Becoming Josephine (3 page)

We rode much of the way in silence. I amused myself by studying the landscape of trees and the few autumn flowers.

“How vivid Martinique must be,” Alexandre said. “I hardly remember it from childhood.” He had left the island with Désirée to seek a more refined life in Paris.

“I had never given it a second thought until now,” I said. “There is a realness. . . . Trois-Îlets has a heartbeat. It is so alive. But it is lovely here, too,” I added in haste, not wishing to insult.

Alexandre chuckled, blue eyes twinkling. “Paris may be more alive than you can manage, farm girl.” He took my hand and caressed it as if stroking a kitten. “I’m sure you will adore it.”

His fingertips left a trail of flames on my skin. I blushed, timid at my reaction to his affection. He did like me. We just needed to get to know one other.

“I’m certain I will.” I smiled.

We stopped at an inn after the long day of travel.

“I have a present for you.” Alexandre had joined Désirée and me in the common room for an aperitif.

I perked up at once.

“
De l’Esprit des Lois
.” He handed me a worn book and settled into a chair with a brandy glass. “Montesquieu. A great philosophe. His works were not always praised in France, but it is a new era. You’ll enjoy his inspired theories of human injustice.” Passion lit his eyes.

“Wonderful.” I smiled in spite of my doubt. Lessons on music, art, or gardens, perhaps, I would enjoy far more. No matter. His enthusiasm delighted me. “I’ll begin reading tonight.”

In the morning, I settled into my carriage seat, happy to be spending more time in close proximity with him.

Alexandre smiled. “And how did you find the book? The Americans have taken to his ideals of separation of powers.”

I shifted in my seat. I had hardly read the first ten pages before drifting to sleep. “Your views are surely more informed than mine. Would you care to share them?”

“I find his thoughts on personal freedoms . . .”

My attention drifted as he explained theory after theory. His lips, the excitement in his eyes, the way his brow furrowed on his perfect face proved an interesting study. When he paused from time to time, I could not hide how much he impressed me. Nor could I resist attempting to charm him.

“Fascinating, Alexandre.” I placed my hand on his arm. “You are so knowledgeable.”

He beamed at my obvious admiration. I smiled back at him. Perhaps this marriage would turn out better than I had hoped.

The final morning of our journey we embarked early, eager to reach our destination by nightfall. The ride passed in a blur of sunshine and trees, and by dusk, Paris emerged. As we entered the city gates, the setting sun glowed in a dreamy swirl of pink and orange, resembling the inside of a papaya. Along the horizon arose the largest number of buildings I had ever seen.

I gaped. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”

Alexandre flashed a brilliant smile and laughed. “Paris is the most remarkable city in the world.”

“Incredible!” I clapped in delight.

The sheer number of people rendered me speechless. Hordes shuffled along the roadside carrying packages, toting their children, or walking arm in arm with friends. Odors assailed my senses; rich coffee wafted from cafés, sweaty horses and fetid piles of animal waste assaulted, flowery perfumes and warm bread tempted. Street vendors, juggling performers, and the incessant clopping of hooves whirled together in an orchestra of sounds.

“
Mon Dieu
, look at all the coaches!”

Gilded carriages and speeding fiacres dodged pedestrians and splattered mud in every direction. I gaped at the opulent homes of stone and imposing state buildings guarded by the King’s army. The city hummed like a swarm of bees on a cluster of begonias.

Alexandre enjoyed my awe, pointing out the Palais-Royal and Luxembourg, explaining their histories. I tried to listen, but the throngs captured my attention.

After a long ride through the city, Alexandre enveloped my hand in his. “Here we are. Noisy-le-Grand, your new neighborhood.”

A pungent stink burned my nostrils. “Alexandre, what is that smell?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“Excrement and mud. You won’t notice it for long. I don’t smell it at all.”

I looked at him in surprise. Of course I would notice it. I covered my nose with my handkerchief to block the horrid odor.

Our coach stopped in front of a two-story house composed mostly of stone.

“Welcome home,” Alexandre said.

Désirée kissed my cheek. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” I suppressed another delighted squeal—I shouldn’t appear too childish.

I stepped down from the coach and surveyed the neighboring houses. Rickety dwellings cramped the spaces between the grander homes, a curious scene. The wealthy separated into their own quartiers in Fort-Royal, but not in Paris, it seemed. Still, the neighborhood possessed a sense of faded glory, though I had envisioned more elegance from a
vicomte
.

A servant opened the front door and ushered us into a vestibule with towering ceilings.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” another servant said, curtseying. Her voice echoed in the hall. “May I bring you anything?”

“
Non, merci.
” I walked toward the staircase dominating the hall and ran my hand along the worn banister.

“Rose, the Marquis awaits our arrival,” Désirée said.

“Of course.” I followed her, studying the rooms and their furnishings as we went.

