Storm Winds (42 page)

“I won’t expect it.” Catherine gazed after her, troubled. “I’ll be back soon, Juliette.”

Juliette nodded and glanced back over her shoulder. “Why are you just standing there? You know I’ll worry until you get back.”

It was the sort of roughly affectionate thing Juliette had said a hundred times to her at the abbey and Catherine felt a sudden rush of nostalgia for those days of shared childhood. No, not shared. She had been the child. Juliette had always been the one who saw life as it was. “Don’t worry, I’m really quite strong now.”

“I know.” For an instant Catherine thought she saw the glitter of tears in Juliette’s eyes. “I know you are.” She hurried up the steps and out of sight.

Catherine stood looking after her. Should she follow Juliette and learn why she was so upset? She decided against it. Juliette had been near tears and wouldn’t welcome anyone seeing her so vulnerable. She could talk to her later.

She slowly turned, opened the door, and left the manor to seek out Philippe.

Philippe jumped down from his horse as soon as he saw Catherine approach and rushed forward, a smile lighting his face. “Catherine, you’re looking wonderfully well. I was afraid that you would …” He trailed off lamely. “I know you were shocked at what you saw, but you didn’t understand. Lenore is a sweet woman but she means nothing to me. A man must have amusements.”

“Must he?” Catherine’s gaze searched his face. He was genuinely upset for her sake and not because he had been caught in a situation that could prove awkward for him. Philippe was no monster, but he also was not the golden young god she had worshiped. He was a man with faults like any other man, but one of those faults she could not tolerate. “I don’t know what you ‘must’ do with women, Philippe, but I do know a man must take responsibility when what he does results in a child.”

“Lenore’s not with child. Where did you hear that?” He stiffened, his gaze wandering to the field below. “Michel.”

“Michel.”

“I didn’t think he knew.” Philippe frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose one of the pickers must have told him about his mother.”

“Michel is your child. How can you treat him as if he were nothing to you?”

Philippe kept his gaze averted. “I’ve not been ungenerous.”

“Not if he were some other man’s child, but he’s yours.”

“Listen to me, Catherine. You know my branch of the family has no money, and when Jean Marc gave me the post here it was a gift from heaven. I couldn’t have a parcel of bastards running around the estate,” Philippe said desperately. “Jean Marc would never have stood for it. I knew when he put me in charge of Vasaro I’d have to act with some circumspection.”

“So every time you got a woman with child you gave her money and sent her away.”

“Or married her to one of the other pickers. Mother of God, there weren’t that many of them.” Philippe’s face was white, but there was no guilt in his expression. “Catherine, you’re too innocent to know about these matters. This is the way these things are done. I hurt no one. The women were glad to take the money and go.”

“And what about Michel?”

“Michel is well taken care of by everyone at Vasaro.”

“Everyone but you.”

“I told you. I give a sum to whichever family Michel chooses—”

“Stop it,” she interrupted. “It’s not enough.”

Philippe was silent, gazing at her miserably. “I tried once or twice to talk to Michel, but he made me uncomfortable. He’s …”

“Not like other children?” she finished, gazing at him incredulously. “How could he be?”

“I don’t understand him.”

Michel’s words suddenly came back to her.
Monsieur Philippe enjoys the flowers but he doesn’t understand them
. “That’s a pity. I think he understands you very well.”

“What are you going to do?” He tried to smile. “I suppose you’ll tell Jean Marc? He’ll send me away from Vasaro, you know.”

“No, I’m not going to tell Jean Marc.”

An expression of relief brightened Philippe’s features. “That’s kind of you.”

“I won’t tell anyone. You love Vasaro and you serve it well.” She met his gaze. “But I can’t look at you right now. I want you to go away for a time.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Go visit your mother and sisters for six months. Leave today.”

“But you’ll need me at Vasaro. You don’t know a tenth of the things you should about running the property.”

“Then I’ll learn them from Monsieur Augustine and the pickers and Michel.” She paused. “And when
you return you’ll find Michel has moved up to the manor and will be raised as a gentleman.”

“But the son of a common picker wouldn’t be comfortable at—” Philippe saw the hardening of her expression and hurried on. “I can’t acknowledge him. Jean Marc would be angered and send me away.”

