Storm Winds (11 page)

“Exactly. I can’t escape the taxes, but I can offset them by charging the nobles and clergy fat interest rates. I thought it only fair. Don’t you sympathize with—”

“Wait!”

Juliette de Clement was running toward them, her mop of dark brown curls flopping about her flushed face. She stopped as she came up to them and looked squarely at Jean Marc. “You shouldn’t make Catherine go to the abbey. They won’t be kind to her there.”

“The good sisters?”

“No, the other students.” Juliette made an impatient motion with her hand. “She’s bourgeoisie. Do you think the other pupils will like having her there as their equal? They’ll treat her as they do the lackeys and pages here at Versailles. They’ll treat her as they do me in a cruel fashion and—” She caught her breath and continued urgently. “Can’t you see? She won’t know how to fight them. She can’t even tell a servant to loosen her corset, for heaven’s sake.”

Catherine flushed. “I’m sure they won’t be unkind. Why should they?”

“I told you. Because you’re not one of them. That’s reason enough.”

“You’re of the nobility and you’ve treated me kindly.”

“But I’m not one of them either. My mother is a Spaniard and the queen loves her. Everyone is jealous of the queen’s affection for my mother and contemptuous of me. They do try to hurt me but I won’t let them.” She turned fiercely to Jean Marc. “Tell her. She doesn’t
know.”

“However you know, do you not?” Jean Marc’s gaze narrowed on Juliette’s intense face. “By the way, did you pinch that poor child when Her Majesty was lowering the royal wrath on my head?”

“I wouldn’t pinch Louis Charles. I like him. I merely nudged him.” Juliette frowned. “You were behaving very foolishly, Jean Marc. In another moment she would have sent you away and told the king to punish
you. He’s very good-natured but he usually does what she tells him to do.” She returned to the main issue. “Catherine will be unhappy at the convent. Don’t send her there.”

“I’ll consider your objection. I admit it has a certain merit. Catherine has obviously never learned to do battle.”

Catherine smiled gently at Juliette. “Thank you for your concern.”

“De rien.”
Juliette lingered a moment, gazing at Catherine. “Listen to me. If you go, you mustn’t believe the best of them. Strike first and they may leave you alone.”

Catherine frowned and shook her head.

“You see?” Juliette rounded on Jean Marc.
“C’est impossible!”
She turned and strode away from them.

“Juliette!”

She glanced back over her shoulder at Jean Marc.

“Are you not going to bid us
adieu?”
he asked softly.

“I have no liking for farewells.” Juliette’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “I’ve said what I wished to say.”

The next moment she was running back toward the queen’s cottage.

Jean Marc watched her until she was out of sight, then turned and began walking again.

“She’s unhappy here,” Catherine said.

He stopped and looked at Catherine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No.” Catherine hesitated. “But she has many strange ideas about her mother and the people here. It must be very bewildering to live at this great place.” A frown marred her wide forehead. “And that horrid Marguerite isn’t kind to her.”

Jean Marc’s expression hardened. “No, she’s not. You have a fondness for the girl?”

Catherine blinked to rid her eyes of tears. “Oh, yes. I’ve never met anyone like Juliette. I wish I could see her again. She wouldn’t admit it, but I think she must be very lonely here. Is there no way you can help her, Jean Marc?”

“Perhaps.” He smiled recklessly as he came to a
decision. God knows, he had done his best to put the girl beyond his reach. “Who am I to battle destiny when it knocks so persistently?” They walked in silence for a few minutes before Jean Marc asked suddenly, “Tell me, Philippe, did you bring more than one vial of perfume from Vasaro?”

Three days later Jean Marc Andreas sent a message to the queen and begged another audience for that same afternoon. When he departed Her Majesty’s presence, it was noted that another silver flask of superb beauty rested on the table beside Marie Antoinette’s chair. It was agreed by all who saw it that the magnificent sapphire serving as the bottle’s stopper admirably matched Her Majesty’s sparkling blue eyes.

The next day Juliette de Clement was informed by the queen she was being sent to the Abbaye de la Reine to receive the education befitting the daughter of a noblewoman serving the queen of France.

Eight months after Juliette de Clement arrived at the Abbaye de la Reine, a clumsily wrapped package was delivered by a street urchin to Jean Marc at his residence at the Place Royale in Paris. The gift was not accompanied by a message of any sort, but when he unwrapped the object a smile of amusement lit his face.

