We lay side by side in silence, our breath gradually slowing as the sea continued to besiege the earth far beneath us. I had no idea what to say, what to do. I felt thirsty, and my body ached. He looked toward me after what felt like an eternity. As he faced me, he slid his hand between my thighs. I resisted the urge to squirm under his bold, undaunted grip. It was my instinct to recoil all of a sudden, but I did not wish for him to know that. I did not wish to offend him. I remained still as he leaned close and placed one quick kiss on the top of my forehead, his hand firmly between my legs as he whispered: “I’ve conquered before. But that, my Desired One…was the best siege yet.”
Chapter 7
Marseille
Autumn 1794
NOTHING WAS THE SAME FOR me after that. I was changed—Napoleone had entered my world and overturned the way I viewed my place in it. I was, suddenly, a woman. A powerful, desired woman, and one who carried a secret.
Whenever I thought back to what we had done, to the intensity with which he’d touched me and kissed me and looked at me, the way his accent tinged his words as he called me Desired One, I felt newly dizzy. We had a secret that was ours and ours alone.
How did they not see it? I wondered. Maman and Julie. As members in their own right, how did they not detect that I, too, had become one of the initiated? Wasn’t there suddenly some fever to my cheeks, an awareness to my expression, a sense of knowing that somehow seeped out of me? But I shared my secret with no one; I guarded it, hoarded it, savored it. Julie, too busy in her new role as wife, in her zeal to set up a household of her own, in her determination to have a baby, did not notice. Nor did Maman; perhaps Maman underestimated me. Still thought of me as nothing more than a girl. Perhaps she didn’t know what I was capable of, the latent power that had suddenly uncoiled within me, the passions and promises that I could draw out of a man. And such a man as Napoleone, at that.
France, too, was in the throes of a sudden and drastic change. As a nation, we were as unstable as we had ever been since the overthrow of Louis and Marie-Antoinette. With Napoleone out of prison and the Buonapartes, for the moment, safe, we tried to make sense of the ever-shifting situation. The journals and newspapers were giving the recent chaos a name: the Thermidorian Reaction, labeled thusly because it had begun in the hot summer month of Thermidor on our revolutionary calendar. Beginning in Paris, it had been an uprising against Robespierre and his Jacobin friends, a backlash against the radicals who had made mass executions and public denunciations a matter of state policy.
By summer’s end, the Jacobins were out—guillotined or fled—and a new government had solidified behind a group of moderates: advocates of the free Republic but comprising largely liberal landowners, pragmatic businessmen, even members of the nobility. They vowed to dismantle the dreaded Committee of Public Safety, proposing to replace it with a group of appointed executives and a national legislature.
“This is good, the new government, is it not?” I asked Maman as she and I walked to Julie’s one afternoon for a visit. The days were getting shorter, the thick moisture of summer thinning into a pleasant autumn coolness, and I enjoyed the feeling of the gentle sunshine on my face. Napoleone had been gone the past few weeks, assigned to the camp in nearby Nice for training exercises, but I hoped for news from his brother when we visited Julie that afternoon.
Maman sighed. “I’ve given up trying to divine anything in this madness,” she answered, weaving to avoid the young women who peddled flowers and spices along the port’s crowded square. Not quite so hot and pungent, the autumn air smelled of saffron and lavender, of bread baking in the nearby boulangerie, and I found myself in a generous mood. I reached into my pocket and tossed the closest peddler-woman a sou that I had left over from running errands for Cook. Maman didn’t notice but kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead. “Nothing has made sense to me in years. Sometimes I think it a blessing, your father’s fate. That he didn’t live to see his country come to this.”
I knew from Napoleone and Joseph that the men now in power seemed to be less radical than the men they had deposed—so far at least. The daily public executions in our town square had, for the moment, been halted. And so I allowed myself to hope that perhaps our fear might at last subside, even just a little bit.
