Storm Winds (57 page)

“It’s better now. It’s not over, but it did help. I’ve been a dreadful coward, haven’t I?”

“Oh, no.” Juliette knelt before Catherine’s chair, her arms sliding lovingly around her friend’s waist. “We all want a garden to go to when the pain becomes too great. Look at me, I ran to you and Vasaro.”

“But you’ll go back soon?”

“In a few days. I must get back to Paris. I have no reason to stay now. Your Vasaro has healed me.”

“Vasaro …” Catherine shook her head. “No, we heal ourselves. There’s no real magic in Vasaro.”

“Isn’t there?” Juliette smiled. “Don’t be willing to give up every belief so easily.”

Catherine’s palm gently touched Juliette’s curls. “You scoffed at magic a year ago.”

“Perhaps I’ve learned the wisdom of being foolish.” Juliette sat back on her heels. “And you the foolishness of being wise.” She grinned, her brown eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “Doesn’t that sound odiously profound? Now we can set ourselves to finding how to combine the two in some harmonious manner.”

Catherine felt a sudden lifting of spirit. “Stay in my room tonight,” she said impulsively. “Do you remember how sometimes I’d slip into your cell at the abbey and we’d talk and laugh until just before time for matins?”

Juliette nodded, her face lighting with eagerness. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the bed. “Get into your nightgown.” She pulled down the coverlet and slipped between the sheets.

Catherine laughed and went to the bureau to get her nightgown. She suddenly felt young and carefree and filled with the joy of being alive.

Juliette began to chatter about the painting of Michel, skipped to a less than complimentary assessment of Philippe’s character, and then went on to the art of making fans.

Catherine slipped into bed beside Juliette and contentedly leaned over to blow out the candles.

Juliette fell silent.

Catherine turned to her. “Juliette?”

“It’s not the same. We can’t bring it back, can we?”

“What do you mean?”

“The time before … I thought we could bring it back just for a little while—But we’re not those people anymore. We can’t talk and giggle until dawn. We can’t be children any longer.”

“No.” Catherine thought about it. “But perhaps this is better.” She reached out and took Juliette’s hand.
“I think our friendship is stronger now. You said you loved me this afternoon. You couldn’t have said that then.”

Juliette’s fingers threaded through Catherine’s. “I do love you. If I loved you less, I’d have let you stay safe in your garden where I wouldn’t have had to worry about you.” She tried to laugh. “You know how selfish I am. Next week I’ll probably be telling you to forget everything I said and—No, that’s not true. I want your life to be full and rich. I won’t have you cheated.”

Silence fell between them.

“I want your life to be full and rich too, Juliette.” Catherine hesitated before asking tentatively, “Why Jean Marc? You know he’s—”

“I know. It doesn’t make any difference.”

They lay there, their hands joined companionably, staring at the silver-edged shadows of the room.

A long time later Catherine said quietly, “When you go back to Paris, I’m going with you.”

Philippe helped Juliette into the carriage and then hesitated, looking at Catherine. “I don’t approve of this. Your place is here.”

“My place is where I choose it to be.” Catherine smiled and held out her hand. “Take care of my Vasaro, Philippe. And take care of Michel. Make sure he does his lessons every evening.”

“I will.” He added gravely as he lifted her hand to his lips, “I’m trying, Catherine.”

“I know you are.” She let him help her into the carriage and sat down by Juliette.

Philippe stepped back, motioned to Léon, and the carriage started with a jerk.

The coach rumbled down the driveway, past the lemon and lime trees toward the road. Philippe stood looking after them, and when they turned toward Cannes he lifted his hand in farewell. A ray of early morning sun burnished his golden hair with radiance as he smiled at them.

“What are you thinking?” Juliette asked curiously, her gaze on Catherine’s face.

“How beautiful he is.” Catherine’s tone was detached. “If the abbey had never happened, I probably would have married him and been happy. It would never have occurred to me to want more than I saw in him because I had no more depth than he.”

“You were more than you think you were.”

“I was an insufferable prig.”

“A prig.” Juliette’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not insufferable. I suffered you, didn’t I?”

