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’d put 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?”
“Wait,” François said sharply. “You wish me to wed Mademoiselle Vasaro?”
“Of course! Have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?” She turned back to Jean Marc. “Catherine probably wouldn’t regard the contract as making a marriage since a priest wouldn’t preside. It would be only a matter of pretense to her.”
François said with measured precision, “Since I seem to be central to your plan, perhaps you should include me in your discussion.”
Juliette leaned back in her chair again. “He’s right. Make him an offer, Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc lifted his goblet to his lips. “I think Juliette may be correct. You may be the answer. How much does Danton pay you, Etchelet?”
“Enough for my needs. What does that—”
“Six hundred thousand livres,” Jean Marc said quietly. “A dowry large enough to make you a moderately rich man and the marriage need last only long enough to spread a cloak of safety over Catherine and Vasaro. The marriage contract will read that you’re entitled to keep the entire dowry in case of a divorce. It’s a very generous offer.”
An expression of surprise crossed Etchelet’s face before he could school his features. “An amazing offer.”
Juliette nodded. “And it will remove Catherine from Paris, where her presence is a threat to both you and Danton. Your wife wouldn’t be stopped at the gates and questioned closely, would she? Can’t you see it’s the perfect solution?”
“It could work if the way were carefully prepared.” François’s tone was impassive. “And you could accompany her from the city as her maidservant.”
“What? Oh, yes, I could.” Juliette rushed on, “Then you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that.” François looked at Jean Marc. “A rather expensive solution when waiting a short time might accomplish the same goal. Why?”
“It’s become necessary.”
“Why?” François repeated.
“Catherine …” Jean Marc frowned slightly before continuing. “Catherine is very likely with child.”
François remained expressionless. “I thought as much. So she must have a husband. Why not your nephew? He seems to be willing. I can’t believe you’d choose me over a member of your own family.”
“I admit Philippe was my first thought. You heard Juliette. Catherine won’t have him.”
“Why not?” François asked Juliette.
“Catherine has a tendre for him. She wishes to save him from the stigma of wedding a woman of shame. However, you’re nothing to her and will do very well.” She shrugged. “We’ll tell her Jean Marc ‘bought’ you.”
“Like a jeweled fan or a feathered bonnet?” François asked ironically. “I don’t believe I’m overfond of your choice of words, Mademoiselle de Clement.”
“This is no time for quibbling over words. Jean Marc is buying you and the price is generous. Will you do it?”
François was silent.
“Give him more money, Jean Marc.”
“You’re very eager to spend my livres. I don’t believe it’s greed that’s causing Monsieur Etchelet to hesitate, Juliette.” Jean Marc sipped his wine. “Let the man think about it.”
“But we need him. You know that Catherine needs him.”
François glanced down at the wine in his glass. “I haven’t seen Mademoiselle Vasaro for some time. Is she no better?”
“No, she grows more withdrawn every day and she …” Juliette faltered and then tried to steady her voice. “She doesn’t even know she’s with child. If she did, I’m not sure …” She took a deep breath. “You saw her. She cannot bear any more pain. She must be protected. You must protect her.” She turned to Jean Marc. “Give him more money.”
Jean Marc shrugged. “Eight hundred thousand livres.”
François remained silent, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Why are you hesitating?” Juliette asked. “You’ll be rich and your Danton will be safe.”
François didn’t answer for an instant, and Juliette once more opened her lips to speak.
François held up his hand. “Enough.”
“You’ll wed her?”
François smiled mockingly. “How can I resist? As Monsieur Andreas knows, every man wishes to be rich.”
Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s settled, then.”
“If you can persuade Mademoiselle Vasaro to accept me,” François said gravely.
“Catherine. Her name is Catherine. You’re more formal than that pompous Comtesse de Noailles. Everyone at Versailles called her Madame Etiquette.”
“I’ve been taught well to give proper respect to my betters.”
“You think you have no betters,” Juliette scoffed. She stood up. “I’ll go talk to Catherine.”
“I wish to see her myself,” François said.
“Tomorrow. Call on her tomorrow. Give her time to become accustomed to the idea.”
A silence fell after she had left the room. “I don’t begrudge Catherine the dowry, Monsieur Etchelet,” Jean Marc said softly, “but I’ll expect good value for my money. I detest being cheated.”
“You think I’ll cheat you?”
Jean Marc gazed at him thoughtfully. “I believe you’re more than you appear to be.”
“Are we not all more than we appear to be … Jean Marc.”
Jean Marc noted both the familiarity and the mockery of François’s tone and nodded slowly. “I think you should be made aware that I am very fond of Catherine. I should be most unhappy if Juliette’s solution proved an unhappy one for my cousin.”
