Becoming Josephine (26 page)

A smirk lifted the corners of his lips. “Perhaps one day.”

At least he had attempted a smile. “I presume I’ll see you this evening at the theater?”

Sudden excitement lit his features. “I look forward to it.”

“Good afternoon, general.”

His gaze bore into me as keenly as a knife. “Good afternoon.”

The evening’s comedy ensured a packed theater, as did the exceptional players Julie Carreau and Joseph Talma. I unfolded my lorgnette and tried to forget the young brunette at my side. Barras had invited the beauty to join us. I had never accompanied him to an event with another woman, other than Theresia. Jealousy pricked under my skin. It was only a matter of time until Barras discarded me entirely, unless I discarded him first.

I leaned forward to escape the fog of lilac perfume surrounding my competition. I didn’t envy her beauty, nor even her hold on Barras. I longed for her carefree youth, her ceaseless options. But I had my own options. Many suitors waited for the day I left Barras’s side, I reassured myself.

My eyes raked the crowded room before the curtains opened. I knew many in the audience: Citizeness Hamelin and her husband, a few others from the ministries, and, of course, Citizen Ouvrard and Theresia. I smiled. Theresia had admitted her interest in the handsome banker only the night before. She moved quickly.

A player drew the curtains. The crowd hushed. The only light blazed from the lamps illuminating the stage.

General Bonaparte shuffled onto our balcony and plunked down beside Barras just as the play began.

He leaned forward to catch my eye. A slow, magnificent smile spread across his face, transforming his features.

Dieu
, how handsome he was when he smiled. I could not help but return one.

He tilted his head in a polite bow and returned his eyes to the stage.

I sneaked glances at Bonaparte throughout the show. He didn’t seem the theater type, yet he appeared entranced by the stage. The general appeared entranced by anything he admired.

After the show, our party made its way to the Hôtel de Richelieu for dinner and dancing. A bustling throng greeted us when we arrived.

“General Vendémiaire!” many men shouted.

Bonaparte puffed his chest slightly and Barras clapped him on the back. “Still the hero.” Paul’s sardonic smile played on his lips. “We have business to tend to. We’ll meet with you later.”

“I have business myself,” I said. “Save me a dance, Paul.” I waved coyly and walked in the opposite direction. Always business, even in the midst of our diversions, but I had several military contracts to solidify.

After two hours had gone, curiosity gnawed at me. I wondered at Barras and Bonaparte’s activities. They had been inseparable in recent days. I strolled through the room to find them, happening upon one of my favorite people, impossible to miss in a green silk gown and matching wig.

“Fanny!” I shouted over the raucous chatter. “I had no idea you would be here tonight.” I kissed her with exuberance.

She held me in a fierce embrace. “You owe me a visit.”

“I have missed you.”

“You look ravishing.” She eyed my high-waisted gown. “Pink suits you.”

“I’m not the one who is ravishing tonight.” I laughed. “You look like a wood fairy heralding the spring.”

She cackled. “I couldn’t resist the color. Why don’t you come to my salon next week before everyone arrives?”

“Splendid. I have plenty of gossip to share.”

“Speaking of gossip,” she said, “have you met the general everyone is talking about? Such a meager little man. I don’t see what all of the fuss is about.”

I moved to avoid a threesome of men; two of them supported a staggering third, intoxicated, without a doubt. “He’s strange, but he seems to be warming to me.”

“I bet he is!” She laughed wickedly.

“I was just looking for Bonaparte and Barras. Have you seen them?”

“Isn’t that him?” She tilted her head.

Bonaparte stood in the center of the adjacent room. A cluster of people surrounded him. I recognized the handsome Captain Junot, a financier, and four women I had met at other events. To my surprise, Bonaparte took one of the gentlemen’s hands in his.

Palm reading. I laughed aloud. He was not so unlike me after all.

“What’s amusing?” Fanny asked.

“He surprises me,” I said, more to myself. I watched the people around him laugh. One of the women pushed to his side and put her hand in his.

“The general?” A mischievous smile crossed Fanny’s face. “Maybe he’ll read yours.”

“I wonder what he would see in my palm?” I gave her my own wicked look. She needn’t know he had read it already. “I will see you next week?”

“Yes, darling.” We embraced. “Enjoy your evening.
À tout à l’heure.
” Fanny disappeared into the crowd.

I joined the others surrounding Bonaparte. “Are you enjoying your evening, general?”

He looked up from the woman’s palm.

That smile again—it melted his hardened demeanor.

