Becoming Josephine (35 page)

Hippolyte visited me often at Malmaison, entertaining me with his wit and gossip from the city, though business stocks dominated our conversations. He had accrued military contacts as a soldier but was looking to expand his contacts. He joined me in working with the Bodin Company, my most profitable contractor. I avoided intimate settings with the lieutenant. Shame overcame me each time I considered betraying Bonaparte—until one balmy summer evening as we walked in the garden.

A full moon spilled pearly incandescence over the hedges and lit the path. The scent of wet grass and roses enveloped us, and the crickets chirped their melodies. My limbs buzzed with the happy warmth of wine and a delicious meal.

I smiled. Quite an intoxicating evening, and an intoxicating man.

Hippolyte pulled me into his arms under a trellis of tea roses. “My darling, I still have feelings for you. I’ve had other mistresses, but—”

“Shh.” I placed my finger over his lips. I stared into his shadowed face as he traced the outline of my nose, my eyebrows. My stomach flipped in excitement and desire.

No one need know of our tryst. Bonaparte might not return and where would I be? Alone, devastated again. The thought made my insides ache. Yet Hippolyte was here—warm, tempting, a skilled lover. My cheeks flushed.

“What are you thinking about?” He ran his fingertips over my exposed neck. I gasped at his touch and he chuckled.

“The future,” I said, voice soft.

“Ahh, well. There will always be one.” A crooked smile crossed his face.

I laughed, until his mouth fell on mine.

Dreams of Bonaparte haunted me while Hippolyte lay in my bed. I watched his chest rise and fall as he slept. Something felt different. Marriage had never equaled fidelity in my mind, not since I was a girl, and not even then. A memory of Papa slapping a slave girl on the rear flashed in my mind. Yet I had pined for loyalty and fidelity from Alexandre. I had come to understand my dreams were just that—a fantasy—and marriage would never be as I wished it to be.

Yet guilt gnawed at me. And the thought of Bonaparte touching another woman made me ill.

I sat up in bed and watched a robin hop across the floor of my balcony, its rust-colored chest puffed out proudly. An image came to mind of my husband standing on the dock at Toulon, kissing me possessively as the people exulted in their hero’s affection for his beloved wife.

My stomach lurched, suddenly queasy. I loved Bonaparte—deeply. How could I have been so blind? The wine, the ease of being with Hippolyte, the time away from my husband . . . I covered my face with my hands. It would crush him. I could lose him forever if he discovered the truth.

Hippolyte rolled toward me. His smile faded when he saw my expression. “What is it?”

“I’m disgusted with myself. I can’t . . . I just can’t . . . we must end this. I’m so sorry.” I clutched my middle. “I feel ill.”

He tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind my ear. “I knew this would come. The guilt. I can see it in your eyes. You truly love him, don’t you?”

A pang of despair rolled through me. I had not realized how much.

“Yes, I love him.
Dieu
, I love him, more than I ever guessed. What have I done? Had I realized . . . I’ve been so stupid.” Tears rushed down my cheeks.

He embraced me gently. “He doesn’t have to know. We’ll never speak of this again.”

“You mustn’t come back to Malmaison.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “I . . . we can manage business through letters or a courier.”

Sadness filled his eyes. “I understand.” He catapulted from bed and dressed quickly.

“Good-bye, sweet Josephine.” He disappeared through my door for the final time.

My affair ended none too soon. Two weeks later, Theresia visited to deliver a warning. We followed a path behind the house and entered the stables. The earthy scent of animals and damp hay permeated the air.

“You’re so thin. Are you well?” she asked.

Food had not appealed to me. I had been too racked with self-loathing to eat or sleep. How I wished I could erase my despicable deed.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Well enough.”

“I’ve missed riding,” she said.

The stable hand assisted Theresia and me onto our horses, and we trotted to the field behind the barn.

“I’ve ridden every day this week,” I said.

“I’m jealous.” She clucked her tongue at her horse. “Speaking of jealous, have you heard about Madame Delait?”

“No. What’s happened?”

“Her husband seeks a divorce!”

“No!” I said, shocked.

“Apparently he discovered Jeanette with her lover. Poor man. It must have been an uncomfortable scene.”

“Monsieur Delait was practically her slave. Completely devoted to—” I stopped midsentence.

My stomach dropped to my feet. The man had been devoted to his wife, like Bonaparte was to me. Now he was shattered and sought a divorce.

Theresia didn’t notice my sudden pause. “Completely. A man could not be more in love with his wife. He’s enraged.”

A pang hit me like a blow and I fell forward in my saddle.

“Do you need to dismount?” Theresia asked, tugging on her reins to slow her horse.

“No, no. I am all right.” I blinked back tears. I would be faithful to Bonaparte, come what may, I vowed. No matter the cost, no matter my fear—even if he cast me aside.
Dieu
, I loved him.

We rode up the hill in silence.

“Are the rumors true about you and Lieutenant Charles again?” Theresia asked at last.

