The Champagne Queen (The Century Trilogy Book 2) (42 page)

The two men shook hands, and her father cleared his throat. “Who would have guessed that we would meet in the Berlin Palace? But now that we have, we should make the best of it and spend the evening together.” His expression was as single-minded as ever, and it was clear that he expected Isabelle to agree. Turning to Raymond, he said, “We’ll be dining in the yellow salon. I know the maître d’ well, and if you agree, I could ask him to modify the place settings so that we can sit together.”

Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat. Anything but that! But the next moment, she felt Raymond’s soothing hand on hers.

Raymond smiled. “A wonderful idea, but I hope you will understand that we have to decline your offer. We’re sitting in the main gold hall. At the emperor’s table.”

“A wonderful idea, but . . . we’re sitting at the emperor’s table!” Isabelle mimicked Raymond’s grave tone of voice. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous glee. “I will never forget the look on my father’s face! As we walked away, I wanted to look back just to see it again. But leaving them standing there was certainly the most elegant move.” Isabelle giggled playfully. What an evening!

“Let’s celebrate,” Raymond had suggested when the imperial dinner was over.

“But what exactly would we be celebrating? There’s so much,” Isabelle had replied boldly. She followed Raymond into the elegant bar that, located so close to the Museum Island and the palace, had become a popular meeting place of the rich and beautiful of the city.

Raymond, of course, had ordered champagne for both of them. It must have been something special, Isabelle realized, because two waiters came to their table to serve it. One of them brought a wine bucket and glasses, while the headwaiter of the establishment, with a solemn expression, began to untwist the
muselet
surrounding the cork. He was about to remove the foil when Raymond took the bottle from him.

“But, sir—” the headwaiter said, perplexed.

“Thank you. I’ll do that,” said Raymond, waving the waiters away.

Isabelle grinned. “You don’t like to give up the reins, do you?”

Raymond smiled. “It is my great pleasure on our final evening in Berlin to open this bottle for you. This is an 1874 Pommery—in my opinion, it is the best champagne made in the last fifty years.”

“The first time I entered your shop, you were talking about just this champagne. And you’re right: today is one of those days when only the very best will do,” said Isabelle, raising her glass exuberantly to Raymond. The two glasses clinked loudly, which drew looks of disapproval from several guests. Isabelle didn’t care. She felt better than she had in a long time! The elation she experienced when they simply walked away from her father . . . She beamed radiantly and said, “All my life, my father wanted only one thing: to be accepted by high society. Then along comes his good-for-nothing daughter and upstages him.” She shook her head. “And I still have no idea how you managed to engineer two places at the emperor’s table.”

“Wouldn’t it be a terrible thing if I were unable to surprise you still, after the short time we’ve known each other?” With a secretive smile, he refilled her glass. “A toast to the new champagne supplier to the Imperial Court!”

“An order from the court of the German emperor, oh my . . .” Isabelle let out a joyous squeal, which brought more condemning looks. She raised her glass to her lips and drank quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so terribly excited. If my father only knew. In all his years as a factory owner, he hasn’t delivered so much as a sheet to the palace. It would have been his greatest dream.” She set her glass down, her hand shaking slightly. She almost pinched herself to make sure all of it was true.

“You know what they say: you reap what you sow,” said Raymond, then he lit a cigar.

The first bottle of Pommery went down so quickly that Raymond hurriedly ordered a second. The ice-cold, foamy champagne tasted so delicious that Isabelle felt as if she could not get enough of it. The second bottle was soon empty, too.

When they left the bar two hours later, everything was more than a little blurry. It was a warm night, and although it was well past midnight, many people were still out and about. Couples strolled across bridges, holding each other close. Men lurched drunkenly through the streets, and a few streetwalkers were on the lookout for customers. Isabelle glanced around, trying to think, but for the life of her she could not say in which direction their hotel lay. She held on to Raymond’s arm and let herself be led.

“What would I do without you?” she whispered, and nestled closer to Raymond. He put one arm around her protectively, and they made their way slowly toward their hotel, surrounded by swarms of nocturnal insects and the quiet splashing of the Spree onto its banks.

