Becoming Josephine Read Online Free

always praised in France, but it is a new era. You’ll enjoy his inspired theories of human injustice.” Passion lit his eyes.
    “Wonderful.” I smiled in spite of my doubt. Lessons on music, art, or gardens, perhaps, I would enjoy far more. No matter. His enthusiasm delighted me. “I’ll begin reading tonight.”

    In the morning, I settled into my carriage seat, happy to be spending more time in close proximity with him.
    Alexandre smiled. “And how did you find the book? The Americans have taken to his ideals of separation of powers.”
    I shifted in my seat. I had hardly read the first ten pages before drifting to sleep. “Your views are surely more informed than mine. Would you care to share them?”
    “I find his thoughts on personal freedoms . . .”
    My attention drifted as he explained theory after theory. His lips, the excitement in his eyes, the way his brow furrowed on his perfect face proved an interesting study. When he paused from time to time, I could not hide how much he impressed me. Nor could I resist attempting to charm him.
    “Fascinating, Alexandre.” I placed my hand on his arm. “You are so knowledgeable.”
    He beamed at my obvious admiration. I smiled back at him. Perhaps this marriage would turn out better than I had hoped.

    The final morning of our journey we embarked early, eager to reach our destination by nightfall. The ride passed in a blur of sunshine and trees, and by dusk, Paris emerged. As we entered the city gates, the setting sun glowed in a dreamy swirl of pink and orange, resembling the inside of a papaya. Along the horizon arose the largest number of buildings I had ever seen.
    I gaped. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
    Alexandre flashed a brilliant smile and laughed. “Paris is the most remarkable city in the world.”
    “Incredible!” I clapped in delight.
    The sheer number of people rendered me speechless. Hordes shuffled along the roadside carrying packages, toting their children, or walking arm in arm with friends. Odors assailed my senses; rich coffee wafted from cafés, sweaty horses and fetid piles of animal waste assaulted, flowery perfumes and warm bread tempted. Street vendors, juggling performers, and the incessant clopping of hooves whirled together in an orchestra of sounds.
    “
Mon Dieu
, look at all the coaches!”
    Gilded carriages and speeding fiacres dodged pedestrians and splattered mud in every direction. I gaped at the opulent homes of stone and imposing state buildings guarded by the King’s army. The city hummed like a swarm of bees on a cluster of begonias.
    Alexandre enjoyed my awe, pointing out the Palais-Royal and Luxembourg, explaining their histories. I tried to listen, but the throngs captured my attention.
    After a long ride through the city, Alexandre enveloped my hand in his. “Here we are. Noisy-le-Grand, your new neighborhood.”
    A pungent stink burned my nostrils. “Alexandre, what is that smell?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
    “Excrement and mud. You won’t notice it for long. I don’t smell it at all.”
    I looked at him in surprise. Of course I would notice it. I covered my nose with my handkerchief to block the horrid odor.
    Our coach stopped in front of a two-story house composed mostly of stone.
    “Welcome home,” Alexandre said.
    Désirée kissed my cheek. “Welcome.”
    “Thank you.” I suppressed another delighted squeal—I shouldn’t appear too childish.
    I stepped down from the coach and surveyed the neighboring houses. Rickety dwellings cramped the spaces between the grander homes, a curious scene. The wealthy separated into their own quartiers in Fort-Royal, but not in Paris, it seemed. Still, the neighborhood possessed a sense of faded glory, though I had envisioned more elegance from a
vicomte
.
    A servant opened the front door and ushered us into a vestibule with towering ceilings.
    “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” another servant said, curtseying. Her voice echoed in the hall. “May I bring you