“I think your mother favors us. Between the three of us, we will convince him.”
His characteristic optimism made Betsy laugh again, and she settled comfortably beside him on the sofa. “You are possessed of such a rosy outlook, more so than I can ever muster.”
“Then I am good for you, my love, as you are good for me.”
ONCE AGAIN WILLIAM Patterson came home early from the counting house and called his wife and daughter into the drawing room. Betsy sat on the sofa, while Dorcas sat in her usual place, the banister-back wooden chair to the left of the fireplace.
Patterson stood on the hearth at an angle to face them both. Now in his fifties, he could no longer pass for a young man. His figure had grown thick around the waist, and his once-dark hair, cropped to collar length, was threaded with grey. His complexion, however, still retained the high ruddy color of his youth in Ireland.
“Betsy, I wish that your young man would not persist in encroaching upon my business hours. What possesses him to be in such a hurry?”
“He expects to receive orders from the First Consul any day now, sir, and he wants to resolve this business before that happens.”
Shaking his head, Patterson crossed to his desk. He took some letters from a drawer and returned to stand in the same spot. “I have not been idle this last month. I used the time to make inquiries.”
“Inquiries, sir?”
“Yes, inquiries.” He slapped the papers against his left palm. “I realized that Lieutenant Bonaparte has never told us his age, so I asked your uncle Smith to question him while he was in Washington. Bonaparte told him that by French law, a man must be twenty-one before becoming a lieutenant, so at least he meets our age requirement for marriage. But I intend to write my lawyer and ask him to investigate French marriage law.”
Betsy gripped the edge of the sofa cushions. “Is that necessary? We are planning to marry in the United States.”
“Normally, nations honor the matrimonial bonds contracted in other lands, but in this case, the eminence of Lieutenant Bonaparte’s brother makes it prudent to comply with French laws as well as our own. In fact, I think it advisable for you to delay marrying until Lieutenant Bonaparte has received the First Consul’s blessing.”
“But sir, there is no time for that.”
“No time? What can you mean?” He glanced at his wife in alarm and then at Betsy. “Tell me the truth. Is there something that you have kept from your mother and me?”
Betsy realized that he feared her honor might be compromised, so she shook her head. “No, Father. I meant only that Lieutenant Bonaparte may soon be ordered back to the navy, and with France at war, who knows when he will return to Baltimore again?”
“Is that not reason enough to delay this marriage? Do you want to risk becoming a widow a few scant weeks after becoming a wife?”
Betsy lifted her head proudly. “Sir, I would rather be the wife of Jerome Bonaparte for an hour than married to any other man for a lifetime.”
Patterson again looked to his wife. “Have you nothing to say to this headstrong girl? Surely, this is not how you were taught to conduct yourself when you were her age.”
Dorcas shook her head. “As you well know, I was already a mother at her age. Times have changed. Young people now have more say in deciding their marriages than I did as a girl.”
Patterson’s cheeks turned red as he took in the unflattering implication behind her words. Before he could respond, Betsy pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. “Have you any reason to feel uneasy about Lieutenant Bonaparte apart from our haste, Father?”
He scowled at her and sat in his teal wingback chair. “Commodore Barney wrote to me last week.” As he unfolded a letter, Betsy’s heart sank, but she strove to keep her face blank. “He says that Lieutenant Bonaparte behaved correctly during their trip and showed not the slightest interest in making the acquaintance of other young women. Ah, here is the passage I want. ‘His persistence in declaring his affection for your daughter was, in fact, fatiguing to all who heard him, and I retain no doubt that he is sincerely attached to her.’ ”
After folding up the page, Patterson asked, “Betsy, are you absolutely determined to accept this man?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Very well. When he calls on me this evening, I will give him my consent.”
THE NEXT DAY, Jerome came to dine with the Pattersons. As soon as the soup was served, he announced, “I have good news. This morning, I obtained a marriage license.”
