Page 34 of Liaison with the Champagne Count
She nodded. ‘Yes, but we do not always get what we want. I settle myself with being an aunt to my oldest brother’s children.’ She should not ask but suddenly she couldn’t help herself. ‘And you? Did you want children?’
He set down the flute. ‘Once I did. I have not thought on it for a long time. There seemed to be no point.’ His eyes lingered on her for an extended moment and she felt herself grow hot. No. She did not like the unspoken implication in his words that somehow he, who had not imagined children for years, could imagine them with her. The breach of trust was still too raw for her, the reconciliation still too new, and their peace too temporary. Perhaps that was when she’d first realised she would indeed be leaving no matter how the gala went. If she did not, her life would be filled with moments of temptation like this, glimpses into what could be, and she would not be able to resist them for ever. To stay would be to capitulate, to set herself up for disappointment after disappointment.
Julien smiled, breaking the moment. He picked up the flute and reached for acoupe. ‘Do you know the difference between the two of these?’
She shook her head. ‘There is no difference. They are both used for Champagne.’
Julien grinned. ‘They are, but that’s where you are wrong.’ He gestured for a footman. ‘Bring up a bottle of the forty-eight.’ He winked at her. ‘I’ll explain while we wait. The flute is long and narrow. It allows the champagne to remain bubbly, fizzy, if you will, longer. It also allows the champagne to hold on to its scent, its aroma, longer. I think a serious taster would always choose to drink from a flute.’ He set it down and held the coupe aloft. ‘But a coupe is sexy.’ His eyes were dark, his voice low. Emma braced herself. Julienwouldtry.
‘The coupe is wider, it holds more, but it trades quantity for quality. The wide bowl allows the fizz and the aromas to escape more quickly. The champagne doesn’t retain its properties for as long.’
‘How is that sexy?’ Emma knew she shouldn’t ask but she couldn’t help it, she was drawn in by those eyes, by that voice.
He gave a wicked grin. ‘Haven’t you heard the story? A coupe is cut to be the size of Marie Antoinette’s breasts. Her left breast, particularly.’ There was a glint in his eye.
‘No, that is not true,’ she contested with a laugh, forgetting to be on her guard, forgetting that Julien was a master of seduction.
‘You’re probably right,’ he chuckled. ‘There are coupes that date prior to Marie Antoinette. But it makes a damn good story, and it’s tempting, isn’t it? To see if the glass fits?’
‘Sort of like a naughty version of Cinderella’s shoe?’ She couldn’t help the rejoinder.
‘Well, yes, now that you mention it. Can you imagine the prince going about the kingdom with a coupe to fit over all the ladies’ breasts? Quite the social visit that would have been.’ Oh, he was wicked. She’d never look at a coupe the same way again.
The footman returned with the bottle and Julien poured. ‘Try it in the flute first, and then let some sit in the coupe for a little while.’ His eyes were hot on her, their message clear. He’d gladly take this sipping foray into a less public arena.
She shook her head. ‘Julien, I can’t,’ she said softly, and he nodded as if he understood even as he regretted her answer.
He lifted his glass. ‘There is no hurry, Emma. I will wait for you and in the waiting I will prove my worth. We have time, all the time we need.’
She raised her glass to his and she did not correct him. Time was her enemy. If she waited long enough she would fall for him again. This afternoon proved it. She would leave the night of the gala and she would not give him a chance to say goodbye because she could not risk being talked out of leaving again. For her, time had run out.
Time had been on his side right up until the night of the gala. Julien adjusted his cuffs for the umpteenth time as he waited for Emma to come downstairs. Everything was ready, even the weather. Outdoors in the gardens, a lovely June evening was under way: lanterns were lit, the fountains were burbling, the musicians were playing. The judges’ dais had been set up and draped in white bunting. Beyond the gardens a sunset was turning the sky purple over the vineyards. There were even guests, with more arriving in the drive. He could hear the carriage wheels on the gravel. All that was needed was the evening’s host and hostess.
There she was. Emma appeared at the top of the stairs, and his breath caught. For the occasion, she’d set aside wearing black and had opted for something more in line with half-mourning to complement the evening, a gown of soft grey silk. The gown was simplicity itself. It was not overdone with trimmings and bows, just a product of good tailoring, and it fit her to perfection. Jet earbobs hung discreetly at her ears and an ivory cameo on onyx hung with a black silk ribbon was at her neck, both pieces of jewellery a tribute to her mourning. It was tastefully done.
