“I recall Catherine saying the wine of the abbey was excellent. That the nuns grew their own grapes and that—”
“I’ll take it.” François stepped forward and took the goblet from Jean Marc. “We poor republicans get little opportunity to sample the wine cellars of merchant princes.” He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the wine. “Excellent.”
To Juliette’s relief Jean Marc’s attention swungimmediately to François. “I’m delighted that a republican can appreciate something besides the Rights of Man.”
François smiled. “I’m a Basque. No one can enjoy the pleasures of life more than a Basque.”
François had deliberately diverted Jean Marc’s attention to himself when he’d realized Juliette was upset, an act that seemed totally out of character. But was it? She stared at the man thoughtfully. “It’s time for supper,” she said abruptly. “Marie’s a fine cook, François. Better than you can find in the kitchen of any eating establishment in Paris.”
All three men looked at her in surprise.
“Come along.” She turned and led the way through the arched doorway connecting the dining room to the salon. “You can talk to Jean Marc over the meal about ways of getting Catherine out of Paris.”
Marie had served the fourth course when Juliette suddenly broke the silence she had maintained throughout the meal. “François.”
François glanced at her across the table. “Yes?”
She ignored him as she turned to Jean Marc at the head of the table. “I’ve decided we’ll use François.”
“I dislike the word use,” François said. “I’ve agreed to give you my assistance, but it will be in the way I choose. I am not one to be ‘used.’”
“Oh, hush, I meant nothing by the word. I’m not always as silver-tongued as I might be.”
“Not always?” Jean Marc murmured. “Rarely.”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Juliette leaned forward, her expression suddenly eager. “Are you wed, François?”
He frowned warily. “No.”
“Good, that would have ruined everything. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc leaned back in his chair and studied François calmly. “Of marriage? I think not. He does not appeal to me.”
François’s lips twitched. “Thank God. I believe I’dput your tampering with my person on the same level as tampering with the Rights of Man.”
“This is no time to be joking.” Juliette glanced at Jean Marc impatiently. “Catherine.”
Jean Marc’s lids lowered to veil his eyes. “An interesting choice.”
“No!” Philippe threw his napkin on the table. “It’s madness, Juliette. He’s a stranger to her. He’s a stranger to all of us.”
“I can make her accept him,” Juliette said.
“She wouldn’t accept me,” Philippe said.
“That was different.”
“How?” Philippe demanded. “She’s too ill to—”
“May I inquire as to just what you’re discussing?” François demanded.
“I’ll have no part of it.” Philippe scraped his chair from the table and rose to his feet. “And neither will Catherine.”
Juliette watched him stride angrily from the room. “Good. Now we can get on with it.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t you see, Jean Marc? What could be better? A civil marriage. Robert told me that the new assembly—no, they call it the convention now—that the convention has passed a law that makes it very easy to marry and divorce. One merely has to appear before the civil authorities and sign certain contracts. Is that not true?”
“So I’ve heard.” Jean Marc continued to stare at François.
“And, married to François, Catherine would be under the protection of a member of the revolutionary government. Wouldn’t it be reasonable for him to send her away from Paris if her health was not as good as it should be?”