“You waste no time,” William Jr. said in a tone that made it clear he was not paying a compliment.
Jerome took a biscuit from the bread basket. “No, not in a matter as important as this. I also mailed invitations to Monsieur Pichon and the Spanish ambassador Yrujo to attend the wedding. I set the date for November 3.”
As William Patterson looked up, his heavy eyebrows came together in a way that Betsy knew meant trouble. “You presume too much, sir. Mrs. Patterson and I have not agreed to a date, and the third is out of the question. That is only five days hence.”
“But why wait? We want to have time together before duty calls me back to the navy.”
Ignoring him, Patterson glared at his eldest daughter. “Did you know of this plan?”
Betsy glanced regretfully at Jerome. “No, I did not.”
Jerome put down his biscuit and shifted in his seat to face her. “But I thought we agreed that we would marry as soon as possible.”
“We did, but five days is not enough time. I need to prepare to leave my home.”
“Oh, I see.” He sounded chastened. “Forgive me, I should have consulted you.”
“You should have consulted our parents,” William Jr. interjected. “Unless, of course, you have a secret reason for marrying in such unseemly haste.”
Jerome pushed back his chair violently and stood. “How dare you malign my honor, sir! And to besmirch the reputation of your sister is even more unforgivable. If you were not about to be my brother, I would challenge you.”
“Enough!” Patterson rose and frowned at his eldest son. “William, kindly remember that I am the head of this family and will deal with the matter of your sister’s marriage.”
Then he shifted his disapproving scowl to Jerome and Betsy, who shrank back in shame even though she had done nothing wrong. She glanced at her mother for sympathy, but Dorcas sat with her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes downcast.
After a long pause, Patterson said, “Lieutenant Bonaparte, although my son speaks out of turn, he merely gives voice to the suspicion all Baltimore will harbor if you and my daughter marry too speedily.”
Flushing, Jerome resumed his seat. “Forgive me. I am too used to France, where people have lived with the exigencies of war for a long time and do not find hasty marriages such a scandal as they seem to be in this more placid society.”
Leaning forward, Betsy said, “Father, as you know, Lieutenant Bonaparte could be recalled to duty any day. How long an engagement do you require?”
Patterson looked to his wife, who nodded silently. He sighed. “You may marry at the end of November.”
A FEW EVENINGS later, Betsy was sitting on the sofa in the drawing room reading aloud to Jerome from the book of French verse he had given her. As she paused to ask the meaning of an unfamiliar word, her father entered the room.
“I have received a letter from my lawyer that concerns you.”
Betsy set her book aside. “What can Mr. Dallas have to say that concerns us, Father?”
He stood before the hearth, clutching a folded-up letter in his hand. “It is about French marriage law. Under the new civil code that went into effect last year, no one under the age of twenty-five may marry without parental permission.”
The smile vanished from Jerome’s face. “Where did he hear such a thing?”
“From Monsieur Pichon, who further informed Dallas that he told you of the law when you were in Washington.”
“Did he?
” Jerome shrugged. “I have no memory of such a conversation.”
Patterson brandished the letter. “Lieutenant Bonaparte, affecting such a cavalier attitude will not improve your standing with me. Might I remind you that I can withdraw my permission for Betsy to marry, as she is only eighteen? Now, did you know of this law or not?”
Jerome turned red and was about to respond angrily when Betsy laid a hand upon his arm. Glancing at her, he mastered himself. “Yes, he did mention the change, but I did not think it of any import as we will be marrying under the laws of the United States.”
“Why did you not tell us this before?”
“Father, he just explained that he did not think it mattered.”
As Patterson looked from one to the other, he rubbed his forehead. “Do neither of you comprehend the seriousness of making a marriage contract? It must be undertaken in full conformity with the law.”
Betsy scooted forward to the edge of the sofa. “But, sir, you told me yourself that it is customary for nations to honor each other’s matrimonial laws. We are not at war with the French, so they would have no reason to dispute a marriage conducted in this country. Has Mr. Dallas said anything in his letter to contradict that interpretation?”
