“Ah, yes.” Desedero nodded in understanding. “The dream…”
“Well, I’m only a man of business who doesn’tunderstand these idealistic vagaries. It appears a duplicate won’t do, so I will have to get the Wind Dancer for him.”
“What will you do?”
“What I should have done in the beginning. Go to Versailles myself and find a way to persuade the queen to sell the Wind Dancer. I didn’t want to leave my father when—” He broke off, his hands again slowly clenching. “I knew he didn’t have much time left.”
“But how can you expect to succeed when she’s clearly so determined to keep it?” Desedero asked gently.
“Information.” Jean Marc’s lips twisted in a cynical smile. “I’ll find out what she most desires and give it to her in exchange for the statue. I’ll take lodgings in an inn near the palace and before two weeks are gone I’ll know more about the court and Her Majesty than King Louis does himself, even if I have to bribe every groom and maid in the palace.”
Desedero gestured to the statue on the pedestal. “And this?”
Jean Marc avoided looking at the Pegasus as he strode to the door. “I never want to see it again. You may sell off the jewels and melt it down.” He jerked open the door. “God knows, I may need the additional gold to tempt Louis into selling the Wind Dancer.”
The door slammed behind him.
TWO
You’re spoiling the lad.” Marguerite’s thin lips pursed as she gazed at Louis Charles’s fair head nestled against Juliette’s breast. “His nurse won’t thank you for this coddling when we get him back to Versailles.”
“He’s been ill.” Juliette’s arms tightened protectively around the baby’s warm, firm body. Not really a baby any longer, she thought wistfully. The queen’s second son was over two, but he still felt endearingly small and silken in her arms. “He deserves a little extra attention. The motion of the coach upsets his stomach.”
“Nonsense. The doctor at Fontainebleau pronounced the prince fit for travel.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s completely well again.” Juliette glared at Marguerite on the seat across from her. “Only two weeks ago he was running a fever high enough for the queen to fear for his life.”
“Measles don’t always kill. You had them twice and survived.”
Louis Charles stirred and murmured something into Juliette’s shoulder.
Juliette looked down, a smile illuminating her face. “Shh,bébé, we’ll soon have you back with yourmaman. All is well.”
“Yes, now that we’re returning to Versailles,” Marguerite agreed sourly. “So contrary of you to offer to stay with the child at Fontainebleau when the court returned to Versailles. You knew I’d have to stay with you no matter how much your mother needed my services.”
Juliette rocked the little boy back and forth, her fingers tangled in his downy, soft curls. It would do no good to argue with Marguerite, she thought wearily. The woman cared for naught but her mother’s comfort and welfare and was never happy except in her presence. It didn’t matter to her that the queen had been worried to distraction when Louis Charles had fallen ill. Marie Antoinette’s baby daughter, Sophie, had died only four months before and Louis Joseph, dauphin and heir to the throne, whose health had always been fragile, was failing rapidly. When Her Majesty’s ever-robust youngest son had succumbed to the measles, she had been in despair.
“Put him down on the seat,” Marguerite ordered.
Juliette’s lips set stubbornly. “He’s still not well. Her Majesty said I was to use my own judgment as to his care.”
“A flighty chit of fourteen has no business caring for a prince.”
“I’m not putting him down.” Juliette’s lips firmed as she avoided Marguerite’s stare and looked out the window of the carriage. She knew silence would serve her better than quarreling, but meekness was never easy for her. Thank the saints they were close to the town of Versailles now and the palace was just a short distance beyond. She would try to ignore Marguerite and think only of the painting in her trunk on the roof of the carriage. Much of the detail on the trees in the work wasstill to be finished; she could paint sunlight filtering through the top leaves of the trees revealing the naked skeletal spines. It would be an interesting effect, suggesting the lack of truth in the characters of the figures she had painted lolling below the boughs of the trees.
“You always think you know best,” Marguerite grumbled. “Ever since you were a child scarcely older than the prince. Do you believe the queen would have trusted you to stay with Louis Charles if the child’s nurse had not come down with the sickness? Her Majesty will find you out someday. You may amuse her right now with your drawings and bold tongue, but she’s easily bored and will—You’re not listening to me.”
Juliette shifted her gaze to the thick green shrubbery bordering the bluff on the far side of the road. “No.” She wished Marguerite would cease her acid discourse and let her enjoy these moments of holding the little boy in her arms. She had never had anyone of her own to care for, and during the past few weeks she had actually felt as if Louis Charles belonged to her. But his time of recuperation was over now, she thought wistfully, and in only a few hours she would have to return Louis Charles to his mother and the attention of the royal court.
Marguerite’s palm cracked against Juliette’s cheek.
Juliette’s head snapped back, her arms involuntarily loosening about the baby.
“You’re not too old to be punished for your insolence.” Marguerite smiled with satisfaction at Juliette’s stunned expression. “Your mother trusts me to know how to school you in spite of the spoiling Her Majesty gives you.”
Juliette’s arms quickly tightened again around Louis Charles. She had not expected the slap. She had clearly misjudged the degree of anger and frustration building in Marguerite since she had been commanded to stay with Juliette at Fontainebleau. “Don’t ever strike me again while I’m holding the boy.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking with anger. “I could have hurt him badly if you’d caused me to drop him.”
“You’re giving me orders?”