Arriving in the lobby, Isabelle stopped in her tracks, looking wide-eyed and disappointed at Raymond, and said, “If it were up to me, this night would last forever!” She lifted the hem of her dress a little and began to dance around the room, but on the second turn, she became dizzy and staggered.

Raymond, who had just taken both of their room keys from the night porter, caught her before she could fall.

“I think that’s enough for today. Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”

With a blissful smile on her lips, Isabelle stumbled up the stairs to the first floor. Her head was still filled with the many conversations of the evening, and with the music, the tinkling of glasses, the carefree laughter. She hummed softly to herself while Raymond unlocked her door for her. “Madame,” he said, and held the door open theatrically. “If I may be of any further service?” he said, mimicking the deferential tone of the bellboys.

“You should stop putting all these silly ideas in my head. Tonight I’m the champagne queen, and when I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll be the housemaid again. That’s just how it is, isn’t it?” said Isabelle, and her laugh came out sounding a little too shrill. She quickly pressed a kiss to Raymond’s lips. “Thank you so much, so much. For everything!” she whispered drunkenly. “You put the world at my feet today.”

His lips tasted of champagne and of the cigar he had smoked in the bar. Before she could separate from him again, his arms closed around her.

“Not only the world, but my heart with it.”

The first thing that crossed Isabelle’s mind in the morning was not how nice it was to once again wake up next to a man. The feel of soft breathing beside her, a warm body. Nor was it anything about how good it felt to be desired and caressed as a woman. The first thing she thought when she opened her eyes was: What have I done?

A soft groan rose from her throat, and she hurriedly pressed her lips together. But Raymond, lying on his back, relaxed, went on sleeping soundly. No snoring escaped his lips; no frown marred his face. Even in his sleep, he looked self-possessed, almost superior. Isabelle edged away from him with care, not wanting to wake him with some careless movement. She wanted to get out of the bed, to run away, far away! She wanted to be alone, to think about what had happened. To breathe in some fresh air, clear her head so she could think coherently. But she stayed where she was. In the bed that she had made.

She and Raymond. He was a handsome man and always so attentive to her. The ball, the wine served in the palace, and then all the champagne at the bar . . . She was not surprised that she had lost her head. She hoped that she had not made too embarrassing a spectacle of herself. If only she could better recall all that had happened! But the previous night was like a patchwork quilt in her memory, with pieces missing everywhere.

But was she taking it too easy on herself by blaming all her levity and recklessness on the alcohol? Hadn’t last night been the natural consequence not only of that night but of all the weeks that preceded it? Had she simply refused to acknowledge the direction their relationship was going? And there was Daniel back home . . .

Her head swimming with thoughts, Isabelle stared toward the window. The heavy velvet curtains were still drawn. It would have been easy to extend the night, to pick up where they had left off hours earlier. To press her body to his, her body as a gift of love. Instead, Isabelle covered her nakedness with the silken bedcovers.

Lying in Raymond’s arms had not been uncomfortable. The opposite was true, in fact—he knew how to give a woman pleasure. A flame had been kindled, and yet their lovemaking had not turned the flame into an all-consuming fire, as it always had with Leon. All Leon had to do was touch her to make every fiber of her body tremble; with Leon, her heart overflowed with happiness, and her soul rejoiced with love. But where had her heart and soul been the night before with Raymond?

Raymond awoke a little later. He blinked twice as if to reassure himself of reality, then a smile spread across his face. He propped himself on one elbow, kissed Isabelle softly on the forehead and said, “Thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

Isabelle smiled back tensely. Before she could ask him to leave her alone, he had already stood up and was gathering his clothes from where they lay strewn around the bed.

“Breakfast in two hours?” Without waiting for her answer, he left the room.

A gentleman to the core. And understanding, too. Filled with relief, Isabelle looked at the door he had just walked through.

Now they were sitting on opposite sides of a table in the hotel’s breakfast room.

“May I order you an egg? Or some smoked fish?” asked Raymond, handing the basket of bread across to Isabelle.

“Thank you, yes. Something savory would do me good.” She nodded in the direction of the high windows. “Another sunny day. Good traveling weather, isn’t it?”