It was a painting of the Wind Dancer.

Catherine!

It had to be Catherine.

The coach rumbled up the hill toward the north gate of the abbey at a fast clip, the muscles of the two black horses straining with effort, their nostrils quivering, their breath curling and pluming as it joined the snowflakes filling the air. Lanterns on the coach were
already lit, two pinpoints of fire illuminating the pristine snow-filled twilight.

Juliette drew her gray cloak closer about her as she straightened away from the pillar and moved restlessly within the overhanging arcade. She staggered, her feet refusing to obey her. Her limbs were as cold and numb as the rest of her body, but the long watch was over now and soon she and Catherine would be inside and out of this bone-chilling wind. She moved onto the courtyard and was immediately engulfed, absorbed into the thick, swirling fall of snow, the plump wet flakes splattering on her cheeks and catching in her dark curls.

The coach rumbled through the open gateway, the horses’ hooves thudding softly on the snow-covered cobblestones.

It
was
Catherine!

Juliette recognized the muffled and cloaked footman and coachman as the same who had come to fetch Catherine three weeks before to take her to Jean Marc’s residence in Paris for Christmas festivities.

She hurried forward, slipping and sliding on the icy stones. Reaching the door of the carriage before the footman could get down from his perch, she threw it open. “You’re late. You said you’d be here at noon. Have the sisters not taught you to—” She broke off in surprise as she saw a second passenger

Jean Marc Andreas sat opposite Catherine. Juliette had not seen him since that day at Versailles two years ago. He appeared not to have changed an iota. His mocking black eyes glittered like the blade of a jewel-encrusted Toledo dagger.

“Good afternoon, Juliette.” Jean Marc smiled and nodded his head. “How delightful of you to come and greet us.” He threw aside the tawny fur lap rug covering him and leaned forward to extricate Catherine from the furs enveloping her. “Or should I be more formal and address you as Mademoiselle de Clement now that you’ve become such a young lady?”

“Don’t be foolish. I’m no different than I was two years ago.” She dragged her gaze from him to look at
Catherine. “You’re late. You told me you’d start from Paris this morning.”

“Jean Marc had business to conduct this morning and, as he wanted to speak to the Reverend Mother, we didn’t—”

“Why does he want to see the Reverend Mother?” Juliette felt a ripple of panic as her gaze flew back to Jean Marc. “You’re not taking Catherine away?”

Jean Marc turned to study her. “Would it matter so much to you if I did?”

Juliette’s lashes quickly lowered to veil her eyes. “The nuns say Catherine is their best pupil. It would be a pity if she couldn’t stay and learn all she could from them.”

“And what of you? Aren’t you also a fine pupil?”

“Not like Catherine.”

“Because you don’t apply yourself.” Catherine made a face. “If you’d listen to the sisters instead of studying them to see how you’d like to paint them, you’d be much better off.”

“I listen.” Juliette grinned. “Sometimes.” Her smile faded as she stepped back to permit Jean Marc to get out of the carriage. “You’re taking her back to the Ile du Lion?”

“The château on the Ile du Lion is closed. When my father died I found it inconvenient to keep it open.” Jean Marc helped Catherine from the carriage. “I spend most of my time in Marseilles and Paris now.”

“Then where will Catherine—”

“He’s only teasing you,” Catherine said quickly. “Jean Marc says I’m to stay here at the abbey until I reach my eighteenth year.…”

Relief surged through Juliette. “That’s good.” She caught Jean Marc’s gaze narrowed on her face and continued quickly. “For Catherine, of course.”

“Of course,” Jean Marc echoed softly.

“Your hair’s becoming damp.” Juliette stepped nearer and gently pulled up the hood of Catherine’s cloak to cover her hair. “Have you supped? They’re all in the hall eating now. You could still join them.”

“We had an enormous dinner before we left Paris.”
Catherine smiled. “Why are you out here in the courtyard instead of at supper? I suppose you were painting and forgot to eat again?”

Juliette nodded. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“If you were so absorbed in your artistic endeavors, how is it you were in the courtyard when we arrived?” Jean Marc asked with a quizzical smile. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have been waiting for Catherine?”

“No, of course not.” Juliette lifted her chin and gazed at him defiantly. “I wouldn’t be so foolish as to linger in this cold. I was merely passing by when I saw the coach approaching.”

