Page 24 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
The way she talked was everything he’d ever dreamed of, what he’d wanted with Clarisse. A partner by his side. But he had to tread carefully here. They weren’t partners. He owned nothing here. She talked as if they were equals but they were not, for so many reasons. And yet, beneath the sun on a picnic blanket, or lying in her bed in the dark of night, they were equals for a short time when they made love. He was desperate to hang on to that, desperate to appease both hisoncleand her without hurting either of them.
He pulled on his shirt and she made a pout. ‘I miss you already, Julien,’ she teased. ‘I like you better naked.’ She pulled him down beside her. She smelled of jasmine and sunlight. ‘Shall I tell the Widow we’ll accept her invitation?’
‘Yes.’ He would go and be on hand for damage control, if needed. There was always a chance the Widow would be discreet and not bring up anything personal. He might survive the interview. The Widow was a businesswoman first and foremost. Perhaps she would not stray too far from that.
‘And the others? Shall I invite them individually to the chateau or shall I expect to meet them at the next consortium gathering, which should be fairly soon. They meet the first part of each month, yes?’
Hisonclewould say he wasn’t doing a very good job of distracting her. Perhaps he’d put his shirt on too quickly, after all. He leaned over and tendered a soft kiss. ‘You have a lot on your mind today, Em. Should I do something about that?’
She looked up at him with clear grey eyes. ‘The note from Madame Clicquot was a reminder that I can’t just sit around watching grapes grow. I’ve been idle too long.’
He made a playful grimace. ‘That is not an endorsement of my skills. I shall have to try harder to keep you entertained.’ He dropped a kiss to the column of her throat. He nipped and she laughed but she also batted him away. ‘No, seriously, Julien. I’ve been decadently lazy. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed these past weeks. But there’s work to be done. Do you realise I’ve been here two months and I haven’t left the estate? I haven’t met anyone. I haven’t minded it, but if I remain a recluse any longer people will think I’m rude.’
‘They will think you’re an English widow in mourning. They will understand.’ Julien took refuge in the old argument. ‘No one expects you to be entertaining.’ He still wasn’t sure how her presence would impact the gala. The event he and hisonclewere counting on was exciting in its possibilities as well as frightening. There was so much that could go wrong.
‘I’m a businesswoman. The vineyard business never rests, as you’ve told me. I cannot be idle in the spring. I must prepare for the harvest, for the marketing that comes afterwards.’ She cocked her head, smiling at him, unaware of how much her conversation unnerved him, of how much her words were bringing everything to a head. ‘I think if I were to ask you when the busiest time of year is, you would tell me spring through the harvest. But I would tell you the hard work is autumn through spring, getting our bottles into the hands of clients.’
Julien tried one last time to dissuade her, although he was already recognising it solved nothing, only delayed the inevitable. ‘You cannot be her. You cannot be Madame Clicquot. I have to be honest with you,ma cherie, if you’re thinking to replicate her personal trajectory to the top of the champagne industry, it cannot be done any longer.’
‘What do you mean by that, Julien? Do you doubt me?’ He hated seeing the smile fade from her face, the spark in her eye turn to something harder. But she had to be told the truth for her own good.
Be honest, it’s for your own good, too.His conscience stabbed hard.You have a stake in this.Don’t you dare forget about that.
‘Don’t be angry, Emma, because I am willing to point out some not inconsiderable truths to you,’ he replied hotly. There was a long silence, he could almost feel her bristling beside him, then he felt the tension ease from her, felt her eyes upon him. A look of apology passed between them. They’d both behaved badly, quick to snap, quick to temper. While it made for good lovemaking, it also made difficult conversations that much harder.
‘All I mean, Emma, is that the times and politics are against you in a way they were not against her. One could argue that she was successful because she slipped through the cracks and succeeded when no one was looking.’ It was in fact an argument hisgrandpèrehad repeated from his father, Julien’s great-grandfather, who had indeed been a contemporary of the Widow. Champagne was a tight knit region, Julien explained to Emma. Everyone from Epernay to Cumières knew everyone, and for a long while there were no outsiders. The industrial revolution that had swept Britain and parts of France had been slow in coming here. That, too, had worked in the Widow’s favour.
‘If anything,’ Julien concluded, ‘the coming of industrialisation has not freed women, at least not middle and upper-class women. It has done just the opposite. Those women are expected now, more than ever, to occupy the private sphere of the home. It is the one distinction that sets them apart from their lower-class working girl counterparts. Those girls must earn their bread.’
‘Like the distinction of a gentlemen, hmm?’ Emma replied languidly, but he was not fooled by it. There would be a sharp barb nestled in her response. ‘The only thing that defines a gentleman is that he does not work for his income. Others do the work for him.’ That barb hit rather too close to home for Julien, and in ways that she would not have meant to target.
‘Yes, I suppose so. So, you see, as Lady Luce, the wife of a baronet, you cannot possibly dabble in trade or business.’
‘But as the daughter of a gin merchant?’ she countered easily. ‘Perhaps then I might.’
Julien frowned. ‘Not even then. You’re an heiress in that regard. Be honest. Is your father leaving the running of his gin company to you?’ They both knew the answer already. The company would go to her brothers when her father retired. They both knew as well that even now, her mother was not involved in the day-to-day running of the business. Her mother’s role was to throw lavish parties and help sweet-talk politicians, but nothing beyond that. ‘Don’t hate me because I’m right, Emma.’
Oh, no, he thought sardonically,there will be plenty more and much better reasons to hate me, just wait.
‘I see.’ Emma gave him a hard final look and jumped up from the picnic blanket. She brushed at her skirt, her voice calm. ‘You’re not as much like Garrett as I thought. He was never intimidated by my ideas.’
‘Since when has disagreement been a sign of intimidation?’ He got to his feet. His temper was starting to rise again. ‘I have offered you my opinion because I respect you. I amnotintimidated by you. If I was, do you think I’d tell you things I know you don’t want to hear?’
‘Yes, I think you might.’ Her grey eyes flashed. Emma Luce in a temper was as formidable a sight to behold as Emma in a passion. ‘It would depend on your motives.’
‘What would those be? I can’t think of a single thing I’d gain by making you angry at me.’ Julien made sure his voice was well infused with just how ridiculous he thought the assertion was. There was a long pause and for a moment Julien was hopeful that the pause meant she saw the flaw in her reasoning. But when she spoke, it was with calm, measured tones and chilling words.
‘I can. To keep me in the dark.’ She gave him a hard look before turning to walk away.
That barb hit too close to home. ‘About what, Emma? What do you think I’m hiding?’
‘I don’t know. Something.’ She paused before spearing him with a stare. ‘I notice that you don’t plead denial. That says a great deal, that my worries aren’t baseless, after all.’ She did leave him then, striding away to begin the long trek home.
‘Emma, wait!’ he called after her. ‘We’re too far from the house. We’ll drive back together. I’ll have the picnic things cleared up quickly. Just wait.’
She turned back long enough to say, ‘I have been waiting and I’m done with that now. I’ll walk back. I need time to think, and so do you.’
Every fibre of his being urged him to go after her. No good could come of Emma being left alone too long with her thoughts. She would imagine all sorts of perfidious things. But what would he say? Were there any words, any arguments that could make things better? He shook out the blanket and folded it, watching her retreat into the distance. This was not going well at all. He would not be able to contain her much longer. Nor did he want to, and that was as much a problem as anything else.
