“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 sketchingin 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 haveyoustart smotheringme.”
“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 thosecanailles.”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?”
