“Philippe would be fortunate beyond belief to wed you.”
“No, I’m not fit—”
“Stop spouting this nonsense.” Juliette tried to temper her impatience. “I won’t try to persuade you to marry Philippe, but you do realize it’s necessary for you to marry someone?”
Catherine shook her head. “I shall never marry.”
“You must marry.”
“That’s what Jean Marc said. Is it because of what they did to me? Because I’m disgraced?”
“Yes, it’s because of what they did to you.”
“It doesn’t seem … fair.”
“No.”
“I don’t wish to marry.”
“I know, Catherine.” Juliette sat down on the bed beside her and took both Catherine’s hands in her own. “But you realize I’d never ask you to do anything that wasn’t for the best?”
Catherine nodded listlessly.
“Then you’ll do as I ask?”
“Not Philippe.”
“No, not Philippe.” Juliette’s hands tightened around Catherine’s. “Someone else.”
Catherine tensed. “He won’t hurt me?”
Juliette’s rush of fury was followed immediately by passionate tenderness. “I promise you won’t be hurt.”
Catherine relaxed. “I couldn’t bear to be touched like that again.”
“It won’t happen. Trust me.”
“I do trust you. I’ll do whatever you wish.” Catherine withdrew her hands from Juliette’s clasp and Juliette realized she was already drifting away again. “I think I’d like to go sit in the garden now.”
“Be sure to take your shawl.” Juliette rose to her feet. “Will you join us for supper?”
“What? Oh, no, thank you. I shall go to sleep early, I think.”
She was asleep now, Juliette thought in despair. When would she wake? “Would you like me to come and brush your hair after supper? It sometimes helps you to sleep peacefully.”
“No, thank you. I’d rather be alone.” Catherine’s gaze slid away from Juliette’s. “Unless you think it necessary.”
This from Catherine, who so hated to be alone she had sometimes sought out Juliette’s company in Sister Bernadette’s tomb. “No, it’s not necessary. I simply thought you might like it.” Juliette moved toward the door. “I’ll tell Marie you’ll have supper in your room.”
She was halfway down the stairs when the idea occurred to her.
It was too absurd.
But was it?
She continued down the stairs, a thoughtful frown on her brow.
“You can’t work through this meal, Jean Marc,” Juliette said as she opened the door of the study the next evening. “You must have supper with us tonight.”
“Must?” Jean Marc repeated silkily.
Juliette nodded. “We have a guest.”
“What guest?” Jean Marc’s chair screeched as he pushed it away from the desk. “Dammit, you know we can’t have guests with you and Catherine in the house.”
“Join us in the Gold Salon in a few minutes.” Juliette left the study.
François Etchelet looked surprisingly elegant when he was shown in. His dark brown hair was drawn back from his face and fastened with a black tie, and his dark blue coat fitted his shoulders as impeccably as did Jean Marc’s or Philippe’s. The gracefulness of his bow betrayed an easy worldliness, and Juliette had a sudden memory of Philippe’s words regarding François’s reputed seductions. Evidently the panther did indeed have hidden facets to his character.
“Good evening, Monsieur Andreas,” François said to Jean Marc and then continued impatiently. “This travesty of a social supper isn’t necessary. Let’s get on with it. Why did you send for me?”
“I didn’t send for you.”
“Then why am I here?”
“I have no idea.” Jean Marc turned to Juliette. “Suppose we ask Mademoiselle de Clement?”
“Later,” Juliette said, her gaze fixed on François. “Talk. I’m still thinking about it.”
“As you command. We wouldn’t wish to disturb your concentration.” Jean Marc began to pour wine from the silver pitcher into the goblets Marie had set in readiness on the rosewood table. “Dupree is still in Paris, Etchelet?”
“Not much longer perhaps. Georges Jacques is concerned about how the war is going and may leave for the front shortly. He’ll ask Marat to delegate Dupree to his entourage.”
“Perhaps?” Jean Marc grimaced. “I don’t like to depend on uncertainties. Can’t we hurry things a bit? How much would it cost to get the guards at the gates to look the other way?”
“It can’t be done.”
“I could be very generous.”
“Impossible.”
“There are no incorruptible men.”
François inclined his head. “And no one knows that better than you, do they? You frequent the National Convention more than most of the delegates themselves.”
Jean Marc stiffened. “You object to me bettering the fortunes of your fellow revolutionaries?” he asked softly.
“Georges Jacques says I think the revolution is all shining virtue.” François shook his head. “He’s wrong. I know exactly how corrupt some of the men of the convention can be.”
“And you have no quarrel with it?”
“I accept it.” François paused. “As long as it doesn’t strike at the heart of the revolution. Bribe whomever you will to circumvent tax levies and trade embargoes. I do not care. Just stay away from the Rights of Man and the Constitution.”
Jean Marc’s eyes narrowed on François’s face. “And what would you do if I decided I needed to make a few adjustments in those august documents?”
François smiled pleasantly. “Cut your heart out.”
Jean Marc braced. Slowly, he relaxed. Finally, he smiled. “I don’t believe I need to tamper with your Rights of Man. For the most part, I approve.”