“Jean Marc doesn’t own Vasaro. I decide whether you go or stay,” Catherine said. “But I have no desire for you to acknowledge Michel. It’s too late.”

“Yes.” Philippe nodded quickly. “I’m glad you see I meant no harm. If you like, I’ll try to become better acquainted with him.”

“Oh, no.” Her tone held irony. “Not when he makes you uncomfortable.”

She turned and walked away from him.

“The Wind Dancer,” Catherine murmured as she crossed the bedchamber toward the window seat where Juliette sat sketching. “But won’t it be dangerous going into Spain at this time?”

“I don’t see why.” Juliette’s pen moved with lightning strokes over the pad on her lap. Her gaze was on the pickers in the field below. “After all, I speak the language and we’re not at war with Spain yet. After he lands at La Escala, Jean Marc will buy horses and travel overland just below the Pyrenees to Andorra. If I’m questioned by guards, we can always say I’m fleeing France for my grandfather’s home. God knows, there are enough émigrés these days to make that appear true. No, I shall do splendidly.” She grimaced. “And we have François to protect Jean Marc.”

Catherine looked startled. “François is supposed to protect Jean Marc?”

“Danton says that is François’s purpose in accompanying us.” A smile tugged at Juliette’s lips. “I find it amusing too. It’s like a panther protecting a tiger,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“And what does Jean Marc say?”

“He thinks Danton sent François to see what he’s doing in Spain. Which is probably correct.”

“I’m confused. You keep saying Jean Marc, yet you tell me you also are going.”

“I am.” Juliette sketched in a plump baby kicking joyfully in a straw basket next to one of the pickers. “But Jean Marc says I’m to stay here at Vasaro and has convinced everyone he’ll have his way.”

“He usually does,” Catherine said. “I wish you would stay here. I don’t like the thought of you leaving again.”

“I told you why I must go. How can I expect Jean Marc to give me the money for the Wind Dancer if he finds it himself?”

“He said he’d still give it to you.”

“We made a bargain.” Juliette’s jaw set stubbornly. “A bargain must be kept.”

Catherine sat down on the window seat and leaned back against the wall of the alcove, her gaze on Juliette’s face. “I believe you’ve changed too.”

Juliette shook her head. “I’m always the same.”

“No, there’s something … softer.”

“You’re looking at me with clearer eyes. I was never as bold and strong as you thought I was.” Juliette kept her gaze on the sketch. “François once told me it was I who needed you. He must have been right, for you don’t need me at all now.” She smiled with an effort. “You’ve grown beyond me. How did it happen?”

“Vasaro.”

“And Philippe’s little boy?”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “You know about Michel? How?”

Juliette shrugged. “The eyes are the same and the shape of the mouth.”

Catherine should have known Juliette would notice what she hadn’t seen. The eyes of the artist. “I’m bringing Michel to the manor to live as soon as I can persuade him to come.”

Juliette became still. “You’re going to marry the peacock?”

“No.”

Juliette relaxed. “That’s good. I’ve noticed some women are very foolish about men.” She began sketching
in the mountains in the background. “You’re better off with the child than the man. I’d like to paint Michel. His face has much more character than the peacock’s.”

“Will you stay at Vasaro when you come back from Spain?”

Juliette shook her head. “I have something to do in Paris.”

“The queen?”

“Yes, Jean Marc and I have a bargain.”

“It’s not safe. Dupree will—”

“Safe enough.” Juliette’s lashes lowered to veil her eyes. “Dupree has left Paris and I won’t be recognized. I have a perfectly splendid wig in which I look quite unlike myself.”

Catherine shook her head skeptically.

“Stop fretting. I’m being very good about allowing you to get along without me.” Juliette’s eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t bear to have
you
start smothering
me.”

“You’ll, at least, return to Vasaro before you go back to Paris?”

“Of course. I told you I wanted to paint Michel.”

Catherine smiled and ruefully shook her head. Juliette had not really changed. She was still afraid to admit or show affection. “Then I’ll marshal all my arguments and we’ll discuss it when you return.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to your sketching and order supper.”

“Wait.” Juliette scrambled to her feet and tossed the sketch on the window seat. “I have a gift for you.” She crossed the room to the lacquer and rosewood desk and opened the middle drawer. “I want you to promise me you’ll use it.”

