her possession was a complete mystery.

      She turned to her neighbor and confessed her ignorance. Monsieur, I do not know where my father kept his money or where he banked. I have nothing inside my purse but a few francs. What should I do?

      Monsieur Pelletier was not surprised. Suzette’s naivety was quite evident, and no doubt her father shared nothing about household finances. Edgar probably never revealed any of his private affairs. As a matter of course, men never discussed money matters with wives or daughters.

      He patted Suzette’s clenched hands in her lap to give her reassurance.

      My wife and I will help when we return to your apartment. We’ll look through your father’s papers and see if we can find any financial records, money, or what bank he may have frequented. He looked at Monsieur Lefevre and offered a suggestion.

      Perhaps, Monsieur, you might show the lady your lowest prices possible for now. When we find more information about her financial situation, we will visit again to finalize the burial arrangements.

      He sat straight up in his chair and reclaimed the quill in his hand. Very well then. After clearing his throat once more, he continued to discuss possible arrangements. Mademoiselle, does your family possess a plot or crypt?

      "We have no crypt. My mother

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