“How fortunate for both of us.”
Juliette had been following the exchange with keen interest. The two men were completely different in character and philosophy, yet they were smiling at each other with complete understanding. However, she must stop this verbal minuet and bring them back to the principal topic. “Why is it impossible to bribe the soldiers at the gates?”
François turned to her. “Because they’re more afraid of Dupree than greedy for Monsieur’s francs. Greed is universal but there are certain limits.”
“Not extensive ones.” Jean Marc held out one of the silver goblets of wine he had poured for Juliette. “Perhaps you can persuade them to—What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Juliette couldn’t stop staring at the deep red of the wine in the goblet. Sickness caused her stomach to clench and then churn helplessly. She mustn’t be sick.
“You’re ill.” Jean Marc’s gaze was on her face. “You’ve turned white. Take a sip of the wine.”
“No!” She pushed the goblet from her and stepped back. “I’m not ill. I won’t be ill.”
“Very well. You needn’t become violent about it. I only thought a drop of wine would brace you.”
“Juliette doesn’t like wine,” Philippe said. “I’ve often teased her about it. She always has water with her meals.”
“How unusual.” Jean Marc studied Juliette’s face. “And unhealthy. Water from the abbey must have been a good deal more pure than that of Paris.”
Juliette swallowed and looked away from the goblet. “I don’t know if it is or not.”
“I recall Catherine saying the wine of the abbey was excellent. That the nuns grew their own grapes and that—”
“I’ll take it.” François stepped forward and took the goblet from Jean Marc. “We poor republicans get little opportunity to sample the wine cellars of merchant princes.” He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the wine. “Excellent.”
To Juliette’s relief Jean Marc’s attention swung immediately to François. “I’m delighted that a republican can appreciate something besides t
he Rights of Man.”
François smiled. “I’m a Basque. No one can enjoy the pleasures of life more than a Basque.”
François had deliberately diverted Jean Marc’s attention to himself when he’d realized Juliette was upset, an act that seemed totally out of character. But was it? She stared at the man thoughtfully. “It’s time for supper,” she said abruptly. “Marie’s a fine cook, François. Better than you can find in the kitchen of any eating establishment in Paris.”
All three men looked at her in surprise.
“Come along.” She turned and led the way through the arched doorway connecting the dining room to the salon. “You can talk to Jean Marc over the meal about ways of getting Catherine out of Paris.”
Marie had served the fourth course when Juliette suddenly broke the silence she had maintained throughout the meal. “François.”
François glanced at her across the table. “Yes?”
She ignored him as she turned to Jean Marc at the head of the table. “I’ve decided we’ll use François.”
“I dislike the word use,” François said. “I’ve agreed to give you my assistance, but it will be in the way I choose. I am not one to be ‘used.’ ”
“Oh, hush, I meant nothing by the word. I’m not always as silver-tongued as I might be.”
“Not always?” Jean Marc murmured. “Rarely.”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Juliette leaned forward, her expression suddenly eager. “Are you wed, François?”
He frowned warily. “No.”
“Good, that would have ruined everything. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc leaned back in his chair and studied François calmly. “Of marriage? I think not. He does not appeal to me.”
François’s lips twitched. “Thank God. I believe I’d put your tampering with my person on the same level as tampering with the Rights of Man.”
“This is no time to be joking.” Juliette glanced at Jean Marc impatiently. “Catherine.”
Jean Marc’s lids lowered to veil his eyes. “An interesting choice.”
“No!” Philippe threw his napkin on the table. “It’s madness, Juliette. He’s a stranger to her. He’s a stranger to all of us.”
“I can make her accept him,” Juliette said.
“She wouldn’t accept me,” Philippe said.
“That was different.”
“How?” Philippe demanded. “She’s too ill to—”
“May I inquire as to just what you’re discussing?” François demanded.
“I’ll have no part of it.” Philippe scraped his chair from the table and rose to his feet. “And neither will Catherine.”
Juliette watched him stride angrily from the room. “Good. Now we can get on with it.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t you see, Jean Marc? What could be better? A civil marriage. Robert told me that the new assembly—no, they call it the convention now—that the convention has passed a law that makes it very easy to marry and divorce. One merely has to appear before the civil authorities and sign certain contracts. Is that not true?”
“So I’ve heard.” Jean Marc continued to stare at François.
“And, married to François, Catherine would be under the protection of a member of the revolutionary government. Wouldn’t it be reasonable for him to send her away from Paris if her health was not as good as it should be?”
“Wait,” François said sharply. “You wish me to wed Mademoiselle Vasaro?”
“Of course! Have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?” She turned back to Jean Marc. “Catherine probably wouldn’t regard the contract as making a marriage since a priest wouldn’t preside. It would be only a matter of pretense to her.”
François said with measured precision, “Since I seem to be central to your plan, perhaps you should include me in your discussion.”
Juliette leaned back in her chair again. “He’s right. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc lifted his goblet to his lips. “I think Juliette may be correct. You may be the answer. How much does Danton pay you, Etchelet?”