“Gift?” Catherine had a sudden memory of the day Juliette had given her the locket with the miniature. How long ago that seemed.

Juliette was drawing a large volume bound in crimson morocco leather from the drawer. “It’s a journal and you must write in it every single day. I’ve dated every page.” She paused. “Starting on the second of September 1792.”

Catherine’s smile faded. “The abbey.”

“It’s for no one’s eyes but your own.” Juliette crossed the room and placed the volume in Catherine’s hands. “It will help you, Catherine.”

“No …”

“It helped me. Jean Marc made me draw what happened and it … I hated him all the time I was drawing those
canailles.”
She met Catherine’s gaze. “But it freed me. And I don’t want you to stay a prisoner while I go free.”

Catherine smiled shakily. “I cannot draw.”

“But you can paint pictures with words. You’re much more clever than I am with books. Promise you’ll do it.”

“I can’t do it now.”

Juliette nodded. “Leave the first pages blank and go back to them. But you’ll do it someday?”

“Someday.”

“Soon?”

Catherine hugged Juliette quickly and said huskily, “Soon.” She released her friend and turned away. “Now let me leave before I start to weep and you accuse me of blubbering.” She paused at the door to ask, “Will Jean Marc and François be back tonight?”

Juliette shrugged. “Jean Marc didn’t tell me. I think if he could do so he’d sail away without returning. But he’ll want to know you’re entirely well before he leaves.”

“Then it may be just the three of us for supper.”

“Three? I thought you said the child would be here?”

“I’ve sent Philippe away for a while. It’s been a long time since he visited his family.” Catherine moved toward the door. “Vasaro doesn’t need him at present.”

“And neither does the mistress of Vasaro,” Juliette added softly.

“No, she doesn’t need him either.” Catherine experienced a strange weightlessness, as if something caged within her had been set free, and her hands tightened on the journal. “Not at all.”

Jean Marc didn’t arrive back at Vasaro until after midnight and François did not come with him.

Juliette jumped out of bed when she heard the soft thud of hoofbeats on the cork and stones of the driveway and was downstairs and throwing open the door by the time Jean Marc began climbing the steps. “Do we have a ship?”

“
I
have a ship,” Jean Marc said. “The
Bonne Chance
is waiting in the harbor. François stayed in Cannes to see a port representative and smooth the way to make sure we’ll be able to sail tomorrow night.”

“It’s good that he’s making himself useful.” Juliette’s tone was abstracted as she gazed at Jean Marc. Sharp lines of weariness slashed both sides of his mouth, and it was clear he was not in a gentle temper. “Have you supped?”

“Before I left Cannes.” His gaze traveled over her. “Don’t you ever wear anything to bed but that disreputable garment?”

Juliette looked down at the full white nightgown. “Why? It was very kind of Marie to give it to me, and it’s warm and comfortable. The nights here aren’t as cool as in Paris, but there’s still—”

“Never mind.” Jean Marc shut the door and crossed the hall toward the stairs. “Good night, Juliette.”

“I’m going with you to Spain, you know.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “No.”

“I speak the language. She’s my mother. You need me.”

“I don’t intend to argue with you. I’m tired. All day I’ve been dealing with greedy officials I’d rather drown than bribe, and I still have to find a way of getting rid of François before I sail.”

“But you
need
me.”

He turned and looked at her, and she went still as she saw his expression. “The only way in which I’d need you on this journey is to provide me with the most basic carnal comforts and, if you choose to come, that will be your function. Do you understand?”

She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and it was a moment before she could speak. “You’re threatening me?”

“No, I’m warning you. A last warning.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Only God knows why. I haven’t had a
woman since I left Marseilles, and at the moment I’m every bit as hot as your lecherous Duc de Gramont.”

“He wasn’t mine. He was my mother’s.”

“For which I find I’m exceedingly grateful. But, if you’d occupied every nobleman’s bed at Versailles, I’d still invite you into mine.”

“I would think that would be most unwise. A good many of them had the French pox.”

“In my present state I assure you it would make not a whit of difference to me.”

“That would be unreasonable of you. A moment of pleasure and then a most—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. She knew her words had been flowing with a total irrationality, for she was aware only of the tingling starting between her thighs and the flush burning her cheeks.