The Josephine B. Trilogy by Sandra Gulland

which Father’s to take three times a day. That and his visit cost five livres! At least Father’s not to be bled.
    October 16.
    Yesterday evening, after Father was asleep, I joined several of the guests in the front parlour. I taught them how to play piquet, which I learned on the boat. I was naughty and wagered a bit of money on it and won two sous from Monsieur d’Aelders, a dear old man from Dijon. I tried to give him the money back after, but he insisted I keep it, somewhat proudly. He’s vowed revenge tonight!
    Even Madame played. She was sipping wine and humming.
    Everyone wanted to know what it was like to live on a sugar plantation. Madame said it was a well-known fact that an owner of a sugar plantation earned more money than a king. Monsieur d’Aelders wanted to know if it was true that the slaves went about naked.
    “Not all the time,” I said, an answer that seemed to please him.
    I told them that I’ve come to France to meet my fiancé. Madame told a story about how when she was introduced to her husband (who died six years ago), she was wearing false eyebrows, mouse skin ones. She didn’t know it, but one eyebrow had fallen off! Her fiancé kept looking at her strangely.
    I like Madame better now. She informed me that I may address her as Madame Mignonette. She told me how to get mildew out of linen: rub soap on it, scrape some chalk and rub that in and put it into the sun, wetting it a little. She says I might have to do it twice, but it should come out.
    I told her I liked France, but that I had to confess that sometimes the smells quite overpowered me. She gave me a vial to hang around my neck. Inside there is flower water I can sniff. Also, I can dab little bits on my wrists and behind my ears and even on my bosom. She told me to dab it“everywhere,” wiggling her eyebrows. When she has time, she said, she’ll show me how to dress like a proper French lady.
    October 21.
    Still no word from Aunt Désirée.
    October 22, evening.
    Shortly before noon Madame came to inform Father that there was a woman wishing to see him. “Are you receiving, Monsieur?”
    I glanced around his room, over his person. He had not been shaved yet and the room had not been freshened.
    “Comtesse de la Touche de Longpré.” Madame stuck her nose in the air and wiggled her fingers, pretending to put on airs. “The daughter of Madame de Girardin, she said to tell you.”
    I looked at Father, confused. Wasn’t Girardin the name of Mother’s sister-in-law? I had only met her a few times. I remembered her as a haughty woman who treated Mother poorly.
    Father groaned. “Mon Dieu, Laure Longpré—Brigitte’s daughter…”
    My cousin Laure? I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. She was much older than I was, almost fifteen years as I recalled, married and with children. I remembered that the boys used to ogle and follow her about, which she didn’t discourage.
    “Why in God’s name would she be here?” Father snorted.
    Shortly after, Madame Longpré was admitted, filling the room with a heavy iris fragrance that made Father cough. Quickly I opened the windows.
    “Rose, how you’ve grown,” she said, accepting my offer of a chair. She was wearing a frothy pink dress looped in gauze with tassel decorations.
    I curtsied, not knowing what to say. She was quite heavily made-up with jewels on every part of her, particularly over her bosom, which was displayed in such a way as to make one blush.
    “How charming to have relatives in France,” she said. Her eyebrows had been plucked into a thin line and blackened with charcoal and the lids of her eyes were painted silver. “I understand there may be a wedding soon.”
    Father began to choke.
    “Would you care for a dish of tea?” I said. “Sweetmeats, perhaps?”
    “No, thank you, child. I won’t keep you. I can see that my uncle is not well, and as for myself, I must be returning home as I have only recently risen from childbed.”
    Before Father and I could