We arrived at my sister’s home, a modest but comfortable townhouse, narrow and comprising four stories, of which my sister and Joseph occupied the bottom two. The rooms were not overly large, but they had gracious floor-to-ceiling windows and soft mint-green shutters. With no income yet from Joseph and just an allowance from her dowry, my sister employed only a few servants and an older woman named Selene to cook. The house had a walled garden in the back, and we found Julie there, sitting in the shade with Joseph as they drank lemonade. To my surprised delight, Napoleone sat with them.
“Desiree, Maman, hello.” My sister glided toward us as both men rose. Napoleone wore his officer’s uniform and he stood rigid, his expression unsmiling, as it so often was when he found himself in group company. Julie, on the other hand, appeared happy, as she usually did these days; she and Joseph were indeed a good match. “I’m so delighted you’ve come,” Julie said. “Napoleone is here from Nice; isn’t it a wonderful surprise?”
“Indeed,” Maman said, but her tone indicated otherwise. She had still not warmed to him, even though she knew he was courting me. Imagine if she knew the full truth, I thought, recalling how he had told me we were bound to each other for eternity.
I curtsied toward my secret fiancé, smiling, ignoring Maman’s displeasure. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and now, there he stood. The small garden suddenly felt warm, far too cramped for this many people; all I wanted was to be alone with him.
“Mother, I need to speak with you.” Julie turned from me and angled herself toward Maman.
“Oh?” Maman eyed my sister.
Julie’s voice was suddenly grave with concern as she said: “I fear my bedroom is not spacious enough for the armoire we currently have. Would you come inside—with Joseph—and give us your opinion on what sort of piece we might find to replace it?”
“Replace it? But that armoire is a family heirloom. No, no, no, you cannot be rid of that piece, my foolish girl. You must simply rearrange the other pieces in the room.” Maman threw her shoulders back and nodded, ready to dispense her opinions. “I’ll have a look.”
“Oh, I knew you’d have an idea.” Julie steered my mother away, beckoning Joseph to join, and I was certain she could sense my gratitude.
Now, with only the two of us remaining in the garden, I hurried toward Napoleone, putting my hands out. He raised them to his lips and kissed them, the hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Desiree.” He stared at me intently, and I resisted the urge to shift under the weight of his gaze. “You’ve grown more beautiful in my absence. It is hardly fair that the other men of Marseille should have the chance to appreciate your charms while I, a soldier, am stuck in the barracks.”
I wanted to fold into him, to cover him with my kisses, to insist that no other man in Marseille would ever be the recipient of my charms—I saved myself only for him. But I restrained myself, sensing even in my youthful ebullience that a lady ought to hold back some of her overflowing joy, to allow a man such as Napoleone to indulge in a bit of competitive jealousy. Cocking my head, attempting a coy smile, I said: “Then I think it best that you not stay away for too long.”
He liked that, as was evident in the way he nodded. “Sit with me?” He gestured toward the table and chairs.
I sat, refilling his lemonade and pouring myself a glass.
“I’m not sure how long we have alone, and there is so much I need to tell you,” he said.
“Oh?” I took a slow sip, trying to look poised, careful not to spill any of the cool drink even though my hands trembled with excitement at this unexpected reunion.
Napoleone told me how he had been stat
ioned in recent weeks at the barracks in Nice and that he’d just heard back from the new Parisian government on his proposal to lead the army into Italy. He had been correct—they had indeed denied his request. “Our national resources are depleted,” he explained. “There are bread shortages across the country. Pockets of resistance—pro-monarchy communities—are erupting in fighting, and the army is being deployed to crush those revolts. The French people are exhausted…as hungry as ever, yet no nearer to any relief.”
I listened, absorbing the news. Nearby, the horn of a ship droned, its bellow low and long in the harbor. “Well, then there is one bright spot,” I said.
“What is that?” he asked.
“If not Italy, then you stay here with me.”
He lowered his gaze, his finger rubbing a line through the condensed moisture on the outside of his glass. “I’m afraid not,” he said after a moment, meeting my eyes with his.