“The heavens smile when angels travel—isn’t that what they say in Germany?”

They laughed together. Two travelers, two people who liked each other, who passed the marmalade and honey and made conversation. And who talked to each other like strangers.

In the train to Frankfurt—the first leg of their homeward journey—Raymond began the conversation that Isabelle had been fearing since she awoke.

“Isabelle . . . ,” he began, and Isabelle knew exactly what was coming from the way he intoned her name. She looked around, as if for an escape route or someone to distract them, but just at that moment the first-class compartment was empty. “Until now, I have chosen my words with care, but now that I would like to confess my love to you, I no longer know how to begin.” He lifted one hand in a gesture of helplessness.

Silence, sometimes, is golden
, Isabelle wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She had never experienced Raymond at a loss for words.

“I have met many women in my life, but none was ever good enough for me. All my life, I’ve dreamed of a woman like you, and I was on the verge of losing hope. Then I met you, and my dream came true after all. Do you still remember the first time you came to my shop? To me, then, it felt like a fateful encounter.”

Isabelle’s smile was constrained. “Fate, coincidence—who can say for certain?” Life had taught her not to read too much into such events.

He waved one hand dismissively, as if to keep away anything that might divert him from expressing his thoughts.

“Since I’ve known you, my days have been brighter, as if the sun has been shining down forever.” To underline his words, he gestured toward the radiant blue sky curving over the landscape around them. “Dear Isabelle, could you imagine a life at my side? We could travel, spend our nights in magnificent hotels, see the world. My place in Reims is luxurious and big enough for both of us. We could run my business together. You with your charm, and me with my expertise.” He took both her hands in his; Isabelle felt the pressure and warmth of his fingers. “Isabelle, marry me, and I’ll give you a heaven here on earth. I think I’ve shown on this journey, at least a little, that I am capable of that, haven’t I? The honor alone of being allowed to sit at the German emperor’s own table . . .”

Had he been trying to bait her with that? She frowned, and then she said, “And I am thankful for all of that. But your proposal still comes . . . very suddenly.”

“Suddenly? After last night . . .” Raymond smiled. “When a woman gives herself to a man, he can surely take that as a sign of her favor, can’t he?”

Embarrassed, Isabelle turned her eyes away. So this is what she got . . .

For a long moment, neither said a word. Then Raymond spoke again. “Think about how good it would be. After all your hard work, it’s time—high time—that you enjoyed your life. You’re young; you’re beautiful. Why would you want to waste your beauty and energy growing grapes? Look no further than Henriette Trubert to see what that kind of life can do to a woman.”

Isabelle laughed for a moment. “That’s all well and good, but then who’s supposed to look after the estate? I have no interest whatsoever in selling; that place is my husband’s legacy, and I will do everything I can to keep it safe for my daughter.”

“So far, you haven’t exactly had an easy time of it. Without Daniel’s help and my own, you would hardly have managed it at all,” Raymond replied, rather directly. “Daniel Lambert grew up on your estate, and he knows it ten times better than you. With him to lease the place, the vineyards and the entire operation would be in the very best hands. Let him look after all of it—you’d be doing the right thing!”

Isabelle nodded, considering the idea. Daniel Lambert and the Feininger lands were as interwoven as the tendrils of two grapevines growing side by side. In her mind’s eye, she saw him standing among the vines, trimming a too-long shoot, tying another in place. All these things were second nature to him. Daniel . . . A wrench of longing tugged at her heart.

Raymond, encouraged by her nodding, went on. “And your daughter, of course she would have the best of care. There are outstanding homes in Reims; the Sisters of Notre Dame have an excellent name when it comes to . . . special children. Many of my well-to-do customers have left their children in the care of the sisters. They—”

“Marguerite in a home? Never!” Isabelle interrupted him sharply. Her heart began to beat faster, as if she were confronted with a terrible danger. “Marguerite is the best thing that ever happened to me. She belongs to me, and whatever may come, I will never separate from her. No one, no man in this world, would be worth separating from her.” Her eyes sparkled fiercely, if she were ready to physically defend her daughter there and then.