Page 12 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
‘You reminded me of Garrett, just then, the way you spoke of a legacy. He always looked to the future. Even his title, which he received later in his life, was not something he thought of for himself, but for his family. He saw it as something that would be handed down generation to generation, something he’d earned.’ She cocked her head, thoughtful. ‘I think that was why he was so proud of it. He’d earned it. It hadn’t been given to him simply because he’d been born into the right family.’ She paused, a thought coming to her. The next moment she felt Archambeau’s hand on hers, his gaze soft. It was a gesture of concern only, but it was also pleasant, too, in its own right, warm and comforting. Then, she understood. He thought that speaking of Garrett had made her sad.
‘I’m fine.’ She offered a smile as assurance. ‘I just realised that talking of Garrett made me happy.’ She was still processing the idea for herself. ‘I think this is the first time since his death that I’ve shared something voluntarily and I didn’t break down in tears.’ It was the first time sharing about Garrett had actually feltgood. She pondered that for a moment, staring down at her half-eaten tartine, her words coming slowly, deliberately. ‘In the beginning, when it was all new, people would ask about how he died.’ She looked up at Archambeau. ‘No one wanted to know how he lived.’
‘I’m guilty of that, too.’ Archambeau gave a dry laugh. ‘Even me, I asked you what happened. I’m sorry.’ He squeezed her hand and then retreated, taking his hand, his touch away.
‘Don’t be. It’s natural to want to know. It’s just difficult to recount.’ She absolved him with another smile. She felt the smile falter with confession. ‘The truth is, I don’t like to think of Garrett’s last moments, much less talk about them.’ She paused and slid him a considering look. ‘Do you suppose that’s wrong of me? I wonder if it’s selfish to want to push them aside because they are too painful to consider?’
‘Perhaps pushing them aside isn’t so much a part of ignoring the pain as it is creating an opportunity for healing,’ he offered gently. ‘One can’t heal if they insist on reopening the wound.’
‘Perhaps,’ she replied noncommittally. It was a nice sentiment, an insightful one, even. But she was too conflicted to believe it entirely. In the dark of night when her demons were at their best inside her head, she thought she didn’t like to think about those moments because they reminded her that she’d chosen selfishly that night to stay behind and play cards, and she’d been rewarded—and punished—for her selfishness. She’d survived.
She pleated the corner of the blanket between her fingers. ‘The coroner in Holmfirth told me most of the victims died with looks of confusion on their faces, as if they didn’t have time to understand what was happening. That was supposed to make me feel better, I guess, this idea that there was no time for pain, for fear. I did not think Garrett looked like that.’ She stopped and hazarded a look in Archambeau’s direction, suddenly horrified. ‘That is too morbid for conversation. I don’t know why I said that. I am the one who must apologise now.’ Whatever had come over her to make her share such a thing? She’d not discussed that with anyone, not even her family.
‘Not at all. You loved your husband and he loved you. He spoke of you glowingly during his visits. You were lucky to have such a marriage, Madame Luce.’ His gaze turned inward for a long moment. She sensed his thoughts had moved away from her, towards another time, perhaps another person, another place. She felt her body lean forward in a desire to go to that place with him, to know what thoughts were taking place behind those eyes, craving whatever he might say next. ‘I think we must talk about the things we love. Words are to memories as air is to our lungs. Without it we die. Without words, our memories die. The moment we stop talking about them, we surrender them.’ He gave one of his self-deprecating smiles. ‘Now I am the one who has said too much. I am being fanciful,madame. You must pardon me.’
She was still for a moment, taking in his words, taking in the revelation that the rustic farmer-cum-gentleman was also a poet, a philosopher, yet one more side to this enigmatic man. ‘No.’ She gave him a slow, deliberate smile. ‘I do not think I shall pardon you. No offence has been given. In fact, I rather like the idea that words are the breath of dreams. And you are right. Garrett was my dream, although at the time I may not have realised it.’ She held out her coffee mug and Archambeau refilled it.
‘Tell me, how did the two of you meet?’ He set aside his own mug and stretched out along the far side of the quilt, the action drawing her eyes once more to the length of him, the largeness of him. ‘Well?’ he encouraged, tucking his hands behind his head and giving every sign of a man settling for the duration.
‘It’s a rather boring story,’ she warned, offering him one last chance to opt out, but his blue eyes fixed on her, inviting her to tell him.
He gave a wry smile. ‘More boring than a lecture on the growth cycle of grapes? After this morning, I think you owe me a boring story or two to even the scales.’
