Becoming Josephine (28 page)

Bonaparte grabbed him by the collar. “If he left us in your care that is authority enough. You will marry us at once!”

“As you wish.” The man avoided Bonaparte’s murderous visage.

Bonaparte shoved him with a violent thrust. The slight man stumbled backward, then straightened his jacket. Expelling a loud breath, he selected the proper manual from the desk and began to read in a pinched tone.

In a few short minutes, I was Rose de Beauharnais no longer.

Bonaparte kissed me tenderly. “I have more work to do, but I can work from home.”

“You’re going to work more tonight?” I asked, incredulous.

“I must.” He kissed me again, on the forehead.

“Congratulations,” Barras said stiffly.

“You’ll visit this week, I hope,” Tallien said to me.

“Of course, and thank you for waiting, gentlemen.”

Barras and Tallien shuffled into the hall.

Theresia hugged me one last time before we followed the others.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she whispered in my ear.

Bonaparte sorted through the cloaks in search of mine.

I stood dumbfounded. Had I made a mistake? I looked back at her, panic twisting my stomach into knots.

“
Bonne chance, mon amie.
” She left in a cloud of lavender perfume.

Luck might have been precisely what I needed.

Palais du Luxembourg, 1796

T
he next morning, Bonaparte appeared more haggard than usual. Purple circles ringed his pale eyes and he shuffled as he walked. His uniform jacket looked a fright.

“You never came to bed.” I patted the cushion beside me on the settee.

He dropped onto it
with a thud. “I had last-minute details to finish.”

“How long will you be gone?” I hoped it would be a few months. I cared for him, but his affection overwhelmed me. I still clung to my independence.

“It’s difficult to say. I suspect six months to a year.” He rubbed my hair, mussing it, then planted a wet kiss on my cheek.

“I expect you’ll keep me informed of your whereabouts?”

“
Bien sûr.
But you will join me soon.” His eyebrows formed a tightly knit arch. “Won’t you?”

I fumbled with a tassel on the pillow behind his back. “I was hoping you’d return soon enough that I wouldn’t have to travel.”

He rubbed the sensitive skin on my wrists. “Six months is too long without my wife at my side.”

I frowned. “You would have me join you in the fields? At war?”

“You will be safe at my side. I swear it. I would rather die than let anything happen to you.” He swept his fingers over my breasts, then squeezed them as if choosing a ripened fruit. An embarrassed servant rushed from the room, duster in hand.

“Bonaparte, please. Not in front of the others.”

A mischievous smile stretched across his face. “She has left.” He leaned forward, placing his face in the middle of my décolletage.

I pulled away, annoyed. “I couldn’t possibly come before the summer. I haven’t told the children we are married. I need to find a place to live. And it’s still winter in the Alps. You can’t expect—”

“I’ll send a fleet of men to escort you.” He pulled me to him for a kiss and led me to the bedroom.

Bonaparte had been gone only a week when his letters began to arrive, one and sometimes two daily. He gushed admiration that bordered on worship, guarding none of his innermost sentiments. He smothered me with his need to possess me, even from afar. How glad I was to be in Paris, with days of travel between us.

One afternoon my playwright friend, Citizen Arnault, was practicing lines with Theresia and me, when one of Bonaparte’s couriers arrived.

The sharp rapping at the door startled us. Arnault looked up from his script.

“We were just getting to the good part,” Theresia said, a pout puckering her pretty face.

A soldier darted into the salon, slightly out of breath. Crusty blood covered the breast of his uniform jacket in a frightening display. Mud caked his boots and he smelled of horses. He appeared fresh from the battlefield.

“Pardon me for interrupting, Citoyenne Bonaparte,” he said, removing his hat. It left a slight ring in his matted hair. “The general insisted I deliver his letter without delay. He instructed me to record your reaction when you had received it.”

I took the letter from him. “Thank you, citizen. You may tell Bonaparte that my heart leapt with joy, that I cherish his loving words.” No need to be unkind to my husband, even if this had become a daily ritual.

Theresia snorted.

“Citizen, would you like something to eat? Or a bath, perhaps?” I asked.

Theresia rolled her eyes. She lectured me on being too kind to those beneath me. I argued that no one was, that our stations could change in a flash.

“Merci,
citoyenne
, but I must go. The general awaits my return. Have you letters I might deliver to him?”

“Not today.”

The man cringed visibly.

Bonaparte probably berated him when he returned empty-handed. Poor fellow. He was but a messenger.

“Wait a moment.” I dashed up the staircase to my bedchamber, found a handkerchief, and sprayed it with lilac perfume. I returned to the salon and wrapped the cloth in a piece of parchment and ribbon.

“Here. Tell him there will be two letters with the next courier.”

Relief crossed his features. “
Merci.
Have a good day, Citoyenne Bonaparte.” He put on his hat and left as quickly as he had come.

