by Zia Wesley
Rose tried to tell herself that her husband’s choice showed nothing more than his disregard for church and ceremony, but in her heart, she feared it showed his disregard for her, a fact that was confirmed on their wedding night when Alexandre quickly performed his nuptial duty without affection or care for Rose, and promptly fell asleep. She forgave his lack of attention, attributing it to the fact they hardly knew one another. In fact, they had yet to spend more than a few hours together, having only met for the first time a few weeks earlier. But she could not help comparing him to her William, whose open adoration and romantic behavior always made her feel safe. A conversation with her Aunt Désirée began to breed more doubt.
“When Monsieur de Beauharnais rejoins his regiment next week,” Aunt Désirée said, “I think it would be prudent to use the six months of his absence to begin your studies.”
“Studies?” Rose asked incredulously. This was the first mention of such a thing. “What studies, Aunt?”
“Elocution, for one. If you have any hope of joining your husband at court, you must not embarrass him in any way.”
“My husband finds the way I speak embarrassing?” Her face flushed, and she found it difficult to breathe.
“You must try to understand, my dear. Your husband is quite the figure at court. All the ladies vie for his attention—as a dance partner, of course. He is equally well liked by the men—an admirable position, I assure you. His title is older than most, more than eight generations, my dear, and you of course have only just inherited yours by virtue of your very recent marriage. Do you see my meaning?”
“It is with much trepidation that I fear I do. You are saying that the fact of my position as wife of a viscount does not insure my position at court, and that my husband intends to attend without me?”
“Yes, of course. Mon dieu, you don’t expect him to discontinue his attendance at court because of you?”
“No, Aunt, au contraire. I expected to accompany him to court.”
“Well, shouting will not bring that about, I can assure you. You must study very hard and please him upon his return.”
“Please him? When he cares nothing for me?” Rose fumed. “Why should I bother pleasing him?” she continued angrily.
“Because it is your place to please him, my dear. You are his wife, and that is what a wife does... pleases her husband. What did you think your purpose would be?”
“I suppose I believed we would please each other.”
“And who gave you that foolish notion?” she asked with open disdain. “Your mother?”
“Yes, Aunt, my Creole mother. The one to whom your brother is married.”
“That fact, my dear, is one I have attempted to forget. Had he remained here, where he belonged, he would still enjoy his rightful place at court. Instead, he ran off to that godless island and brought three girls into the world who must now somehow manage to find their places among society. I hope you realize that despite any affection you may feel towards your mother, her lack of station has given you a great obstacle that you must now overcome.”
“And why, pray tell, did Monsieur de Beauharnais chose to marry into my less-than-desirable family, Aunt?”
“Surely you know the answer to that question.”
“If I did, I would not ask. I am curious because if he is as desirable as you say, he might have had any woman of good birth in Paris.”
“The wars and famines have drained the country of its wealth. France is quite bankrupt, my dear. Very few French girls any longer possess dowries, and Monsieur de Beauharnais, despite his impeccable social standing, is quite insolvent. So, no solvent family would consider him a candidate for marriage.”
Rose was stunned. Neither of her parents had ever mentioned this. “Well, Aunt, I take comfort in knowing that my money is good enough for Monsieur de Beauharnais. Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, leaving the room.
It was a collision of two worlds, the one Rose thought she was entering as the mistress of a grand estate, with a loving husband to introduce her to Parisian society and the King and Queen, and the one she actually had entered. She felt both angry and sad. All she cared about, hoped for and prayed for were those things. It never occurred to her that she might not be worthy of them. Now the man she depended upon to give her these things, the man she was prepared to obey and eventually learn to love, found her lacking. What was worse, he had no money other than her dowry. He was not going to provide any of the things she wanted, and she could not get them herself. She had been correct in her wedding night assumption of Alexandre’s disposition and wrong about everything else in regard to her new life. The only option left to her would be to spend the six months of her husband’s absence transforming herself into the most desirable woman he had ever known. When he returned, she must captivate him—and he would do everything in his power to make her dreams come true.
Chapter 12
Much to Aimée’s great disappointment, she did not receive another letter from Rose for almost a year. During that time, she continued to take comfort in the hope of meeting a husband through her cousin. When the missive finally arrived, she was disheartened to learn that the reason for Rose’s silence lay in the deep unhappiness caused by her husband’s displeasure. He had married Rose not for love, but for her dowry. What was worse, he openly disapproved of her “country ways” and unsophisticated manner. He even went so far as to hire an elocution tutor to rid her of her “deplorable colonial accent.” Rose had not written sooner because he forbade her any contact with “colonial riff-raff,” which included all her family and friends from Martinique. He spent most of his time at court, to which she had not yet been admitted, and two weeks after their wedding he left to rejoin his regiment for a period of six months. During that time, she had dutifully followed his instructions to “better herself,” but sadly, fell short of his expectations upon his return.
Rose had become pregnant on her wedding night and one month before writing the letter, on September third of 1781, had given birth to a boy, whom she named Eugène.