I frowned, unsure of his meaning.
“I plan to go to Paris.” From the way he said it, a declaration, I knew that he was decided.
“Paris?” That seemed, to me, like the worst place to be at the moment; hadn’t he just explained to me the extent of our Republic’s instability?
“Within this chaos and disorder lies opportunity,” he said, noting my confusion.
“But why must you go already?” I hated how I sounded as soon as I asked the question—like a petulant child. But he was only just back from Nice. And prison. What of us? How would he court me for marriage all the way from Paris? He looked away, his stare landing on the burst of red hibiscus that climbed the nearby trellis.
When he spoke next, his words and his tone were direct, matter-of-fact, with no crack of emotion in his voice. “I will use this response from the government to go to Paris and speak to them directly. Introduce myself to them, now that they know who I am.”
The joy of our reunion was suddenly gone. I shifted in my chair, glowering at my glass of lemonade as he continued.
“I am languishing here in the south, Desiree. With each day that passes, I am squandering the goodwill I acquired with my fighting in Toulon. Now is the time for a young man with talent and ambition to put himself forward; I need to be present in the capital, to pledge my loyalty to the new regime and seek out my next appointment. Perhaps I might find an older general to take me under his patronage and advocate for me with the new government. I am not sure yet—I only know that I would be a fool not to act during this time of change and upheaval.”
“When will you go?”
He folded his hands on the table. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“I am here…to say farewell. I will leave this week.”
My whole body sagged. Before I could form a reply, he leaned toward me, but he did not reach for me, did not put his hands on mine. “I’ve never concealed from you the fact that I feel called to greatness. In fact, I’ve been very honest with you about it.”
I blinked, willing myself not to give in to tears. After a moment, I nodded, acknowledging this. “How long will you be gone?”
He shrugged his narrow shoulders, his face expressionless. “There is no way to know.”
“I…I would go to Paris, you know. If we were married, I would join you as your—” But he raised his hand, shaking his head, speaking decisively before I had the chance to finish my thought.
“It’s not safe for you just yet. I will go. Allow me to ingratiate myself with the men who now hold the reins of power. I will make a place for myself under this new leadership, and then I will send for you and my brother.” As so often happened with Napoleone, it had all already been decided. Both for himself and for me. My only choice, it appeared, was to accept his verdict. But at least I knew I could trust him; I knew how badly he wanted Joseph beside him, and he had told me he would send for Joseph and me. I could trust in that and take some comfort there.
Muffled voices traveled out to the garden from the house—Maman was returning with Julie, and my sister was speaking loudly to give us warning. They were arguing over the armoire.
“We have so little time together,” Napoleone said, leaning close to me, finally putting his hand on mine. “You won’t spend it in a quarrel, will you?”
I shook my head, grateful at least for his touch. “Can I see you tomorrow evening?” he asked. “Come back here, tell your mother you are visiting Julie.”
“Julie and Joseph plan to go out to the theater tomorrow evening,” I answered, aware of the plans my sister had already made.
“Yes, they do,” he said, nodding. “That’s why you and I shall meet here.”
* * *
Napoleone opened the door when I arrived at Julie’s home the next evening, as if he’d been watching for my arrival. “Good evening,” he said.
I thrilled, feeling as if I transgressed by walking into the quiet interior of my sister’s home, even though I’d visited the place more times than I could count. But this was different; Julie and Joseph were out, and Napoleone and I were alone. We had not been alone, not entirely alone like this, since the night he had led me up the hill to Notre Dame de la Garde. I felt my face grow warm at the memory. Would the same thing happen this evening? I wondered. I was young, but I wasn’t a fool; I was certain that he’d thought of it in inviting me here, where it would be just the two of us. Just as I’d thought of it in accepting his invitation.
Napoleone put his hand on my shoulder, pulling my attention back from my fidgety thoughts. “Have you eaten supper?” he asked. I nodded, even though I hadn’t. My stomach had been a tempest all afternoon in anticipation of this meeting.