“Enough for my needs. What does that—”
“Six hundred thousand livres,” Jean Marc said quietly. “A dowry large enough to make you a moderately rich man and the marriage need last only long enough to spread a cloak of safety over Catherine and Vasaro. The marriage contract will read that you’re entitled to keep the entire dowry in case of a divorce. It’s a very generous offer.”
An expression of surprise crossed Etchelet’s face before he could school his features. “An amazing offer.”
Juliette nodded. “And it will remove Catherine from Paris, where her presence is a threat to both you and Danton. Your wife wouldn’t be stopped at the gates and questioned closely, would she? Can’t you see it’s the perfect solution?”
“It could work if the way were carefully prepared.” François’s tone was impassive. “And you could accompany her from the city as her maidservant.”
“What? Oh, yes, I could.” Juliette rushed on, “Then you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that.” François looked at Jean Marc. “A rather expensive solution when waiting a short time might accomplish the same goal. Why?”
“It’s become necessary.”
“Why?” François repeated.
“Catherine …” Jean Marc frowned slightly before continuing. “Catherine is very likely with child.”
François remained expressionless. “I thought as much. So she must have a husband. Why not your nephew? He seems to be willing. I can’t believe you’d choose me over a member of your own family.”
“I admit Philippe was my first thought. You heard Juliette. Catherine won’t have him.”
“Why not?” François asked Juliette.
“Catherine has a tendre for him. She wishes to save him from the stigma of wedding a woman of shame. However, you’re nothing to her and will do very well.” She shrugged. “We’ll tell her Jean Marc ‘bought’ you.”
“Like a jeweled fan or a feathered bonnet?” François asked ironically. “I don’t believe I’m overfond of your choice of words, Mademoiselle de Clement.”
“This is no time for quibbling over words. Jean Marc is buying you and the price is generous. Will you do it?”
François was silent.
“Give him more money, Jean Marc.”
“You’re very eager to spend my livres. I don’t believe it’s greed that’s causing Monsieur Etchelet to hesitate, Juliette.” Jean Marc sipped his wine. “Let the man think about it.”
“But we need him. You know that Catherine needs him.”
François glanced down at the wine in his glass. “I haven’t seen Mademoiselle Vasaro for some time. Is she no better?”
“No, she grows more withdrawn every day and she …” Juliette faltered and then tried to steady her voice. “She doesn’t even know she’s with child. If she did, I’m not sure …” She took a deep breath. “You saw her. She cannot bear any more pain. She must be protected. You must protect her.” She turned to Jean Marc. “Give him more money.”
Jean Marc shrugged. “Eight hundred thousand livres.”
François remained silent, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Why are you hesitating?” Juliette asked. “You’ll be rich and your Danton will be safe.”
François didn’t answer for an instant, and Juliette once more opened her lips to speak.
François held up his hand. “Enough.”
“You’ll wed her?”
François smiled mockingly. “How can I resist? As Monsieur Andreas knows, every man wishes to be rich.”
Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s settled, then.”
“If you can persuade Mademoiselle Vasaro to accept me,” François said gravely.
“Catherine. Her name is Catherine. You’re more formal than that pompous Comtesse de Noailles. Everyone at Versailles called her Madame Etiquette.”
“I’ve been taught well to giv
e proper respect to my betters.”
“You think you have no betters,” Juliette scoffed. She stood up. “I’ll go talk to Catherine.”
“I wish to see her myself,” François said.
“Tomorrow. Call on her tomorrow. Give her time to become accustomed to the idea.”
A silence fell after she had left the room. “I don’t begrudge Catherine the dowry, Monsieur Etchelet,” Jean Marc said softly, “but I’ll expect good value for my money. I detest being cheated.”
“You think I’ll cheat you?”
Jean Marc gazed at him thoughtfully. “I believe you’re more than you appear to be.”
“Are we not all more than we appear to be … Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc noted both the familiarity and the mockery of François’s tone and nodded slowly. “I think you should be made aware that I am very fond of Catherine. I should be most unhappy if Juliette’s solution proved an unhappy one for my cousin.”
“You shall get what you paid for.” François met his gaze. “But I will be no puppet for you. I go my own path.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you’d display a predilection for strings.”
François rose to his feet and bowed. “Then, since our understanding is complete, I believe it’s time I bid you au revoir until tomorrow.”
Catherine sat as usual on the marble bench in the garden. Her gaze was fixed dreamily on the border of pink rosebushes beyond the fountain when François arrived at the Place Royal. The sight of her brought back a sudden vivid memory of that afternoon when he had sat opposite her in this garden. Her gown today was not blue but a simple white muslin with a sash of sunshine yellow. A matching yellow ribbon held back her hair.
The gaze she turned on him was childlike as he walked toward her down the garden path.
He bowed formally. “Good afternoon, Catherine. Did Mademoiselle de Clem—Juliette—tell you I would call today?”
Catherine nodded, her gaze returning to the roses. “It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it? Robert says soon the frosts will come, but it’s difficult to believe on a day such as this.”
“Did she inform you of—” He broke off. Catherine appeared to be paying no attention to him, and he felt something twist within him. She had changed. That afternoon in the garden she had been subdued but still alive and caring. Now she appeared polite but as remote as the stars. “Catherine.”