“Consider yourself fortunate, dear cousin, that you do not know the pain of loving a man who spurns you and, I fear, must prefer another, because he shows no interest in his marital rights. Is it not interesting that a man has marital ‘rights’ while a woman has marital ‘duties?’
However, little Eugène is the light of my life and worth whatever consequences I must endure. I have hope that, eventually, mutual love for our son may bring us closer. Meanwhile, I still strive to perfect myself in the ways my husband prefers, and Aunt Désirée provides some little comfort. I wish my husband would allow you to visit, but alas that is not yet possible.”
7 November 1781
My dearest Rose,
I am saddened by your unhappiness, and yet overjoyed by the news of your son. How wonderful for you to have a little baby of your own. I am sure he is an angel, and hope to meet him one day should your husband’s heart soften towards me and other family members.
It appears that we have both suffered great disappointment. Are we not meant to be happy? Is it our sins that keep us from our life’s dreams? The women here seem content with their lots, while I am never quite pleased with mine, always secretly wishing for something more: a husband and family, a place in society and all the finery that goes along with it. Perhaps I am undeserving, and the lies I told in order to gain such things were my undoing. Are we meant to pay for our transgressions by forfeiting the things we wish to have? Oh, how I wish you were here, dear cousin.
It appears the only option God has left me is to serve Him and to resign myself to a life of piety and renunciation. I wish I could tell you this with more lightness and joy in my heart, but I cannot. I have decided to take my vows.
What Aimée did not say in her letter was that she now drank two glasses of wine each night with her dinner, and several glasses of sherry in order to sleep. Sometimes she wished to drink much earlier in the day. Her life was not unhappy, it just did not feel
full, and there was nothing for which she cared a great deal. In fact, she cared less than a little about almost everything. Perhaps she was just too young to accept quietude and piety as a way of life, although there were many novices of her exact age who appeared content in the convent. After her experience with Constance, she suspected that some of them had found furtive romantic love with one another. She wondered if such an assignation would satisfy her own emptiness, but had no desire to test it. Her strongest yearning was for motherhood. As an orphan, a loving family was the one thing she never had. And in her deepest, most guilty thoughts, she longed for the opulence and luxuries of Paris.
At other times she wondered what life might be like if she were a married woman living in any large city. There would certainly be more to do than reading, playing music, weaving and praying. She even wondered whether she would be happy if she were married and living on Martinique. However, all of this was mere daydreaming, for she had no means of meeting a husband. Her prospects in Paris had been exhausted, and she had no other relatives anywhere, except Rose, who, like herself, had not been welcomed into the bosom of society. Her Aunt Lavinia wrote from Martinique, but made no mention of any prospects there, although she would welcome Aimée back at any time.
Rose’s reply to Aimée’s letter arrived very quickly.
My dear cousin,
I fear I have no answers to your questions about God and sins. Everything I was sure I knew about such things has slipped from my grasp in the wake of my severe unhappiness. I miss the loas of our home, and perhaps their absence is the cause of our grief. We surely depended upon them in our youth and were indeed happy.
I am sorry to hear that you have decided to take vows without the passion of spirit it must take to do so. Have you no desire to return home? I would if I were able. My husband is gone again, and the only comfort that brings is my ability to correspond freely with you. I await his return with the hope that one day he will find me pleasing and allow me to join him in his life at court.
I remain, your loving cousin,
Rose
She read the letter with great sadness for Rose and herself. If any man could shun her beautiful, vivacious cousin Rose, what fate may have awaited her if she had also married? Why might her fate have been any different than her cousin’s? Once again, Rose’s predicament solidified her decision to take her vows, and she immediately set out to inform the Mother Superior of her decision.
“I would like to visit my family in Martinique first,” Aimée said. “Once I become a nun, I might never see them again.”
“Of course. The voyage will do you good, my child. You look a bit peaked of late, and the sea air will be invigorating.”
“I will post a letter to my aunt today and secure passage for June, I think.”
“God be with you, my child.”
The Mother superior graced her with a rare smile, the source of which Aimée knew to be her own dowry.
Chapter 13
Nantes, France
June 1781
Shortly before embarking on her voyage home, Aimée received a brief letter from Rose, who wrote to share the news that she was pregnant once again.
“It is my greatest hope that the birth of this child will bring my husband home to me. If it should not, Aunt Désirée and her solicitor have advised me to take legal measures against him, for he not only denies me of himself (except to use me in the most cruel manner), but is not forthcoming with any means of sustenance. Were it not for Aunt Désirée’s generosity, I know not how my children and I would survive.”
Rose was in a desperate state, and Aimée felt helpless to ease her cousin’s pain. She wished to help her in some way, but what could she do? An uninvited visit was out of the question, and she would be sailing in just three days.
She immediately sat down to write a letter that she would post on the day she set sail for Martinique.