“Well? Let’s see what he has to say,” Arnault said.

I smiled and opened the letter to read aloud.

Citizeness Bonaparte,

Not a day passes without my loving you, not a night but I hold you in my arms. I cannot drink a cup of tea without cursing the martial ambition that separates me from the soul of my life. Whether I am buried in business, or leading my troops, or inspecting my camps, my adorable Josephine fills my mind, takes up all my thoughts, and reigns alone in my heart. If I am torn from you with the swiftness of the rushing Rh
Ô
ne, it is that I may see you again the sooner. If I rise to work at midnight, it is to put forward by a few days my darling’s arrival.

One day you will love me no more; tell me so, then I shall at least know how to deserve the misfortune. . . . Good-bye, my wife, my tormentor, my happiness, the hope and soul of my life, whom I love, whom I fear, the source of feelings which make me as gentle as Nature herself, and of impulses under which I am as catastrophic as a thunderbolt.

Forgive me, soul of my life. My mind is intent upon vast plans. My heart, utterly engrossed with you, has fears that make me miserable. . . . I am waiting for you to write.

Bonaparte

“He is a poet,” Arnault said from his position by the fireplace. “A rather intense fellow, isn’t he?”

“Perhaps too intense,” I said. “He didn’t mind that his sentiments weren’t returned when we married.”

“Well, ‘soul of my life,’” Theresia said with a smirk, “shall we continue with our script or do you need time to write a response? Please, let the passion flow from your heart.”

I tossed a pillow at her. “How could I possibly respond to such a letter?”

Despite my marriage, I remained a part of Barras’s privileged circle of friends and deputies. As the unrest in the streets rose anew, they conspired for a change in leadership, a Directoire of five men, for the next year’s elections—for any way to preserve the Republic. I thought it wise to elect a single man to lead the country, to silence those in favor of a returning king. The deputies did not agree.

One evening, I moved the lace curtain aside and watched a throng of picketers outside Barras’s
palais
. “There are so many! At the Tuileries, too, darling. A change must come swiftly or they may revolt.”

Paul struck a match and lit his cigar. He puffed on its end until it glowed orange like an angry eye in the dim light. “Bloody émigrés. Their return is upsetting the order we’ve established.”

“They’re grateful to be on French soil. I don’t believe they threaten the Republic. Not now. To welcome them, to integrate them will only strengthen it. Make the divide less gaping.” I adjusted my colorful scarf
à la Creole
, which wrapped my hair, and settled into a chair.

He tapped ashes into a dish and studied me in the brooding silence. “We elect our new leaders tomorrow. I’ve alerted the police. Keep your ears open. Inform me at the first hint of an uprising.”

I leaned to kiss him on the cheek. “Not to worry. I am always listening, dear friend.”

He winked and took another drag on his cigar. “That husband of yours has had luck in Italy. Parisians are elated by his victories.”

“It seems so. Has he lost a battle yet?”

“Not that I am aware of. But he appears to be losing his battle for your attention.”

I laughed. “I care for him as a friend, as my protector. Nothing more. He’s a bit, well, dramatic. He sends me three letters per day! I wonder if he’s been to battle at all.”

Barras’s laughter boomed.

“No matter how often I reply, he scolds me.” I sighed in exasperation. “I assumed he would take a lover like every other soldier.”

“Give him time. He’ll take someone to his bed. Quell that desperate affection.”

“The man who guts the Austrian army writes me poetry. A rather odd juxtaposition, don’t you think? Sometimes I question his sanity.”

I did not take on a new lover—until I met Lieutenant Hippolyte Charles at La Chaumière.

“Who is that?” I hid behind my fan and watched the soldier in a sky blue uniform mock the dancers. He twirled, then stumbled and fell to the floor. Everyone around him laughed.

“The hussar?” Theresia asked. “That’s Lieutenant Charles. Have you not heard of him? He’s . . . quite popular, shall we say.” She motioned to a group of ladies watching him from the edge of the dance floor. “And comical, for certain.”

The lieutenant jumped to his feet, dusted off his rear, and made his way around the room, slapping the backs of friends and winking at ladies. Every pair of eyes followed him. At last he stopped near Theresia and me and filled his glass with punch.

“Good evening, ladies.” His dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “You’re dazzling tonight. I, on the other hand, am hideous.” He shielded his monkeylike face with his hand. “Please, look away. I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

A giggle bubbled in my throat.

He noted my amusement and smiled, his mustache turning up at the corners. “Would you care to dance?”

“Not unless you toss me to the floor.” I tried to hide my smile.

His grin broadened.

“Suddenly I’m dying for fresh air.” Theresia gave me a knowing look and left the lieutenant and me alone.

“Shall we dance, then?” The lieutenant offered his arm.

I slid my hand over his strong forearm. Suddenly I wished I weren’t married.