Page 35 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
‘Yes, she just went out to the carriages in front.’
Julien began to run. He knew with a bone-deep surety she meant to leave, to slip away now that she’d honoured her end of the deal. She’d stayed until the gala.
But everything had gone so well. Why would she leave now? How would he find her amid the line of carriages? It was her dress that gave her away. Thegris de perlecaught the moonlight, her foot lifted to enter, shining in the dark at the last carriage in the row, one that was easily positioned to leave without alerting all the others. ‘Emma!’ he called, his voice laced with panic. If she got in and decided to make a dash for it, he had no hope of running her down in dancing shoes.
‘Julien, please. Go back inside and celebrate your victory.’ She was calm, as if she were just going into town on a short errand.
‘Why are you doing this? There is no reason to leave, the evening is a success. Madame Clicquot has given you validation. No one dares gainsay us now.’
She put a gentle hand on his arm. ‘It is you who received the validation. Your wines won. This is your world, Julien.’ She was too calm. This was not a spontaneous decision and that chilled him. All night she’d been saying goodbye while he’d been hoping for more, for a second chance, for a new beginning.
‘You were going to leave all along,’ he accused in low tones.
She nodded. ‘I cannot take you away from your family and I cannot pretend that this can only be a business relationship for me. If I stay, I will not be able to resist your charm, Julien, and that is a dangerous place to be when you’re the woman who is keeping the man she cares for from his inheritance. I could never marry you and not wonder how much of your affections are for me and how much are for the estate. That shadow would always be there.’
‘No, it wouldn’t. I can make that shadow go away. When I told you that I chose you, I meant it. I chose you, not the estate or the vineyards, or the Archambeau legacy. That way lies poison. I see it eating myonclealive. If you want to give this place up, sell it to someone else, that’s fine. We can start somewhere new. Or...’ He reached into his coat pocket. This was his last hope and it had to work. ‘I will sign this agreement as part of our marriage contract.’ He passed it to her and gave her a moment to read it, wanting her to see it with her own eyes.
She looked up, astonishment in her gaze. ‘You are signing away your husbandly rights to the chateau?’
‘Yes, I am giving up all claim to it through marriage. It must remain yours. I do not know of any other way to convince you of that.’
‘You would give up your dream for me?’ She put out a hand to the carriage side to steady herself.
‘I’ve already told you, you’re my dream. I am giving up nothing. I am gaining everything.’ He reached a hand out to smooth back a strand of hair. ‘You’ve brought me back to life, Emma. I was dead inside before you came. And now, I want to live and live and live but I can’t do it without you. Will you stay as my wife?’ A slow tear rolled down her face. He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. ‘Emma, what is it?’
She sniffed. ‘I didn’t think a person could find happiness twice in a lifetime.’ She gave a shaky breath. ‘But I have and I hardly know what to do with it. Do I dare believe in it?’
‘If I can dare it, you can dare it. Will you say yes, Emma?’ His world, his entire being hinged on this.
She nodded and he swept her into his arms for a kiss it seemed he’d waited a lifetime for.Thiswas what love felt like. It was not hard or angry or ravenous like some of their other kisses, but it was consuming all the same.
‘What do you propose we do now, Monsieur Archambeau?’
‘We turn this gala into an engagement celebration. I want everyone to know right away.’ She smiled up at him and he was acutely aware that he’d only survived the night because she loved him.
Epilogue
Late spring, 1858
‘Papa! Papa! Pick me up! I want to go riding on your shoulders.’ Sturdy three-year-old legs pelted towards Julien, arms outstretched. He turned from the vines with a wide grin at the sight of his son.
He assumed a teasingly stern stance. ‘What do we say when we want something, Matthieu-Philippe?’
‘S’il vous plait?Please may I have a ride on your shoulders?’ dark-haired Matthieu-Philippe amended eagerly, quicksilver eyes—like his mother’s—dancing with the thrill of being outdoors and quite possibly out from under his nanny’s strict, watchful eye.
Julien picked him up, giving him a twirl before settling him on his shoulders. He revelled in the solid, well-fed toddler weight of his son, in knowing this exuberant little boy was his. His to love, his to nurture, his to teach. The days of Matthieu-Philippe riding on hispère’s shoulders would come to an end, sooner rather than later if the boy kept growing at this rate. He would miss them; the gentle tug of pudgy fingers in his hair, the giggles when Julien would bounce him up and down. Julien would savour these days for as long as he could. But there was consolation in knowing that the days of walking beside him would begin.
Julien smiled at the thought. At last, he had a son to walk the land with him. A son named for both Julien’sgrandpèreandpère. A son who had his mother’s eyes and energy, and his father’s passion for the land. Matthieu-Philippe gave a tug. ‘Père, how are the grapes this morning?’
‘Why don’t you see for yourself.’ Julien bent low, letting the little boy study the vines.
‘They’re green. They’ve got buds!’ the boy exclaimed, bouncing a bit on Julien’s shoulders.
‘They’re growing,’ Julien affirmed, his gaze drifting from the vines to the end of the row, caught by a movement. His smile widened at the sight of his wife. Someone else was growing, too. One could see the prominence of a six-months-pregnant belly when she stood in profile as she was now. Julien’s heart swelled at the thought of another baby, another child to love in a few months. It would arrive just in time for the harvest. But if anyone could handle harvest season and a newborn all at once, it was Emma. His wife was indefatigable.
He loved her more now, six years after their wedding, than he had that beautiful summer afternoon in the vineyard when they’d said their vows before family and friends in an intimate service at home. Although, at the time, he’d not thought it possible to love her more. He’d been the happiest of bridegrooms. That happiness had only grown apace with their grapes. She’d become his partner in all things, or was it that he’d become hers? They’d added three new presses to their production line, they were bottling double the amount of wine they’d bottled six years ago, and sales were up.
She’d been right about the British market. It was definitely an unpicked plum. Emma’s brother Gabriel had played an indispensable role in helping promote their champagne in England. Even now, they were experimenting with ablanc de blancblend of sparkling wine designed with the British palate in mind. But more than her business sense, he treasuredher.She was the heart of their home, keeping the house running, raising their son, running their business. Loving him. Even when he was stubborn and intractable, which he often was. They still quarrelled on occasion, but at the end of each day one thing remained constant: she was his heart.