He dropped the woman’s hand. “Pardon me, citizens. I have been waiting to make the acquaintance of Citoyenne de Beauharnais all evening.” He placed my hand on his arm. “Shall we?”

A bold move when not invited.

I smiled. “
Bien sûr.
” We traversed the room. “You enjoy palm reading. But not mine?”

His jaw clenched. “I was at a loss for words that evening.”

“You ran from the courtyard!” I laughed. “Did you see something dreadful? You’ve left me rather anxious over it.”

“I was taken aback by its message.” Bonaparte pulled out a chair for me to sit. “Our futures are intertwined. I’m not sure how, but our lines appear identical.”

He took my hand in his and traced a line on my palm. “Here.” He looked up, his eyes probing mine.

I laughed uneasily and motioned to a waiter for a glass of wine. My future could not be linked to this man’s, except through Barras.

“You mock me?” He gazed at me in his brazen way.

“Of course not, general. I would be blessed to have our future paths cross.” I rested my hand on his arm. “You’re very accomplished. Your principles are inspiring.”

He moved closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You flatter me. Why? You’re the most desirable woman in the room. I can barely breathe next to you.” He regarded my expression. “You’re amused?”

“You’ve had too much champagne,” I drawled, lids half-closed. He had become smitten with me in such a short time.

He kissed my hand softly, never losing eye contact. As if to possess me. “I know what I want,” he said. “I always know what I want.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, I pulled my hand from his grasp. “I’ve barely eaten today. Shall we see about some light fare?”

“If you’ll allow me to accompany you, I’d be delighted.”

I flirted with General Bonaparte another hour, then joined the dancing and forgot him altogether—until the end of the night, when he caught my eye. Desire burned on his countenance.

I waggled my fingers in a flirtatious wave and left him staring after me.

Barras encouraged my relationship with the general.

“The man is besotted with you.” Paul stretched out on a
canapé
, thumbing through a book. Rarely had I seen him settle in to read. “He would court you. If you let him.”

“Do I have a choice? He is already pursuing me.” I rang for a servant. I needed coffee for such a conversation. Paul was hinting at our going separate ways.

“Can you blame him?” He gave me a wry smile. “He makes a good salary and he is ambitious. His wife will not want for much.” He flipped through several pages. “The man has a peculiar understanding of human nature. Uncanny, even. But then, so do you,
mon amie
.” He blew me a kiss.

“Do you mean to marry me off, Paul?” A servant set a tray on the nearby table. I chose a
petit
cup and added sugar.

“I only mean for you to be happy. And cared for.” He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. “I adore you, Rose, but we both know our attachment is little more than friendship.”

I felt as if punched in the stomach. So that was it, then. I had been replaced. I stared at the floor in silence. I didn’t know if I could bear it—another relationship without passion. I leaned back into my chair, weary, and closed my eyes.

Bonaparte’s passion unnerved me. Yet I found myself spending more time with the general, fascinated by his distinct brand of magnetism. His gaze fastened upon my movements; he abandoned company in the middle of their speaking to leave a lingering kiss on my cheek or compliment my gown, to press my hands between his in a possessive gesture.

I grew to like him, despite his odd manners and sharp observations, or perhaps because of them. He amused me, though he could not control his tongue.

“Women have t
oo much power in this city. In this country!” Bonaparte raved one evening during dinner at Paul’s.

Citizeness Hamelin choked on a swig of wine. Paul’s eyes bulged and a series of mouths fell open like gaping fish. Such provincial thinking from the Corsican. I swigged from my glass to hide my smile.

“A woman wishes for something”—he waved his knife like a sword—“and she has it. She speaks her mind, places a dainty hand on a broad arm, and the man trips over his feet to do her bidding. Women blather on about nonsense and gossip too much about politics, an arena where they have little understanding.” He dipped a chunk of crust into the cream sauce on his plate.

Silence fell over the table. Only the scraping of silver on china could be heard. He did not realize he was offending everyone in the room.

“You insinuate that neither I nor any other lady present has anything valuable to say.” I couldn’t help but goad him. “How positively primeval, general.”

The tips of his ears flamed red. I smiled sweetly, then slipped a forkful of haricots verts into my mouth. Bonaparte turned the stem of his goblet between his thumb and forefinger, his agitation apparent.

“Your opinions should be shared at home,” he said, “privately. With your husband. Women complicate situations and cloud a man’s mind.”

“Men are not ruled by their minds at all.”

Everyone laughed.

The general’s sallow complexion took on a rosy hue—from anger or embarrassment, I could not be sure.