“No.” Patterson sank into his armchair. “In fact, he makes the same point, although I must hasten to add that he believes as I do that you should err on the side of caution.”
“But that would mean waiting four years before we could marry!”
Betsy’s horrified expression drew a smile from her father. “Not at all. It means that Lieutenant Bonaparte should do as I suggested before and write the First Consul for his consent.”
“Permission is not his to give!” Jerome exclaimed.
“What do you mean?”
Jerome lifted his chin in a mannerism that Betsy had learned indicated stubbornness and a certain haughty pride. “Napoleon may be the chief executive of France, but he is neither my father nor my eldest brother. If I must apply to anyone for permission, it would be my mother.”
“That is even better!” Betsy grasped Jerome’s arm. “You have told me that she has never denied you anything. If you write and ask her consent, surely she will say yes.”
Instead of agreeing readily, Jerome glowered at her. “I am not a child. I find it offensive that I must ask permission of anyone.”
Bewildered by his coldness, Betsy pulled back. “But if it is the law?”
“It is not the law here.” Jerome turned back to William Patterson. “I do not see why we must change what is already decided. To wait for my mother’s consent would delay our wedding by months. Our marriage will be perfectly valid in this country.”
“That would be enough if your intention was to settle here, but since it is not—”
“But of course, I will write to her.” Jerome placed his hand on his heart. “I love my family too much not to inform them of such a momentous change in my life. As Elisa says, my mother is certain to agree. So why must we wait upon such a foregone eventuality? We can marry as planned and make certain that we obtain my mother’s consent before going to France.”
“I do not deem this a prudent course, but if neither of you will listen to reason—” Falling silent, William Patterson sat back in his chair and regarded them wearily. “I cannot allow Betsy’s standing as a married woman to come under question. Will you promise not to take my daughter to France until you hear from your mother?”
“Yes, sir, gladly, if that will satisfy you.”
Patterson rubbed the side of his jaw. “I suppose it must.”
For an instant, Betsy felt a spasm of guilt at causing her father so much distress, but any remorse was quickly swallowed up by joy at the prospect of being Jerome’s wife.
She jumped up and kissed her father’s cheek. “All will be well. I feel certain that Lieutenant Bonaparte and I are destined to be together.”
TWO DAYS LATER as the family sat at dinner, the post arrived, and William Patterson opened a letter marked URGENT. Within seconds, his face grew as stormy as Betsy had ever seen it. He stowed the letter in his inside pocket.
For nearly a minute, he glared down the oval table to where Jerome and Betsy sat side by side. Finally, he said, “Lieutenant Bonaparte, I have just learned of a family matter requiring some delicacy, and I must ask you to leave as soon as our meal is finished.”
Jerome looked up from his whispered conversation with fourteen-year-old Edward. “Is there no way I could be of service?”
“No, that is impossible. We require the utmost privacy.”
In response to Jerome’s inquiring glance, Betsy shook her head to indicate that she had no idea what was wrong. Glancing around the table, she saw that William Jr. and Robert looked equally flummoxed, while Edward, Joseph, and Margaret displayed open curiosity. Mercifully, the four youngest children were upstairs in the nursery, so no one filled the air with impertinent questions.
The rest of the meal passed in silence. As soon as the servants had cleared the dishes, Jerome rose and bowed to Dorcas. To Betsy he said, “I will see you tomorrow. Do not hesitate to send for me if I can be of assistance to your family.” He kissed her hand and left.
As William Jr. pushed back his chair, his father said, “No, wait. I want you, Robert, and Elizabeth to stay. The younger children may be excused.”
Frowning, Betsy wondered if her brother John had landed in a scrape in Virginia. That was the only thing she could think of to provoke an adults-only family council.
