Becoming Josephine (32 page)

In the end, I arranged marriages for not one, but two Bonaparte sisters.

I granted their every desire, yet neither said a word of thanks. My patience wore thin. I grew weary of the pretension with the Bonapartes and with the Italians at court. I loathed the plastered smiles and judgmental leering.

At the end of the month, when Letizia, Elise, and Caroline announced their departure, I nearly wept with relief. My leaving would soon follow, once Bonaparte solidified the peace treaty. I would take a tour in Venice—far from the remaining Bonaparte clan—and make my way home to France.

That evening, I lay in bed in the dark. Headaches had plagued me all afternoon.

“Josephine?” Bonaparte entered the room and set his lamp on a bedside table. “You’ve been in bed all day.” He kicked off his shiny boots.

“I have a blinding headache.” I turned down the covers next to me.

“It must be your guilty conscience.” He thumped down into a chair and crossed his arms.

“What are you talking about?” I propped myself up on my pillow.

“You know very well what I’m talking about. That bastard lieutenant”—he gritted his teeth—“put his hands on you. On
my
wife!” He kicked the footstool.

I swallowed hard. He had heard about Hippolyte.

“What lieutenant?” I feigned innocence. “Bonaparte, really, what are you talking about? No one has had their hands on me but you.”

Despair and uncertainty warred on his features. He dashed across the room and sat beside me on the bed. He gathered my hair in his hands with too much force.

“I will execute any man who so much as looks in your direction. Is that clear?”

I tensed against his grip. “Who told you such nonsense, darling?” I rubbed his cheek with my thumb. “You know I love only you.”

“Joseph and Pauline.”

“I’ve barely laid eyes on the lieutenant this whole year in Italy. You’ve seen him with his mistress many times. The beautiful Carlotta? Your siblings create falsehoods to ruin my reputation.”

He released my hair behind my shoulders. It swished against my silk nightdress.

“Pauline has been known to lie. But why would Joseph fabricate a story to hurt his own brother?”

“My love”—I pressed his hand against my heart—“you saw how your siblings treated me. Don’t you think others would have seen me with the lieutenant?”

His hand closed around my breast. He kissed me in a desperate way, as if searching for the truth.

When we parted, I said, “He means to turn you against me.”

“Nothing and no one can turn me against you, my beloved.”

Rue de la Victoire, Paris, 179
7–1799

B
onaparte insisted on signing the peace treaty before we left for Paris, but his temper did not endear him to the Austrian negotiators.

I took to smoothing over his tantrums.

“Please forgive my husband’s ill humor,” I told the chief Austrian diplomat. “He awaits word from the Directoire and is anxious to proceed with the treaty. He detests wasting your time.”

Bonaparte cared nothing about wasting his time. His tantrums were about having his way or none at all.

I motioned to a servant to pour more brandy.

“I only wish to reach a peaceful agreement,” the Austrian said.

“I have full confidence in your abilities to negotiate.” I laid my hand on his arm. “It will be grand to end the animosity between our countries! To be allies, and friends, monsieur.” He blushed and fussed with his cravat.

“How lovely it is to see a proper cravat,” I said. “The Italians don’t seem to grasp the style of the day.”

His blush deepened. “You flatter me, madame, but how right you are. The Italians are a rather archaic society, though the food is divine.” He heaped his fork with braised fish. “You’ve done wonders with the grounds. I hear you are quite the horticulturalist.”

He motioned to the vases of verbena and freesia.

“It’s satisfying to nurture them and watch them grow into something beautiful.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Quite like a friendship. Wouldn’t you agree?”

We spoke for some time. All the while, Bonaparte made a show of his displeasure with the other officials. Had I not enjoyed a dance with the Austrian or shared his interest in flowers, the Republic’s hopes of a truce would have collapsed.

Despite my obvious assistance, Bonaparte sulked before bed. “Women have no place in politics. You saw what happened. You reduced that man to a sniveling idiot.”

“Don’t be daft, my darling.” I frowned. “That’s precisely why I belonged there. Now you have your treaty.” I slid under the covers.

He bounced onto the bed beside me. “You did manage him.”

“I have my ways.” I kissed him lightly on the brow.

He sat for several moments in silence, lost in thought. As I extinguished the lamp beside the bed, he said, “Perhaps I should bring you to more of my official dinners. You might be an asset.”

“Indeed I would be.”

He took me in his arms.

The Directoire’s approval of the treaty came weeks into the autumn season, though Bonaparte took liberties with their demands. He left for Paris immediately, leaving me behind to conclude official appearances. I sighed with relief once safely on French soil.

But I had not been prepared for the greeting I received.

I stared out the coach window in utter amazement. Hundreds gathered in every village to hail the wife of their hero. Torches lit our passage and cannons boomed to announce our convoy.

I laughed aloud. Bonaparte’s popularity had spread. How had this happened?

“
Vive
Bonaparte!” citizens cried. “Our Lady of Victories!”

I returned their waves. “Have you seen anything like it, Junot?”

“Not since Marie Antoinette made her royal progress.” The captain gawked at the townspeople in the dark.

An uneasy sensation tingled in my limbs. “I am no queen.”

He started at the tense tone of my voice. “Madame Bonaparte, do not fear. You are certainly not a queen.”

We reached Paris two weeks later than expected. As we pulled into the drive of my lovely home, emotion surged through me. Home again. I jumped from the coach and skipped up the walk to find sentries guarding the door. Since when did we need guards?