“We suffered each other.” Catherine chuckled. “Good God, why I ever let you make me chase after you to that tomb—” Her laughter faded and then she determinedly smiled, blocking out the other memories and keeping only the ones to cherish. “You were perfectly abominable to me on occasion.”

Juliette had noticed the hesitation and reached out to take Catherine’s hand with careful casualness. “It was good for your character. Now François will seem a saint to you in comparison.”

François. Catherine leaned back in the carriage, excitement and fear equally mixed within her. How did she know François even wanted her any longer? Juliette said he did but she could be mistaken. Six months was a long time. Perhaps there was even someone else.

Well, if it was too late, she would face it without shirking.

She could no longer hide in Eden.

“Mademoiselle Catherine, it’s good to see you looking so well.” Robert smiled warmly as he held open the front door. His gaze went beyond Catherine’s shoulder to the street where Juliette was supervising the unloading of her paints and canvas. She suddenly turned and ran up the steps.

“Bonjour
, Mademoiselle.” Robert beamed at her. “Monsieur Andreas will be very happy you’ve returned. The house has seemed very empty since you’ve been gone.”

She made a face. “I’m sure it’s been a good deal quieter anyway.” She untied the ribbons of her bonnet. “But why are you opening the door? Where are the servants?”

“Gone. All the servants are gone except Marie and me. Monsieur Andreas dismissed them a few days after you left Paris.”

“How peculiar.” Juliette frowned. “I’ll speak to him about it. Where is he?”

“He’s not yet arisen.”

“Good Lord, it’s almost noon. He always rises early.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Is he ill?” She started across the foyer toward the stairs at a run. “I must go see, Catherine. Make sure they don’t damage my portrait of Michel when they unload it.”

She burst into Jean Marc’s darkened chamber a moment later. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? I knew I should never have gone away.” She saw a stirring in the bed and hurried over to the window and ripped back the drapes to let in the light. “Look what happened. There are no servants in the house and you’ve become ill and—”

“Juliette.” Jean Marc’s voice was husky with sleep and surprise as he sat up in bed. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“It’s time I came back.” She ran over to the bed and threw herself into his arms. Before he could move she had covered his face with kisses. “Oh, Jean Marc, I’ve missed you. Please don’t be ill. All the time I was running up the stairs I was thinking. ‘What if he’s truly ill? What if he dies?’ I can’t bear it if you’re—”

“Hush!” His arms went around her and held her close. “I’m not at all ill.”

“Then why are you still in bed?”

“For the very good reason that I didn’t get to bed until nearly dawn.”

His heart throbbed strongly beneath her ear and she cuddled contentedly closer, nestling her cheek in the dark hair that thatched his chest. Life. “Well, it was most unkind of you to frighten me like that.”

“May I call it to your attention that I didn’t know
you were returning? Why didn’t you send a message and—Never mind.” He tugged her head back and his lips covered hers with sudden passion.

Her arms tightened about him as joy soared through her. He was well and strong and they were together again.

Jean Marc lifted his head. His breath had quickened. “One of us is overdressed, and I believe it’s you. Take off your clothes, Juliette.
Dieu
, I’ve missed you.”

“Have you? I wanted you to miss me.” She looked up at him wistfully. “Truly, Jean Marc?”

“Truly.” He sent her bonnet sailing across the room. “As I mean to demonstrate immediately if you’ll please remove—”

“I can’t.” She reluctantly pushed him away and stood up. “If you’re not ill, then you must dress and come downstairs. Catherine is here.”

“Catherine.” Jean Marc frowned. “Why has she come to Paris? She shouldn’t have left Vasaro. Neither of you should have come back.”

“You knew I’d come back,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t leave you here alone, and I have something I must do.”

Jean Marc threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching for his brocade robe on the chair.
“Merde
, haven’t you heard what’s going on here? The Jacobins have gone mad. They’re arresting and killing everyone in sight. They’ve executed every Girondin and aristocrat they can lay hands on and anyone else they have a quarrel against. The guillotine’s been working day and night since the queen’s death. Dammit, it’s not safe for you here.”

“The guillotine.” She shuddered as she remembered that day at the Place de la Révolution. The queen in her pretty red prunella slippers … “More deaths?”

