Becoming Josephine by Heather Webb Page B

your claims of her infidelity. I find it difficult to find her guilty with so many contrary witnesses. Do you have proof against her? If so, I will take your documentation at this time.”
    My articulate husband bowed his head before the provost. “Monsieur le Jouron, I assure you my wife has not been devoted to me, as required by law. I heard many rumors while abroad, serving my garrison and my country. As you can imagine, I was vexed by such atrocious news.” Somehow he managed to conjure tears.
    I stared at him, incredulous at his false display of emotion.
    “She sneaked from the house to meet her lovers like a common whore.” He dabbed his eyes with his gloved hand. “It is I who deserve the rights in this separation. She has never been a respectable wife—”
    “Monsieur de Beauharnais,” the provost said, “this is no place for insults and fabricated rumors—only facts. You have spent less than a year with your wife in a five-year period. I find it absurd you allege affairs having spent so little time at home. Who were your sources?”
    “I relied upon the counsel of my aunt Désirée and my father, the Marquis de de Beauharnais. I cannot divulge my other sources. You must understand the sensitivity of my position.”
    “That is complete nonsense,” the judge said. “Your stepmother and father submitted their word in writing in support of Madame de Beauharnais. I suggest you cease your falsehoods, monsieur, or you may find yourself facing contempt. Is this the only case you can make against your wife?”
    Alexandre’s jaw set in a rigid line, but he said nothing.
    He had been silenced. A miraculous feat, indeed. I studied the judge’s face as my heart thrummed in anticipation of the verdict.
    “If you have no documentation, all charges against Madame de Beauharnais are to be deemed false and unfounded. Madame, your name is cleared and your honor restored. I grant you the separation you desire, including proper financial support due a wife.”
    I released a breath I did not know I was holding. Relief washed through me. I smiled, thankful for the judge’s faith in my honesty.
    “
Insupportable!
” Alexandre cried in indignation. “I won’t pay her a single sou.” He jumped from his chair and stormed across the room.
    My mouth fell open as he slammed the door behind him.

En Avant
    Fontainebleau, 1785–1788

    T he judge stoodin outrage. “What in God’s name is the meaning of this? No man leaves my court without being dismissed!” A pair of guards rushed to the judge’s aid. “Stop that man in the officer’s uniform!”
    Moments later, the guards thrust Alexandre back into the room and barred the door.
    “You are not dismissed!” The judge glared. “I will fine you if you attempt that ridiculous display again. Is that clear?”
    “
Oui
, monsieur.” Alexandre bowed his head, suddenly meek.
    “Sit down.”
    Alexandre sat soundlessly.
    “You have no evidence against your wife; therefore her name is clear,” the provost said. “You will give her the monthly sum owed to her.”
    Alexandre ducked his head. “Of course. I apologize. I was taken by such surprise. I—”
    The judge raised his hand. “Enough.”
    I covered my mouth to hide my smile. Alexandre had a flair for the theatrical, but it did not serve him well in the judge’s office.
    “May I see the testimonials from Désirée and my father?” he asked. The provost handed him the papers.
    We sat in uncomfortable silence while Alexandre read.
    I longed to discuss Eugène. I tapped my foot and gazed at a painting of a nobleman on the far wall. His crooked nose and steely eyes sent a shiver up my spine. A hideous painting, to be sure.
    Alexandre shuffled the stack of letters into a pile. “It appears I am mistaken.” He turned to me. “Rose, I owe you my most ardent apology.” He was using his slick bedroom tone.
    I smothered a laugh. No one knew his false, obsequious nature better than I.
    He sensed my reticence and knelt by