“Yeyette!” Mimi greeted me.

I squeezed her with all my might. “How do you always smell of sunshine, Mimi?”

“Best not waste time. General Bonaparte is mighty anxious to see you. He’s at the Palais du Luxembourg.”

“It’s Bonaparte’s fault I am late. I had to stop in every town because of his supporters. The National Guard escorted us all the way to Paris.” I removed my cloak. “I’ve missed you! Italy was lovely, but lonely. I’ve missed the children!”

Mimi tugged me toward the stairs. “Hortense will be here in the morning. Now, let’s go. You’re going to enrage that husband of yours.”

“His temper doesn’t frighten me.” I dismissed her concerns with a wave. “I’ll just take a quick tour. I’ve been dying to see the renovations.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m glad I won’t be there. He’s going to—”

“Never mind, Mimi.” I breezed into the salon. Mahogany furniture filled the room, gold curtains draped the windows, and mosaics tiled the floors. The airy classical style had become passé. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and pushed open the door.

I gasped. “I love it!”

A cascade of blue-and-white-striped fabrics fastened at a point in the ceiling, mimicking a soldier’s tent. Several drum-shaped footstools circled the bed and a vanity and armoire sat on opposing walls.

A maid rushed in holding three gowns. “Madame, you must hurry. Which will you choose?”

I bathed, dressed in a white gown and gold hat in record time, and rushed to the soiree.

“Where have you been?” Bonaparte demanded when he first laid eyes on me. “Talleyrand spent a fortune to welcome you home. He has rescheduled it twice!” A vein in his neck began to pulse.

I caressed his chin with my finger and laced my arm through his. “Careful,
mon amour
. Everyone is watching. And we both know this fete is really to honor you.” I smiled to make it appear as if we were sharing endearing words. “I arrived as soon as I could. Your admirers made the journey much longer than necessary. The French adore you.”

The storm in his eyes cleared. “I’m glad you’re home.” He sighed and kissed my palms. “Can you believe this?” He nodded toward the grand ballroom crowded with guests.

Talleyrand had ordered evergreen garland, bells, red ribbon, and exquisite ice sculptures chiseled in the likeness of forest animals. In the adjacent room, several long tables were set with lacy cloths and dishes for a formal dinner.

“He did a wonderful job. I will tell him so when I see him.” Bonaparte escorted me to a refreshment table. I accepted a crystal goblet of pink punch. “You do realize he is courting you? He plans to see you appointed as a deputy in the Directoire.”

“Has Barras told you this?” He examined my expression.

“No, but he wrote to you every week while we were in Italy.”

“You pay attention.”

“Always.” I sipped the sweet punch. “The farmers want a man with simple Republican values. The people grow restless for change.”

Bonaparte surveyed the room for eavesdroppers. He leaned closer. “Change is what they will have. This will be our last banquet for a while. It’s best to demonstrate that we don’t confer with corrupted deputies. That we aren’t greedy for power.”

“Whatever you say, Bonaparte.” I smiled.

My husband was proving to be more ambitious than I had expected.

I received Theresia and Barras at the rue de la Victoire or visited them at their homes, but made sure to stay out of the public eye. I worried about Bonaparte’s neurosis, which increased with his popularity.

“The Directoire plans to assassinate me. They fear my power,” he said one evening.

“Barras is a dear friend. Sending you to England is hardly a death sentence.” I rubbed his shoulders while he hunched over his desk. He would depart in a week’s time to assess the English ports for a possible invasion. It was a plan to protect our Republic.

“It removes me from Paris and takes me from my people.” He motioned toward the window. A throng gathered each morning to chant his name or call for me, his “lady luck.”

In truth, I looked forward to his absence. I might have a bit of peace. He wouldn’t be gone long, at any rate—not enough time to miss him.

“Their adoration has not gone unnoticed,” he said. “The ministers squirm in their beds at night.”

I nodded. The near worship Parisians displayed for my husband threatened our unstable government. I could not help but worry, at least a little, about his welfare.

“Then perhaps it is best you are gone awhile,” I said. “Let the Directoire regain their confidence. Meanwhile, secure as many victories as you can. The people will only love you more.”

He turned from his stack of papers and whisked me into his lap. “
Je t’aime.
”

Before Bonaparte departed, I insisted we tour properties outside the city. The constant mass of well-wishers crowded me. A country home not far from Paris would be the perfect escape.

“Our haven,” I told him. “Away from everyone. We could create our own amusements, bring the children. Invite our friends.”

“I’ll look with you, but I am in no position to spend a large sum.”

We had toured several properties, but I knew the house I wanted on first sight: the lovely Malmaison. Its land extended across hectares of rolling hills and streams, several gardens, and a well-maintained vineyard. Farmers tended the land and lived off the meat, dairy, and grains. The château needed remodeling; the roof was in disrepair, the glass windows clouded, and the interior filthy from pigeons nesting in its rafters.

“It needs a bit of work,” I said, “but it’s perfect. Oh, Bonaparte, this is the one!”

“It’s three hundred thousand francs!” He threw his arms in the air, sending the pigeons into a flurry of squawking feathers.

I ducked to avoid one that dived toward my head.

“I have yet to pay the one hundred thirty thousand for your remodeling,” he continued. “Maybe one day, but certainly not now.”

I stuck out my bottom lip. “Very well.”

On our ride back to Paris, my mind whirred. I could use the sums from my contracts and borrow from Barras. I needed my own land, a real home. Malmaison would be mine.