“Oh, Theresia.” I gave her a pained expression. “I can’t forgive myself. I feel wretched.”

“Whatever for? You don’t love Bonaparte and he’s been gone for months. I’m sure he has taken a lover of his own.”

I did not respond.

She studied my face. “No! You do love him!”

“More than I knew.” I looked away, toward the edge of the wood.

“Everyone speaks of the lieutenant’s visits to Malmaison. Including Joseph. I heard him mention it to Madame Hamelin yesterday.”

Joseph knew? Dread pooled in my stomach. “Hippolyte came for business only, until a fortnight ago.” I snapped my mare’s reins and she increased her pace. “And Joseph has no proof.”

Theresia’s skin glowed butter yellow under her wide-brimmed hat. “The Bonapartes don’t need proof. You know how they are. They enjoy making your life a misery. I hope you terminated your contracts with the lieutenant.” She gave me a worried look. “And I’m afraid I have more bad news. The Bodin Company—one of your suppliers?”

I gripped the reins a bit tighter. “My most profitable.”

“I feared so. The Bodin brothers have been arrested for selling inferior, stolen horses to the armies.”

“
Merde!
Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

The happy sky and lush fields of clover blurred. I would have to dump my contracts with them at once.

Theresia’s warning came a day too late. The scandal exploded the following morning before I could extricate myself. Every journal in Paris featured the story, and to my horror, my name appeared in bold black print among the investors. I crumpled my newspaper and pitched it at the wall. Bonaparte would be furious. I could be tried and convicted.

A sheen of cold sweat stole across my skin at the idea of jail—of divorce. My husband would not forgive me for deceiving his beloved armies. But how could I have known the horses were stolen?

I sought the counsel of a lawyer friend, who reassured me about my position. When it appeared I would escape a sentence, or even a fine, I wept with relief. But my relief did not last.

Barras invited me to join him for dinner at the Palais du Luxembourg. He had something pressing to tell me, his letter said.

I left Malmaison on edge.

To my chagrin, our private party included Joseph Bonaparte and his wife, and Caroline and her husband, Joachim Murat. I spent most of the evening avoiding them. I reassured myself Eugène and Bonaparte were well. Barras would have told me the minute he knew of their whereabouts. Yet after wandering through the main ballroom, I cornered Paul just before dinner.

“What is it? I can’t stand the suspense.”

“Later. After the Bonapartes leave. I can’t say anything in front of them without it becoming front-page news. Besides, dinner is being served. Shall we?”

Food was the furthest thing from my mind, but I found my place at the table. I had the misfortune of sitting next to Caroline. I managed two courses without speaking to her, but when the pork was served she turned to me.

“Have you heard?” Her dark curls bounced as she sawed a pork filet with her knife.

I raised an eyebrow to show polite interest, though I did not care what she had heard. God knows how she would twist its meaning.

“English forces seized several Egyptian ports and captured a cargo ship carrying mail to France. They’re blockading supplies to Bonaparte. I suppose you didn’t notice his letters had ceased. You’ve been too busy with your lover. . . .” She paused for effect. “And stealing supplies from the army.”

I dropped my fork. It clanged against the porcelain, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. I didn’t know whether to slap her or cry. I had refused to consider the reason for the missing letters—that my men were in grave danger.

“Excuse me.” I apologized for the disturbance. I gave Caroline a frigid look. “I do not have a lover, Caroline. Friends and ministers visit Malmaison. That is all.” Not that it was any business of hers. “And of course I noticed Bonaparte’s letters have waned, as have my son’s. But I have been too terrified to consider”—I looked down to control my emotion—“the alternative.”

She laughed, a mocking sound. “They aren’t dead or captured. But—”

“That’s enough, Caroline,” Barras interrupted.

I gripped the edge of my seat. My head pounded dully.

“She has a right to know now. The English—”

“Caroline!” Barras said.

“—have printed Napoléon and Eugène’s letters in their papers.” She rushed to finish before being interrupted again. “Bonaparte has discovered your affair. He’s incensed! He has even taken a lover in revenge. I bet he’ll demand a divorce.”

Pain sliced me like a hot knife. He was punishing me for hurting him. It was what I deserved. I had jeopardized everything—he
was
everything. And yet I could not believe it. I sat unmoving, detesting myself, trying to hold all together.

Everyone continued eating to cover their embarrassment. Such private information should not have been shared over dinner. Caroline had the manners of a child.

“Not hungry?” Triumph shone in her eyes.

“If you will excuse me, messieurs, mesdames.” I pushed back from the table. The guests murmured their salutations as I left the room.

Barras followed me out. “I’ll speak to him. We’ll resolve this issue,
doucette
.” He kissed my hands. “Go home. Get some rest and try not to worry. I’ll visit you in a couple of days. We’ll mend this.”

I kissed his cheek with numb lips and climbed into my carriage.

What had I done? I clutched at my sides, suffocated by regret. I couldn’t imagine my life without Bonaparte. I could forgive his affair in an instant, if he would only forgive mine. I loved him. Lord, how I loved him.