“Then can I pour you a drink?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Where is the cook?” I asked, looking around for the older woman who worked in my sister’s home.
“I’ve dismissed her for the evening,” Napoleone said.
I removed my bonnet and gloves as he fetched a carafe of wine and two glasses, and we made our way out into the garden, where the languid sounds of evening sailed across the air. He poured us each a drink and we sat in silence, serenaded by the hum of the city, of the breeze slipping through the trees, sticky with the scent of the nearby saltwater.
“Another?” he offered when I’d emptied my glass, and I nodded, accepting his refill.
“It is pleasant here,” he said after a while. It was a statement, rather than a question, but the thought that came to me in reply was instantaneous: Then why do you insist on leaving? But I bit the words back, saying only: “Yes, it is.”
“I won’t miss it, though.”
His words stung, the blunt candor of them; I was grateful for the evening, for the way the darkness concealed my frown.
“We are too far from everything that truly matters. Sea breezes and Mediterranean views are all well and good. Some soldiers would choose this, gladly. But it’s a false peace—a siren’s call. A beautiful but dangerous diversion.”
I sipped my drink, not answering. So much of what Napoleone said came out sounding like a riddle to me.
“The only thing I shall miss…” His tone was different now. Emotion had seeped in—even longing. “The only thought that troubles me as I depart, Desiree, is the thought of being away from you.”
I turned to him, seeing just the vague outline of his features in the muted glow of distant lights, the moon and stars shuttered behind clouds.
He reached for me, taking my hands in his. “Do you promise you shall be faithful?” His voice was tinged with a sudden urgency, and I wanted to laugh at his concern, at the absurdity of his wondering such a thing. I squeezed his hand, bringing it to my cheek and pressing his cool palm to my skin. “More than promise. I vow it.”
“Why would a Clary trouble herself with a Buonaparte?” he asked, exposing a rare chink in his usually impermeable armor of self-assuredness. But I could hear what
was surely there—worry. And doubt. He continued: “I’m a penniless man who has been imprisoned. A man without a nation, without powerful friends. Why would you choose me? I’m out of favor, with no hopes for any career advancement.”
Maman had said the same thing earlier in the day, in her own way. A passing remark that she knew I’d hear. “We already have one Buonaparte; I think that is plenty for our family.” I’d ignored the barb, clinging to my secret plans to marry my soldier as soon as he could send for me from Paris. Or, if Paris did not work out for him, I’d go to him wherever he was. Yours, for eternity. As constant as the sea. That was the vow we’d exchanged, atop the hill at La Bonne Mère.
I looked at him now, leaning forward in my chair, my own voice matching his urgency: “Napoleone di Buonaparte, you could be a farmer tending fruit trees and you’d still be worth more to me than any dignitary in the capital. Know that as you go to Paris: know that, no matter the outcome, I am faithful to you and eagerly awaiting the day when you can send for me to join you.”
He pulled me out of my chair and lifted me into his arms. I was amazed at his strength, thin as he was. I heard the receding chorus of frogs and other night creatures as Napoleone swept me into the house, leading me into the spare bedchamber on the ground floor. There, without a word, he lay me down on the bed and I allowed it, meeting his kisses with a hunger that only seemed to fuel his further. I suppose I had known that the evening would lead to this; I suppose I’d even hoped for it. He clawed at my gown, struggling with its layers, groaning with impatience until I helped him. He had less trouble with the pieces of his own uniform.
I closed my eyes and stifled the urge to wince in the moment when our bodies joined. His movements were more rushed, more rough, than I might have liked. It was only a matter of minutes before his whole frame convulsed, collapsing over me, his slack mouth falling open. It was as it had been on the hilltop—hasty and brusque. Once more, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had done something wrong. The ardor and attention from just the moment earlier were so quickly gone, and he pulled away from me, his gaze suddenly distant.
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