My dearest Rose,
I pray that your situation improves with the birth of your second child. Surely, Monsieur de Beauharnais cannot continue to be so hard of heart as father to two beautiful children. One day soon, I know I will look upon the faces of my new little cousins. We shall have many opportunities to do so, as I have made the decision to dedicate my life to Our Lord and Savior, and remain at the Couvent de la Visitation permanently, following a final visit to Martinique. Today I embark upon that voyage. Upon my return to Nantes I shall be a novice and one day take vows to become God’s servant here on earth.
Please know that I continue to hold you in my heart and in my prayers and I pray the day comes soon when we may smile upon each other again. Until then, may God bless you and your family and the Blessed Virgin bring compassion to the heart of he who spurns you. I shall always remain your loving cousin,
Aimée
~ ~ ~
The three-masted trading ship, with a crew of one hundred and twenty, left the dock at Nantes on a bright June morning, as soft white clouds scudded across the azure sky and a brisk wind promised a swift journey. The ship was fitted out for thirty passengers and regularly made the trip between France and the French Caribbean Islands, bringing mail and necessities and returning with cargoes of sugar and coffee. No flames leapt from the heavens as they had on Rose’s departure from Martinique, for which Aimée was grateful.
Accompanying Aimée on her journey was Da Angelique, now elevated to the status of lady’s maid, but still unaccustomed to enclosed shoes. The cold French winters had made her bones brittle, and now that Aimée was going to be a nun, there would be no need for Angelique to remain with her. Aimée had granted her freedom and Da Angelique was returning to Martinique a free woman with a pension, enough to spend her days as she wished either in Fort-Royal or on the family’s plantation. Her new position did not change her dogged protectiveness of Aimée, despite her verbal show of respect.
From the ship’s deck, the old woman loudly warned the deck hands to be careful with Aimée’s trunks, as she absently straightened the fitted waist of Aimée’s silk brocade jacket. “Mam’zel’, I gonna go down t’ see t’ your t’ings now... make sure all your trunks be dere. I don’ trust dees sayla men—dey jus’ t’row dees trunks aroun’.” She shook her wrapped head emphatically. “An’ you needin’ to change out your travel dress before dinnah. I lay dem out for you. An don’ stay out here long if de wind gets cold, si ou plé? No need for a propah young lady t’be standin about here wid dees sayla men all aroun’.”
Aimée stood at the rail and answered without moving her gaze from the bustling dock.
“All right. I am going to remain on deck to watch the shore disappear.” Then she smiled and turned to face her maid. “I am so happy to be going home.”
“You an’ me too,” Angelique said, grinning broadly. “Why you wanna come back to dis place I never understan’. Maybe you change your mind once your home again an smell dose sweet, sweet flowers, dat nice warm breeze. Mmmm mmmmm.” She patted Aimée’s gloved hand affectionately.
Angelique waddled away, shifting her appreciable weight from one foot to the other to compensate for the discomfort of her shoes.
Aimée clutched her silk parasol with one white-gloved hand and held the ship’s railing with the other. Deck hands scurried about making the ship ready to sail, as she watched the crew pull in the gangplank and unfasten the heavy ropes that held the ship fast to the dock. Two long pilot boats, each manned by twenty sailors, pulled the small ship out of the harbor toward the open sea.
A few of the other passengers remained at the rail with Aimée and watched as the coast of Southern France slipped farther and farther away. Once the harbor had been cleared, the pilots unfastened their ropes and rowed out of the ship’s path. The foresail flapped noisily as it was hoisted and sprang to life with a burst of vibrato, wide open and ready to catch the wind. As soon as the mainsail filled, the small ship picked up speed and headed due west. With good winds, they would reach Martinique in seven to eight weeks.
Aimée inhaled a deep brea
th of salty ocean air and smiled to herself. It feels good to be going home, she thought. I had not realized how much until now. Angelique might be right about the possibility of changing my mind.
“You’ll be glad to be home again I’ll wager, won’t you miss?” a man’s voice said in the strangest sounding accent she had ever heard.
Unaccustomed to being addressed by strangers, she knit her brows together, and turned her head to look up at him. A handsome young man with a strong, square jaw, thick, black, wavy hair and pale blue eyes smiled down at her. She held her breath.
He politely doffed his hat and made a small bow. “Angus Braugham’s the name, and I’m to be the new white officer on your uncle’s plantation.”
She found it difficult to remove her gaze from the deep dimples in his cheeks. “I am Marie-Marthé Aimée Dubucq de Rivery.” She blushed and averted her eyes to gaze back at the disappearing shoreline.
“I know, Miss. Not meaning to be rude, but your uncle wrote that you’d be making this trip and, I must say, described you quite correctly. There be no other such beautiful young fair-haired misses on this ship, I’m afraid, so you’ll be standing right out.”
Unfamiliar as she was to the company of men, she felt awkward, and stiffened at his forwardness and familiar manner, as thoughts crowded her mind. He is probably no more than a few years older than I—and what terrible manners. We have not been properly introduced. I should not be seen talking with him. What must the other passengers think?
