“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 adecision. 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.
Abbaye de la Reine
January 7, 1789
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 werealready 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.
ItwasCatherine!
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 atCatherine. “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.”