“You shall get what you paid for.” François met his gaze. “But I will be no puppet for you. I go my own path.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you’d display a predilection for strings.”
François rose to his feet and bowed. “Then, since our understanding is complete, I believe it’s time I bid you au revoir until tomorrow.”
Catherine sat as usual on the marble bench in the garden. Her gaze was fixed dreamily on the border of pink rosebushes beyond the fountain when François arrived at the Place Royal. The s
ight of her brought back a sudden vivid memory of that afternoon when he had sat opposite her in this garden. Her gown today was not blue but a simple white muslin with a sash of sunshine yellow. A matching yellow ribbon held back her hair.
The gaze she turned on him was childlike as he walked toward her down the garden path.
He bowed formally. “Good afternoon, Catherine. Did Mademoiselle de Clem—Juliette—tell you I would call today?”
Catherine nodded, her gaze returning to the roses. “It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it? Robert says soon the frosts will come, but it’s difficult to believe on a day such as this.”
“Did she inform you of—” He broke off. Catherine appeared to be paying no attention to him, and he felt something twist within him. She had changed. That afternoon in the garden she had been subdued but still alive and caring. Now she appeared polite but as remote as the stars. “Catherine.”
She glanced at him, her stare vague. “Philippe told me once there are fields and fields of flowers at Vasaro that are beautiful beyond belief, but I scarcely remember them. Did I mention to you that I left there when I was only four? Here the garden is very nice, but I think I should like to see—”
“Catherine, you’re to wed me in two days’ time.” He paused. “If you wish it.”
For a moment the dreaminess vanished from her expression. “I do not wish it, but Juliette and Jean Marc know what’s best for me.” She straightened her shoulders and turned away to point to a spot beneath the high stone wall. “Robert’s going to plant white violets there next spring. He says they generally grow well, but this year the winter was harsh and killed them.” She frowned. “Harshness does kill, doesn’t it?”
“No!” François found his fists were clenched and forced himself to relax them. “Not if you fight it. Then it only makes you grow stronger.”
“The violets died.”
“People aren’t flowers.”
“But weren’t we talking about violets?” Catherine asked, puzzled. “Yes, I’m sure we were speaking of violets. I said Robert was planning—”
“I don’t wish to talk of flowers,” François interrupted. “I want to know if you—” He started again. “Will you trust me to do what’s best for you?”
“Juliette trusts you, so I suppose I must.”
“No, not Juliette. You.” He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “You must trust me.” He could sense her withdrawal at his touch like a cold wind blowing through the autumn-shrouded garden.
“I wish you would leave me now. You … disturb me.”
“But you’ll trust me?”
“You and Juliette. Why do you keep pushing at me? Why won’t you realize I wish only to be left alone? I don’t—” She drew away from his hand. “Oh, very well, I’ll trust you. Now will you go away?”
“And you’ll do as I say?”
She nodded jerkily, not looking at him.
François drew a deep breath and took a step back. “Then I’ll bid you good day, Catherine.”
“Good day.”
François turned on his heel and strode toward the door leading to the house. Before he reached it, Catherine’s gaze was once again fixed dreamily on the last roses of autumn.
Two mornings later at the Hôtel de Ville François Etchelet posted an announcement of his intention to marry Catherine Vasaro late that same afternoon. At shortly after four, as agreed, he and Danton met Jean Marc and Catherine outside the hall.
“It won’t take long.” François didn’t give Catherine more than a passing glance as he took her elbow and threw open the door of the municipal chamber. Shrill laughter, chatter, the scent of perfume, and unwashed humanity assaulted them as they entered the crowded room. “I deliberately chose a time when the officials would be busy. The municipal authorities don’t like to waste time, so there will be at least forty marriages conducted at one ceremony this afternoon. The official makes a short speech and then asks us all whether we wish to marry. We answer yes and it’s over.”
“Interesting. Impersonal but interesting. A veritable Greek chorus of ‘yeses’ portending marital bliss.” Jean Marc’s lips twitched as his gaze fell on a grim-faced, rifle-bearing soldier of the National Guard standing beside an ornate statue of Hymen bearing flowers and a torch. “And they seem prepared for any eventuality.”
Danton gestured at a long table occupied by several gentlemen busily engaged in perusing and signing documents beneath the upraised pedestal where the municipal official presided. “The contracts, gentlemen. I had them drawn up myself to make sure they’d be in order.”
Jean Marc nodded. “And who would dare question the legality of a document drawn up by the Minister of Justice?”
