Page 25 of Elizabeth’s Refuge (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #16)
Elizabeth and Darcy explored the town of St. Denis for an hour before they took the carriage the rest of the way to Paris. They about the town walked arm in arm, trailed by a guide to the town who attached himself to tourists at the postal station.
Darcy had a smug and self-satisfied smile everywhere he went. He always enjoyed being able to parade Elizabeth around upon his arm, none of the gentlemen he saw had quite so pretty a wife as he.
Elizabeth on the other hand sighed. “How fashionably dressed all the women are.”
“Nothing to you, my dearest love.”
She laughed. “You need not dissemble upon such a matter — the deficiency is one I shall correct with your money over the next weeks. But however good a job Becky has done with it, the dress I am wearing was not designed for me.”
“You are beautiful.”
Elizabeth kissed his hand in reply. He wished they could kiss freely here on the road. He loved the taste of her mouth. Her taste was soft and fragrant, and he would never, never get tired of it.
“You are perfect, no matter what you wear,” he insisted.
“ Precisely my point,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes sparkling.
“You can admit the truth about my deficiency in clothing without me taking it as an insult upon myself, as it neither is an objection to my taste — these are not clothes which I chose for myself — nor an insult against my person, for I am, as you solemnly stated,” she squeezed and kissed his hand delightedly, “beautiful no matter what I wear.”
Darcy had to laugh.
Elizabeth was so clever, and so ready to win any argument.
“I confess you have won your point , but I do not see how your clothes are in any wit less splendid than those of the others here. Your beauty I believe blinds me to all else — are you certain you must spend so much money upon clothes, since you do look beautiful, no matter what you wear?”
Darcy winked at her. He’d happily let her spend his entire fortune upon clothes (maybe not happily , if that were her actual plan), if such would make her happy.
St. Denis was a walled town five miles or so from Paris. It was dominated by a large cathedral with a fine white marble facade and two tall bell towers.
When they went to enter the cathedral, they were informed by the guide that all the kings of France had been buried in this church.
And then, in one of the most despicable of their many, many despicable acts the Revolutionaries had desecrated the sacred tombs of those kings and removed them from the church.
There was a certain light in the eyes of this guide, a bald man of middle years now, as he described in language so hyperbolic that it could not be taken seriously the horror of the crimes of the Revolutionaries.
Darcy wondered if he may have been one of those young revolutionaries twenty-five years past.
After describing with this passionate and detailed voice the desecration of the cathedral, the guide sighed.
“But alas, happier days have arrived upon us. Our monarch, Louis XVIII, now in the twentieth-third year of his reign” — Darcy and Elizabeth shared a laughing meaningful glance at this description of the length of time for which Louis had ruled France — “He has only this month previous gathered back together all of the bodies of his ancestors and entombed them once more in the church.”
They entered the cathedral and took the opportunity to see the line of white sarcophagi, each with the marble effigy lying above the tomb, in which those luminaries were encased.
It was a fine church and their guide shared many anecdotes about the kings buried there, with emphasis upon their royal excesses.
They returned to their carriage, and Darcy handed their guide a five franc piece as a tip.
Then with fresh horses attached to his well sprung carriage, they went to Paris.
Along the whole distance between St. Denis and the gates to Paris the avenue of the Rue St. Denis was planted with a double row of trees, and you could see straight to the crowded buildings of the outskirts of the great city. There was a great deal of traffic upon the road.
Young farm laborers in simple clothes carrying heavy packs on their backs, either to sell, or which they had bought, going in both directions.
A few carriages as fine, and one far finer, than their own.
A vast array of carts containing produce, winter grain, tiles, bottles of wine, tools, and everything else which a great city required.
“A similar look to London, I think,” Elizabeth said as they went through the outer rings of buildings. “But principally in the city, and not so much the outskirts.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy said. “Much like the City, but somewhat busier than anywhere else in London, with the buildings somewhat taller on the average.”
“What a fine park!” Elizabeth exclaimed as they passed a large wide space, filled with trees.
Darcy from that point entertained himself more with watching the expressions on Elizabeth’s face and the delicate color which the reddish fading sun brought to her than with the city itself.
The sun was setting when the man of business indicated to their driver that they had reached the house.
From the outside it looked much the same as every other building around, tall and made of brick.
“Oh, how beautiful! All this for us?” Elizabeth whirled on Darcy and kissed him soundly as soon as they were introduced to the large entry hall, which took up both floors that they had let.
The room was palatial and the floors were covered with thick rugs.
There was statuary and paintings in every corner, and all of the ceilings fashionably high.
Elizabeth wandered around, while Darcy kept her hand in his as she smiled and looked at every corner.
“A comte maintained this as his Paris residence prior to the revolution,” Darcy’s man of business said with pride in his voice at a job done well, “And a Prussian aristocrat of great rank vacated the previous week. We were lucky to find such a place.”
“Oh, so delightful!” Elizabeth exclaimed again. “I am almost afraid I shall break something by accident.”
“Don’t worry about that ,” Darcy said with a laugh, and he took her hand and spun her about like at a peasant dance before he kissed her again.
The cook which had been hired with the house came out to announce in French to Monsieur and Madame that he had prepared a fantastical welcome feast for them, and that they must sit to dine quickly, lest the food become cold, and unworthy of his name as a chef.