Julien Archambeau was dangerously charming like this, all smiles and dry humour. The odd thought flitted through her mind: How many other women had spilled their tales to him after such a look? Was there such a woman in his life at present? Not that it mattered. She cleared her throat and gathered her thoughts. ‘We met at a political supper in London during the Season. My father was hoping to speak with an MP about some legislation that would affect tariffs on gin. It was all a matter of chance. I was seated next to Garrett. We began talking and the more we talked, the more I felt seen—trulyseen—by him.’
She smiled, remembering how easy even those early conversations had been. ‘Until I met Garrett, men treated me one of two ways: as an heiress they would tolerate and elevate in exchange for my father’s money, or as someone they wouldn’t even look at, who was tainted because of her father’s industry; and the women were worse. Suffice it to say, the girls who came out with me were not particularly friendly.’ Even years later, those memories were hard ones to suffer.
‘Tell me about it?’ Julien asked. ‘I can hardly believe a few girls would set you back.’
‘Well, not the person I am now. But back then I was bit more naïve than I knew.’ She shook her head. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it. I was foolish and they took advantage of that.’ She cringed at the memory.
Julien smiled encouragingly. ‘That’s all the more reason to tell me then. Does it help to know that once I gave all my allowance at school to keep the upperclassmen from beating me up? English schoolboys don’t like French schoolboys, it turns out. It took me a while to learn that paying them only incentivised them to ask for more money, not to stop. The only thing that made them stop was a solid fist to the face.’
‘I am sorry you were bullied,’ she said sincerely. ‘My bully was a viscount’s daughter named Amelia St James. I couldn’t punch her or pay her but I could spill wine on her dress.’
Julien laughed. ‘Now youhaveto tell me.’
She settled on the blanket. ‘It all started over the Earl of Redmond, the most eligible catch of the Season. Amelia wanted him and he wanted me, at least that’s what I thought. He danced with me every evening, sent flowers every day. I was nineteen and quite swept off my feet. He was handsome and dashing. Then one day, he went further. He took me out driving in his curricle in Hyde Park at peak time. Everyone saw us. It made Amelia into something of a laughingstock. Everyone knew she’d set her cap for him. She couldn’t ignore that I held his interest now that he’d driven out with me. She couldn’t live with it either. She’d refused two other marriage proposals while she waited for him. She’d go home unwed at the end of the Season at this rate. So, she used the weapons she had. That night, she told anyone and everyone the only reason Redmond was interested was the size of my father’s pocketbook.’
‘That’s awful,’ Julien commiserated.
‘It was awful but it was also true.’ That was the worst part. She should have been more aware. ‘My father had made no secret that he meant to have a title for me and he would buy it. I just hadn’t believed it. I truly thought Redmond liked me for me. I believed it right up until the moment I confronted him. I asked him to his face if it was true and he could not deny it.’
Julien was quiet for a moment. ‘You lost more than a suitor that night.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I’d been betrayed by girls who had acted like my friends, who I’d confided in. Amelia knew how much I thought I’d cared for Redmond. She knew my hopes. In my naïveté I thought I loved Redmond and she dashed those hopes anyway. What sort of friend does that? But she was no friend at all, and she never had been. Neither was Redmond. The whole world I thought I knew was a fiction.’
‘But then you found Garrett,’ Julien prompted. ‘Surely that made up for it?’
Emma smiled. That was how she’d explained it to herself as well, that Amelia’s betrayal had been worth it to find real love with a man whosawher. ‘Garrett and I had that in common. Like my father, he was a self-made man with a fortune, a man other men had to respect because he had money and with that money he’d acquired influence. He understood my experiences because they were his experiences, too.’ She smiled. ‘For once, I had an ally. He called on me the next day, bringing a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers. By the end of the week, I was falling for him, improbable suitor that he was.’ Emma laughed. Now that she’d started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. ‘I never thought I’d fall for a man just slightly younger than my father, a man who’d already raised a family. But he didn’t seem old, he never seemed old.’
‘And now he never will,’ Archambeau put in and she nodded.
‘I’ve thought of that.’ She offered the confession slowly. It was a somewhat risky idea to voice out loud. ‘He died still very much in his prime. Neither he nor I will have to witness the slow deterioration of age stealing him from me. Maybe I am lucky in that regard. I will always be able to remember the best of him.’ It wasn’t enough to wish him dead, but there was consolation.
Archambeau nodded solemnly. ‘Mygrandpèrelived into his eighties. Most of his years were good ones. Despite his trials, he was blessed with health, but towards the end he could not do the things he loved in the way he preferred. His world seemed to shrink to the point where his dreams became obsessions. He was not quite the man I remembered growing up with. It was difficult on all of us, especially my father.’
‘You were close with your grandfather. I envy you that. I never knew mine on either side. My mother’s family cut her off when she married my father and my father had no family to speak of. It was always just us.’