As soon as the younger children had left, Patterson removed the letter from his pocket and unfolded it again. His hand was trembling so that the paper shook as he read.
Is it possible, sir, you can so far forget yourself, and the happiness of your child, as to consent to her marrying Mr. Bonaparte? If you knew him, you never would, as misery must be her portion—he who but a few months ago destroyed the peace and happiness of a respectable family in Nantz by promising marriage, then ruined, leaving her to misery and shame. What has been his conduct in the West Indies? There ruined a lovely young woman who had only been married for a few weeks! He parted her from her husband, and destroyed that family! And here, what is his conduct? At the very moment he was demanding your daughter in marriage he ruined a young French girl, whom he now leaves also in misery!
Betsy interrupted by demanding, “Who wrote that?”
Her father looked up, frowning at her importunate tone. “The letter is unsigned.”
“Then I do not believe it. It contains nothing but lies written by someone who envies Lieutenant Bonaparte and wants to do him harm.”
“That is hardly likely,” Robert said. “The writer could do him far more harm by complaining to his superiors or the First Consul. The motive behind this letter is clearly to warn us of his false nature.”
“He is not false! He is warm and open. How can you place more trust in a scurrilous letter writer who was too cowardly to sign his name than in someone you know?”
“Oh, my poor child,” Dorcas said, coming around the table to embrace Betsy. “I know you must be upset to learn that your fears about Lieutenant Bonaparte’s character are justified.”
William Patterson jerked in surprise. “Madam, to what fears do you refer?”
Betsy wanted to pull away from her mother, but she managed to conceal her fury over the betrayal of her confidence. “Mother misunderstood me. I once said that I feared Lieutenant Bonaparte was too impulsive to make a suitable husband. But I never meant to imply that I thought him capable of such calculated debauchery. I do not believe it.”
“Elizabeth! You astonish me. Do you mean to say that you accepted this man even though you had qualms about his character?”
“I do not have qualms, Father. I only remarked that he is a less disciplined man than you might wish. I have no fear that Lieutenant Bonaparte means to abandon me. Why would he trouble to obtain a license and plan a wedding if marriage were not his object?”
“You foolish girl. Do you thi
nk a marriage vow in a foreign country will hold a man like that? Listen to what else this letter says: ‘He now wishes to secure himself a home at your expense until things can be arranged for his return to France, when rest assured he will be the first to turn your daughter off and laugh at your credulity.’ Betsy, can you not admit the possibility that Lieutenant Bonaparte has deceived you?”
As her father asked that question, Betsy had the strange feeling that her character, not Jerome’s, was on trial and she must testify well to save her life. “No, Father, I cannot. I know Lieutenant Bonaparte loves me and I swear to you that he has treated me honorably. Even if he has made past errors of judgment, does not any Christian deserve the chance to redeem himself?”
Patterson shook his head. “Not at the risk of my daughter’s happiness.”
“But Father, I love him. My happiness depends on him.”
“My child, I know you believe that now, but you will recover from this blow. You are young and know little of the world. A man like that cannot be trusted.”
Betsy’s temper snapped. “How can you look me in the eye and say that? Do you think me blind to what goes on in this very house?”
Dorcas cried out and pulled away from Betsy, while William Patterson’s face turned purple. After a moment, he rose, stood behind his chair, and gripped the top of it with white-knuckled hands. “The only question under discussion is Lieutenant Bonaparte’s conduct, which I find completely unacceptable. You will write to him immediately and end your engagement.”
“I will not.”
“Yes, Elizabeth, you will. You have one hour to produce an appropriate letter. If you do not, I will, and I assure you I will express myself in more brutal terms than you would like.”
He moved toward the door, paused, and turned back. “As of tomorrow, you leave this house. I am sending you to relatives, where Bonaparte will be unlikely to find you.”
“Where?”
“You will find out during the journey. Your eldest brother will accompany you. William, come with me. We have much to discuss before your departure.”
The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte Page 9
