“A magnificent offer.” She gazed at him thoughtfully before shaking her head. “I won’t give it up.”
“Two million.”
She frowned. “Be done with it. I’m no haggling shopkeeper.”
Jean Marc’s disappointment was so intense he couldn’t speak for a moment. He had known he was going too far, but desperation had driven him. “As you will, Your Majesty. My father will be very disappointed.” He paused. “If you still wish to reward me, I have another boon to ask.” He motioned for Catherine to come forward. “This is my kinswoman, Catherine Vasaro.”
Marie Antoinette’s expression softened as Catherine moved forward and curtsied deeply. When she rose, the queen stared into Catherine’s widely set blue eyes, then she looked at the girl’s light brown hair braided and pinned into a coronet about her head. “She’s truly a lovely child. You wish a place for her at Versailles?”
Jean Marc shook his head. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve taken an interest in a certain convent, the Abbaye de la Reine just outside Paris, where young ladies of noble blood are given an education far above the ordinary for a female. I thought I might persuade you to use your influence to get the Reverend Mother to accept my cousin Catherine at the convent.”
“But you’ve just taken pains to point out that you’re not of noble birth. I assume the same applies to this child?”
Jean Marc nodded. “But she’ll become the head of the House of Vasaro and must be prepared to take her place. It’s difficult enough for a woman to rule without burdening her with ignorance.”
“She will be the head of her house?” The queen was intrigued. “How is that?”
“The same Lorenzo Vasaro who gifted the court of France with the Wind Dancer settled in Grasse and began to raise flowers for the perfume trade. He prosperedbut never married, and when he died he left Vasaro to Caterina Andreas, the child of his friend, Lionello Andreas. He stipulated one condition: The property had to be passed down from the oldest daughter to the oldest daughter. The only requirement was that the female child retain the surname of Vasaro even after marriage and be named Caterina or some variation of the name.”
“How extraordinary!” Marie Antoinette’s blue eyes misted with tears of sentiment. “The poor man must have been deeply in love with this Andreas child.”
Jean Marc shrugged. “Perhaps. The fact remains that a woman who rules is threatened from all sides and needs the protection of knowledge as well as wisdom.”
“Yes, she does. I was very poorly educated when I came to France and I suffered greatly for it. That’s why I gave the abbey my favor.” A frown creased her forehead. “But I meant it only for the nobility.”
Jean Marc took a quick step forward, drawing a small golden casque from beneath his coat. “I understand Your Majesty is fond of the scent of violets. I took the liberty of having the master perfumer at Vasaro prepare a scent that may please you.” He handed her the golden casque and stepped back. “A humble gift of allegiance.”
She gazed at his bland face suspiciously before opening the casque. “Humble?” An amused smile lit her face as she looked at an exquisite crystal vial stoppered by an enormous ruby cut in the shape of a teardrop. “I’m enchanted with your gift of perfume, Monsieur.”
“Catherine’s gift,” Jean Marc corrected. “The container was provided by me but the scent is from Vasaro.”
“Catherine…” The queen’s gaze shifted to Catherine. “Do you wish to go to the convent,mapetite?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Catherine hesitated. “Of course, I’m frightened of going away from the Ile du Lion, but Jean Marc says there are things I must learn.”
“Hmmm, I see.” Marie Antoinette lifted the ruby stopper and bent down to dab a bit of scent behind the ear of the white lamb at her feet. “And what your kinsman says is always the truth?”
“Jean Marc knows what is best for me.”
A dry smile appeared on the queen’s face. “I’m inclined to agree that this child is direly in need of educating. I’ll advise the Reverend Mother your cousin is to be admitted to the abbey.”
“Your Majesty is too kind.” Jean Marc bowed low. “You have my eternal gratitude.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You may go.” She held up the ruby stopper and watched admiringly as its glittering facets caught fire in the sunlight. “Is it not pretty, Juliette?”
“Splendid,” Juliette murmured.
Jean Marc bowed low and backed across the terrace. He had failed, he thought dully.
Merde, but he couldnotfail.
He was several yards away when Philippe and Catherine fell in step with him.
“I’m sorry, Jean Marc,” Philippe said soberly. “I know how disappointed you are.”
Jean Marc forced a smile. “My father said he didn’t really need the Wind Dancer. I suppose he’ll have to be satisfied with his dream.”
“Dream?”
