Read Online Becoming Josephine by Heather Webb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Webb
Ads: Link
little, abandoning me and his children in every way—as a lover, as a father, and as a provider. I tied the letter with twine and stashed it in a drawer. Désirée had paid my bills for months and could not afford them much longer. I laid my face on the smooth surface of the desk. What was I to do?
One spring afternoon, Eugène and I strolled through a park near our house. I watched my son as he wobbled in his unstable way, tripping on tufts of grass. The heavy load around my middle prevented me from playing
cache-cache
behind the bushes the way he wanted. When he sat in the grass to watch a family of beetles, I slipped my hand into the pocket of my woolen riding coat. My fingers brushed the crumpled edges of a letter. Alexandre persisted in correspondence despite my continued silence. I sighed and tore it open.
September 10, 1783
Rose,
How could you keep your happy news from me lest you had conceived another man’s child? You behave like a whore in my absence, while I am away at war, protecting your family and your beloved home. Have you no conscience? How can you call yourself a dutiful wife? You are without remorse and incapable of repentance. Your comportment is abhorrent. You are a cold and vile creature, caring for only yourself!
You must quit your affairs at once. Your duty is to Eugène and to my father, to Désirée and above all to me, your husband! I shall return this summer and I expect there to be no signs of another man’s presence in my home.
Yours,
Alexandre
His dramatic sniveling was absurd. The very idea of another man in my bed! I knew few and rarely attended any salons. I shoved the offensive letter back into my pocket.
“Papa loves you, Eugène,” I said. And despises me, I thought as I tugged the corners of my son’s little hat.
I gave birth to a baby girl in April, a week earlier than expected. Her violet eyes matched those I had seen in my dreams. Two children in less than two years and it felt a lifetime.
My little Hortense did not possess an easy temperament, and her thin frame worried both Désirée and me.
“You must hire a wet nurse,” the doctor recommended, “until the baby gains strength and a little more weight.”
Her form improved, though she was never an easy child like her brother. Her belly seemed perpetually upset and her cries often kept me from sleeping.
Spring evolved into summer. One radiant afternoon the children and I had settled in for repose when the post arrived. I sprang from bed and rushed down the staircase. A letter from Maman.
June 1, 1784
My Darling Rose,
I hope beautiful little Hortense is well, and my dear Eugène. I would love to meet them both before they have grown too much. Promise to visit soon.
As for your industrious husband, I have difficult news to share. Alexandre has officially taken up with Laure de Longpré, despite his many lovers. He is shameless! Everyone speaks of it here.
I am sorry to say my news worsens from there. Your uncle Tascher overheard Laure denouncing the legitimacy of baby Hortense. She calls your daughter a bastard. Your uncle was outraged and asked Laure and Alexandre to leave his home.
Still, Laure continues to sully your name. She seeks proof of your indecency with men when you lived at home to validate your “unsavory history” before you were married. I imagine she hopes Alexandre may separate from you without having to support you financially. I am furious, but relieved to hear that those who know you validate your innocence.
Against my wishes, Alexandre visited us again, though only briefly. Your father discovered him attempting to bribe the slaves to slander your name. The fool did not realize the slaves loved you and would protect your honor. Your Papa banished Alexandre from our home for good.
This is the first I have been glad you are far away, taking care of yourself.
Alexandre will leave for France in two months’ time, or so he said. I pray he treats you respectfully upon his return.
One spring afternoon, Eugène and I strolled through a park near our house. I watched my son as he wobbled in his unstable way, tripping on tufts of grass. The heavy load around my middle prevented me from playing
cache-cache
behind the bushes the way he wanted. When he sat in the grass to watch a family of beetles, I slipped my hand into the pocket of my woolen riding coat. My fingers brushed the crumpled edges of a letter. Alexandre persisted in correspondence despite my continued silence. I sighed and tore it open.
September 10, 1783
Rose,
How could you keep your happy news from me lest you had conceived another man’s child? You behave like a whore in my absence, while I am away at war, protecting your family and your beloved home. Have you no conscience? How can you call yourself a dutiful wife? You are without remorse and incapable of repentance. Your comportment is abhorrent. You are a cold and vile creature, caring for only yourself!
You must quit your affairs at once. Your duty is to Eugène and to my father, to Désirée and above all to me, your husband! I shall return this summer and I expect there to be no signs of another man’s presence in my home.
Yours,
Alexandre
His dramatic sniveling was absurd. The very idea of another man in my bed! I knew few and rarely attended any salons. I shoved the offensive letter back into my pocket.
“Papa loves you, Eugène,” I said. And despises me, I thought as I tugged the corners of my son’s little hat.
I gave birth to a baby girl in April, a week earlier than expected. Her violet eyes matched those I had seen in my dreams. Two children in less than two years and it felt a lifetime.
My little Hortense did not possess an easy temperament, and her thin frame worried both Désirée and me.
“You must hire a wet nurse,” the doctor recommended, “until the baby gains strength and a little more weight.”
Her form improved, though she was never an easy child like her brother. Her belly seemed perpetually upset and her cries often kept me from sleeping.
Spring evolved into summer. One radiant afternoon the children and I had settled in for repose when the post arrived. I sprang from bed and rushed down the staircase. A letter from Maman.
June 1, 1784
My Darling Rose,
I hope beautiful little Hortense is well, and my dear Eugène. I would love to meet them both before they have grown too much. Promise to visit soon.
As for your industrious husband, I have difficult news to share. Alexandre has officially taken up with Laure de Longpré, despite his many lovers. He is shameless! Everyone speaks of it here.
I am sorry to say my news worsens from there. Your uncle Tascher overheard Laure denouncing the legitimacy of baby Hortense. She calls your daughter a bastard. Your uncle was outraged and asked Laure and Alexandre to leave his home.
Still, Laure continues to sully your name. She seeks proof of your indecency with men when you lived at home to validate your “unsavory history” before you were married. I imagine she hopes Alexandre may separate from you without having to support you financially. I am furious, but relieved to hear that those who know you validate your innocence.
Against my wishes, Alexandre visited us again, though only briefly. Your father discovered him attempting to bribe the slaves to slander your name. The fool did not realize the slaves loved you and would protect your honor. Your Papa banished Alexandre from our home for good.
This is the first I have been glad you are far away, taking care of yourself.
Alexandre will leave for France in two months’ time, or so he said. I pray he treats you respectfully upon his return.
Similar Books