Danton smiled. “I was sure you’d understand. Shall we get the formalities over with so that we can enjoy seeing these two beautiful children united?”
It took longer for Jean Marc to read and sign the contracts than it did for Catherine and François to be joined in marriage.
Jean Marc kept a careful eye on Catherine during the brief ceremony, but she appeared calm and composed and did not look out of place with the other brides in the crowded hall. Juliette had dressed her in a simple dark blue gown, pulled her hair back in a smooth knot and then tucked it beneath a straw bonnet with a wide brim that shadowed her face.
What was she thinking? Jean Marc wondered. She had been silent from the moment Juliette had brought her downstairs and given her into his keeping. It was difficult to know what she was feeling at any time these days. Juliette was right. Catherine would let no one break through that protective shell to the girl they had once known.
The marriage ceremony was ending and Catherine gave the required assent in a low tone that held no expression.
The hall exploded into immediate confusion as the couples dispersed and new brides and grooms were ushered into the room.
Danton laughed his big, booming laugh, slapped the municipal official on the shoulder, and made a few ribald remarks before whisking their party from the chamber and out onto the street. His demeanor immediately sobered as they reached the Place de la Grève. “It went well, I think.”
Jean Marc nodded. “If the authorities remember anyone in that melee, it will be you and not Catherine.”
The driver of the carriage Jean Marc had hired hurried to open the door as he saw them approaching.
Jean Marc glanced sardonically at Danton. “I’m surprised you chose to come, Danton. After all, there was a certain risk.”
“Everyone knows François is in my employ, and it would have been regarded as unusual for me to ignore the ceremony,” Danton said. “If it was to be done, it had to be done right.”
Jean Marc took Catherine’s elbow to help her into the coach. “I agree. Let’s hope Catherine and Juliette’s departure from Paris tomorrow goes as well. Have you—” He stopped as François deliberately stepped before him in the street. His gaze narrowed on François’s face. “You’re blocking our way, Etchelet.”
François motioned to the driver of the carriage to mount to the driver’s seat. “That was my intention.” He took Catherine’s hand and pulled her away from Jean Marc. “Catherine won’t be returning to your house tonight.”
“Indeed? And where will she be spending the night?”
“I’m taking her to an inn next door to the café owned by Georges Jacques’s father-in-law.”
Jean Marc stiffened. “You made no mention of this before.”
François glanced at the driver to make sure he was out of hearing range. “We’ve made arrangements for Dupree’s men who’ll be guarding the barrier tomorrow evening to be brought to the common room of the inn tonight. I want them to see Catherine with me.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Everyone must be made to believe the marriage is a real one.” François’s face was expressionless. “And a bridegroom doesn’t spend his wedding night alone.”
“You could com
e to my house.”
“No.” François turned away and propelled Catherine toward Danton’s carriage a few yards behind Jean Marc’s. “It will be better my way. I’ll return Catherine to you in the morning.”
“As long as your way is best for Catherine.” Menace layered the softness of Jean Marc’s tone.
François glanced back at Jean Marc and smiled mockingly as he lifted Catherine into Danton’s carriage. “Doesn’t a husband always know what’s best for his wife?”
“We shall see.” Jean Marc watched him climb into the coach, his brow furrowed in thought. François’s move had disconcerted him and he didn’t like to be caught off guard. Yet there was logic in Etchelet’s plan, and there was no doubt the women’s departure from Paris would be made safer if the groundwork was carefully prepared with the guards at the barriers.
Danton paused before joining François and Catherine in the carriage to gaze at Jean Marc in amusement. “You appear disturbed, Citizen. Were you not aware of the character of my friend François? He delights in doing the unexpected. At times it’s a great trial to me.” He climbed into the carriage and the coachman slammed the door shut.
In another moment Danton’s carriage was rumbling over the cobblestones.
Jean Marc stood looking after it, still frowning ruefully. He had an idea this particular action of Etchelet’s was going to prove a trial to him as well.
Because it was Jean Marc who was going to have to tell Juliette that Catherine was not to spend her wedding night safely under the Andreas roof.
“Go after her,” Juliette ordered, glaring at Jean Marc. “I can’t believe you’d be so stupid as to let him—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I promised her she’d be safe from harm.”
“I believe she is safe from harm.”
“If you won’t go after her, I’ll do it myself.”
“I think not,” Jean Marc said quietly. “Not unless you want to endanger both Catherine and yourself by your foolishness.”
“She’ll be frightened. What if he—”
“Demands a bridegroom’s rights?” Jean Marc finished. “I don’t think he will. It would be the act of a barbarian to enjoy taking a woman who is no more alive than a statue.”
The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds Page 58