Despite the golden glow from oil lamps and candles, the house was cold and dark, like the stone of which it was made. Its depressive ambience lacked the luxury I had expected—so unlike the airy, wooden mansions of the Grands Blancs in Fort-Royal, decked with palms and wildflowers. Heavy drapes replaced the gauzy curtains that billowed on sea breezes I remembered from home. Cool air leaked under doorways and crept over icy marble floors, mingling with the stale air inside.

Unimpressive furniture filled the rooms, save for one stunning table veneered with layers of priceless wood. Its gilded-bronze finish glinted in the firelight. I ran my fingers over the smooth veneer, warm from the heat of the fire. A perfect spot to play cards or read my tarot deck.

“Have a seat, my dear. They’ll join us in a moment.”

I settled into a blue silk chair facing Désirée. Where had Alexandre gone? He would greet his father, I assumed. I tried not to fidget.

A servant assisted the Marquis into the room. Another gentleman followed, likely Alexandre’s brother, François. All three men resembled one another; proud chins and wide blue eyes distinguished them as family. I stood quickly.

“You must be Rose.” The Marquis approached and took my hand in his. “Welcome. We’re happy you have arrived.” His smile was kind and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Thank you, monsieur. I am thrilled to be here.” I returned his smile.

“And this”—he motioned to François—“is my other son, François, your soon-to-be brother.”

François bowed, creasing his stiff suit coat sewn with gold thread. “
Enchanté
, mademoiselle. Please forgive me, but I’m afraid I must go. I am late for an engagement.” He inclined his head toward me. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” I nodded and he hurried from the room.

“Please make yourself at home, Rose,” the Marquis said. “We are family, after all.”

“You’re very kind.” Relief washed over me. Désirée and the Marquis were lovely.

When shown to my room to dress for supper, I cheered inwardly. Rest at last. I snatched the blanket at the foot of my bed and snuggled in by the fire. I relished the heat like an iguana scorching in a treetop under the tropical sun. The vision of midday warmed my blood.

It seemed odd Alexandre should allow Désirée to play hostess. I supposed he admired her a great deal, despite her being only a sort of stepmother.

After an hour of rest, I returned to the hall. A dining table had been set with an ivory cloth and fine dishes. I slid into an empty chair.

“Shall we dine?” Désirée lowered her graceful form into a chair across from the Marquis. She had changed from her riding dress to a blue silk gown and twisted her hair into a perfect chignon decorated with pearls. She rang a porcelain bell, bringing a flurry of servants. One filled our wineglasses as others brought parsnip soup. Braised venison and beet salad would follow.

Alexandre joined us at the last moment. “Pardon my tardiness.”

Désirée gave him a reproachful look.

He helped himself to a piece of bread and soaked the crust in his soup. After a large bite, he blotted his mouth with his napkin and turned to me. “I do hope you feel at home.”

“I don’t feel at home quite yet.” When his expression turned grim, I amended my comment. “But I’m sure I will very soon.” Best not to be too direct, it seemed.

His face relaxed. “Very good, then.”

I stared as he shoveled food into his mouth. Not rude, exactly, but hurried.

“Alexandre, the venison will not wander from your plate,” Désirée said.

I smiled behind my goblet.

He laid down his fork and knife. “I’m afraid I’m in a rush. I am meeting a friend this evening.”

“Oh? May I accompany you?” A pulse of excitement tingled in my stomach. My first night in Paris with Alexandre!

He finished chewing, then replied, “I’m afraid not. I have important business to attend to. I won’t have time to introduce you to everyone.” He waved his hand in my direction. “You have nothing suitable to wear, at any rate.”

“Very well.” I tried to control the disappointment in my voice. “Not tonight. But another?”

“Of course.” He stood abruptly. “Excuse me, Father, Désirée. I will see you tomorrow morning for breakfast, Rose.”

“We will expect you,” Désirée said, as if implying a threat.

We finished our meal in relative silence. After a digestif by the fire, we retired to our rooms. I tossed in bed for hours. A few new gowns, music lessons, perhaps some history, and Alexandre would be proud to call me his. I could not wait to see him in the morning, to tell him I wanted to meet with a tutor immediately.

But Alexandre did not join me for breakfast. I did not see him again for two days.

My third day in Paris, I sat impatiently at the breakfast table while Désirée finished eating. I could hardly wait to explore the city.

“Your tutor will arrive at ten sharp. At two, you will have music or dance on alternating days.” She paused to chew a bite of her bread. “We take tea in the salon at five and supper at nine. Please be prompt. You have had several days to adjust to your surroundings.”

“Yes, Désirée.” I shifted in my chair for the tenth time. When would she finish?

“I’m so glad you’re looking forward to our excursion, dear.”

“I can’t wait to purchase a new gown!” Anything to feel more a Parisian.

She drained the last of the coffee from her cup. “To the rue Saint-Honoré.”

We rode through alleyways and along grand boulevards. The river Seine gushed pewter water in torrents as boats pushed upstream. Lively markets flourished in the squares of most quartiers. Cooks inspected lumpy vegetables, silvery fish on trays of ice, and bins of spices in russet, green, and plum. The scent of ripe cheeses permeated the air. Désirée stared unseeing out the window.