‘My pleasure, sir.’ Lieutenant Charles wheeled his mount, took up the reins of Josephine’s horse, and led it away towards the waiting grooms. Napoleon stared at the man for a moment. He could see why the ladies might warm to the company of the tall, graceful cavalry officer with his finely sculpted features. Quite the Adonis, Napoleon reflected ruefully, suddenly conscious of his own slight frame and dark hair. Had he not been celebrated for his victory over the royalists in Paris he would still be an undistinguished officer of artillery languishing in the ranks of the Army of the Vendée. The kind of man that Josephine would never have married. The knowledge cut him like a knife and his wife sensed the sudden change.

‘What is it?’ she asked in an alarmed tone.‘What’s the matter?’

Napoleon turned away from Hippolyte Charles. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘What’s happened, Napoleon?’ She grasped his shoulders. ‘You’re scaring me.’

‘Really, it’s nothing,’ he lied.‘It’s just that I had hoped to spend more time with you here at Montebello. But there’s to be a new campaign. I’m going away again, possibly for some months.’

‘Is that it?’ She looked relieved. ‘I thought . . . Never mind. Then we must make the most of whatever time you have with me. It’s cold. Come, let’s get inside. I need to slip into some warm clothes.’ Her eyes twinkled as she lowered her voice. ‘Bedclothes, that is.’

‘I don’t know what it is that you see in her,’ Napoleon’s mother muttered as they sat by the fire. The evening meal had just finished and the intimate circle of family and close friends had retired to the library. Outside it had begun to rain, and the crack and hiss of the wood in the large iron grate mixed with the soft drumming of rain on the glass panes of the tall windows overlooking the gardens. Josephine was playing a simple card game with Eugène, Hortense, and several of her friends, and their bright chatter was frequently interrupted by sharp cries of surprise and glee at the turn of a card.The Bonapartes had retired to the chairs arranged around the fireplace and a footman had brought a gleaming silver pot of coffee and fine china cups and set them down on a low table in front of them. Napoleon reached for the pot and poured for his mother, then set the pot down and resumed his seat.

‘Josephine is my wife, Mother. I love her.That should be good enough for you.’

‘Well it isn’t,’ Letizia snapped back, and leaned closer to her son as she continued, ‘I’ve heard the gossip from Paris. She has a reputation, you know.’

‘So? I have a reputation too.’