“Philippe told us.” Juliette regarded her with an odd hint of sadness as her glance traveled from Catherine’s golden-brown face and down her slim, strong body. “You look…different.”
“I’m stronger. Vasaro has been good to me.”
“I see that it has.” Juliette turned abruptly away. “Well, if I can’t convince you to be sensible, I’ll go and get my sketchbook. You’re right, this is a splendid place to paint.”
Catherine had a distinct impression she had hurt Juliette in some fashion. “Juliette, what did—”
“Run along. But don’t expect me to care for you if you collapse on the way home.” Juliette quickly climbed the steps. “I’ll be too busy sketching.”
“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.”