‘I’ve never seen grey look so beautiful on someone before.’ He bowed as she descended the stairs, his eyes noting how the dress flowed over each curve and plane of her. The last three weeks had been a special torture, working side by side with her, and yet not being able to touch her, to renew the spark that kindled so easily between them. She was not ready for that. She was still learning whether or not she could trust him. He bent over her hand, adorned in a long grey silk glove that reached her elbow and matched her gown.
‘It’s not just grey, Julien,’ she teased. ‘It’sgris de perle.’Ah, the colour used to describe the mixing of black and white grapes.
‘You’ve been reading the old wine manuals in the library,’ he teased back. It felt good to tease with her again, to laugh. He wondered how far her goodwill extended. He was nervous tonight on several accounts; he wanted the event to go well, he wanted everyone to get sales offers in the hopes his goodwill with this event would smooth over his desertion of hisoncle, he wanted his wines to show well at the tasting, but most of all, he wanted Emma to stay. He had only one trick up his sleeve left for that. If it should fail...well, he wouldn’t think on that.
‘Did anyone show up?’ Emma whispered, taking his arm, and he realised she was as nervous as he. He wondered if it was for the same reasons.
‘Yes, you cynic. The garden is filling up with guests. I am told Madame Clicquot has just arrived. She agreed to judge the blind tasting.’
‘So, everyone has come to watch Rome burn?’
‘Have faith, Emma. The consortium is interested in money and profit. If we can help enhance theirs, all will be forgiven rather quickly,’ Julien assured her, and he hoped he was right. ‘Tonight, we are going to greet our guests, we’re going to laugh and dance and drink champagne as if all is right with the world.’
And for a while, allwasright. Julien could not recall a more perfect night, sipping ice cold champagne and dancing beneath the stars with the woman he loved. He’d not danced in ages and the feeling of Emma in his arms as they turned about the outdoor dance floor was intoxicating in a way that transcended the bubbles of champagne. She’d been surprised to find he was an accomplished dancer and he teased her mercilessly about it.
The blind tasting was scheduled at eleven and they eagerly lined up with the other guests to hear the results. Thecouteau champenoiswon a blue rosette, which he let hisoncleclaim on his own, Etienne basking in the applause. Some of the Archambeau wines took a few other second-and third-place ribbons, which also pleased hisoncle. Then came the sparkling wines, the champagnes, and Julien felt his nerves ratchet up. Emma’s grip on his arm tightened. Garrett’s special vintage was in this category. Les Voyage des Noces, Garrett had wanted it called. The Honeymoon. Julien had taken special care with it, knowing how important it was to his friend.
There were several in the category, and it seemed to take for ever before the tasting was done. Madame Clicquot and the other two judges set aside their score sheets and Charles Tremblay, who’d offered to act as the facilitator of the tasting ceremonies, began to read the prizes. Julien’s heart sank as the list went on. They’d not taken fourth or third, or second. He was beginning to think the great experiment had failed. ‘This last wine has been described by the judges as bringing a new taste to champagne, it is crisp, sweet, and yet sharp. Like new love itself, as suggested by its name. Our winner is Les Voyage des Noces.’
‘You did it,’ Emma whispered beside him, and he understood that her nerves had been forhim, that she’d cared because he cared, because he wanted it so badly for her, for them. He hugged her tight, not caring what anyone might think, or whatshemight think. In that moment he only wanted to share this victory with her. He felt her arms go about his neck, and she was hugging him and crying. ‘Go on, go get that ribbon, you deserve it.’ On stage, there were congratulations and hand shaking, and there was the expectation of a speech from him, which he made short work of, but when he made his way off the dais into the crowd, Emma was gone.
Julien told himself not to panic. She might have gone to deal with some detail of the party. A champagne supper to celebrate the victors was to be laid at midnight. He went to the kitchens but Petit had not seen her. He checked the retiring rooms but she was not there either. That was when real panic came to him. He stopped a footman on the stairs. ‘Have you seen Madame Luce?’