“How fortunate for us.” Jean Marc motioned to the footman. “Get the basket of fruit from the carriage. Even though the mademoiselle has no hunger, perhaps she’ll be able to force down an apple or pear later.”

“Perhaps.” Juliette turned to Catherine. “Say goodbye and come along. It’s too cold out here for you.”

Catherine nodded and tentatively addressed Jean Marc. “It was very kind of you to have me for Christmas, Jean Marc. I enjoyed myself tremendously.”

“You’re easily pleased. I thought it time I paid some attention to you. I’ve not been an overly attentive guardian these last years.”

“Oh, no, you’re always so kind to me. I knew you were busy.” Catherine’s gentle smile was radiant. “And I’ve been very happy here at the abbey.”

“I doubt if you’d tell me even if you weren’t” Jean Marc took the large covered straw basket from the footman. “But I’m sure the Reverend Mother will be less concerned for my feelings. She’ll scold me for lack of attention but will give me honesty regarding your contentment here.”

“Catherine’s not dishonest,” Juliette said fiercely. “She would say nothing at all rather than lie to you.”

“I’m not maligning her.” A curious expression on his face, Jean Marc gazed into Juliette’s blazing eyes. “And if she’s happy here, I imagine her contentment has much to do with you.” He handed the basket to Catherine. “If I’m still in Paris, I’ll send for you again at
Easter. Now, run along. Juliette’s right. There is bitter cold in this wind.”

“Au revoir
, Jean Marc.” Catherine whirled and hurried across the courtyard toward the shelter of the arcade, calling over her shoulder, “Hurry, Juliette, I have so much to tell you. Jean Marc let me act as hostess at supper one evening and bought me a wonderful blue satin gown.”

“I’m coming.” Juliette started after her.

“Wait.”

Juliette stiffened when Jean Marc touched her arm. “Catherine is waiting for me.”

“I’ll keep you only a moment.” The snow fell heavily, cocooning and veiling them from Catherine’s view. Star-shaped flakes caught in Jean Marc’s thick dark hair and shimmered on his black cloak. He gazed intently at Juliette. “As usual, you’ve piqued my curiosity. You see, I don’t believe in this particular coincidence.”

She moistened her lips with her tongue. “No?”

“I think you’ve been standing here for most of the afternoon waiting for Catherine to come.” His hands slipped down her arms and he took her slim hands in his. His lips tightened. “Your hands are like blocks of ice. Where are your gloves? Have you no sense?”

His warm, hard grasp spread a disquieting heat through her wrists and forearms. Heat should have brought only comfort, but this sensation was somehow … different. She tried to pull her hands away. “I’m not cold. I … like the snow. I’m studying it to paint.”

“Juliette,” Catherine called from beyond the spiraling curtain of snowflakes.

“I have to go now.”

“Presently.” Jean Marc’s hands tightened on hers. “Are you as happy as Catherine here at the abbey?”

“One place is as good as another. I think that—” She met his compelling gaze and nodded jerkily. “Yes.”

“Was that so difficult to confess?” Jean Marc’s sudden smile flashed in his dark face. “I think it must have been. Happiness doesn’t necessarily go away if you admit to possessing it.”

“Doesn’t it?” She smiled with an effort. “Of course it doesn’t. I know that.”

“Catherine tells me you’ve not heard from the queen since you came here.”

“I didn’t think I’d hear from her,” she said quickly. “She’s always too busy to—”

“And a butterfly has a very short memory.” He smiled faintly.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s forgotten me. I expected nothing else.” She tugged again and this time he let her go. She backed away from him. “I have been happy at the abbey and I thank you for persuading her to send me here.”

He lifted a black brow. “I see you don’t make the mistake of lauding my kindness as Catherine did.”

“No, I know you wanted me here to protect Catherine.”

“Indeed?”

She nodded gravely. “I’ve not failed you. I’ve done what you wished.”

“Then Catherine and I are both fortunate. Did it never occur to you that I might have another reason?”

She glanced away. “No.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did?”

“I must go.” Yet she suddenly realized she did not want to go. She wanted to stand there and look at him, try to glimpse and interpret the expressions flickering across his magnificent face. His dark features were still, intent; his tall, lean body absolutely motionless. His immobility should have given the impression of forbidding coldness, but instead she had a sense of smoldering intensity. She half expected the drifting snowflakes to melt as they touched him.