Jean Marc buttoned his robe as he turned to face her. “Go back to Vasaro. When there’s so many deaths, it becomes commonplace. I’d have little chance of saving you if you went before the tribunal.”

She tried to smile. “And would you mind if I went
to the guillotine? I hope you would. It would be very sad to have no one mourn me.”

“I’d mind,” he said slowly. “I’d mind so much that I’d probably be forced to find a way to destroy both that damn guillotine and the nation who ordered it used on you.”

Her eyes widened and she felt a sudden breathlessness. “How … extravagant. You
would
mourn me.”

“Good God, did I not say—” He broke off and turned his head away so that she couldn’t see his face. “However, François would be most upset if I also brought down his precious Rights of Man which would probably follow. So let’s avoid it by all means. Go back to Vasaro.”

She shook her head. “Even if I’d go, Catherine would not. She’s going to join François at the Temple.”

“No!” Jean Marc whirled back to face her. “Why?”

“She loves him,” she said simply. “It’s her place to be with him now.”

“Not at the Temple. If she won’t go back to Vasaro, let her stay here where I can try to protect—”

“She’s not a child any longer, Jean Marc. You can’t protect her. We must both do what we have to do.”

“The devil I can’t,” Jean Marc said harshly. “I should order Léon to bind and gag both of you and force you to go back to Vasaro.”

“We’d only come back.” She smiled. “I know you care about Catherine but she’s no longer your concern. She’s François’s wife now.” She turned and moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you to dress. Shall I send water up with Léon?” She frowned. “It’s not his duty and he’ll be quite upset. Really, Jean Marc, it’s not sensible to have only Robert and Marie in the household. Why did you send the rest of the servants away?”

“I thought it best. I’ve had a number of visitors of late that I wanted no gossip about.”

“Who?” She gazed at him curiously before pain suddenly tore through her. “A … woman? I suppose I should have expected it. You’ve always had many mistresses and I’ve been gone—”

“Seven weeks and three days,” Jean Marc said softly.
“I’m not sure how many hours, but I’m certain I would have been able to tell you if you hadn’t exploded into my chamber and roused me from a sound sleep.”

“Truly?” The breathlessness came again and with it the faintest stirring of hope. “Bankers are always good at numbers, aren’t they?”

“If they wish to make a success of their profession.” He shook his head. “No other women, Juliette. I found myself quite uninterested in replacing you in my bed. Another victory for you.”

“Then where were you last night?”

“At one of those tiresomely clandestine meetings necessary for dire plots and conspiracies. Tell me, is there some rule that they always have to take place in the middle of the night?”

“Plots?”

He smiled slowly. “I’d hoped to have your Louis Charles safely out of the Temple before you returned but, as usual, you’ve done the unpredictable.”

“Louis Charles.” She gazed at him in amazement. “You’re helping us?”

“My dear Juliette, I do not help. If I become involved, I must seize control of a project.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a certain amount of self-love, I suppose.”

“No, I mean why are you doing this?”

“Do you expect me to say I’m doing it for the memory of the queen or the good of the country?” He shook his head. “I’m no idealist.”

“Helping Louis Charles to escape could destroy you.”

“Not if it’s done correctly.”

“But why take the risk?”

“A whim.”

She shook her head. “Tell me, Jean Marc.”

He was silent a moment. “Because I don’t like the idea of a child being made the pawn of nations merely because of his birth.” He gazed intently at her. “And because I never again want to see you hurt and broken
the way you were the day Marie Antoinette was guillotined.”

Hope spiraled into joy. “I wasn’t broken.”

His lips twitched. “No, not broken but certainly radically bent.” He made a gesture as if to sweep her from the room. “Now, go order my bath. I shall feel better able to cope with you and Catherine once I have the sleep washed out of my eyes.”

Jean Marc descended the stairs an hour later to find Juliette coming in the front door.

“It’s too late,” Juliette said cheerfully. “Catherine’s gone. I just sent her to the Temple in my carriage. You must go there if you wish to argue with her, but that would be very foolish.”

Jean Marc didn’t seem overly upset at the news. “What a clever move on your part,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll argue with you instead. Come join me for breakfast.”

“I’ve eaten already.” She followed him into the breakfast chamber. “It’s after noon. You should be having dinner instead of breakfast.”