“Is it the normal and expected thing for a woman to be frightened of congress with a good man if once an evil man tried to force it upon her?” Elizabeth laughed. She then frowned and rested her head on Darcy’s chest. “I can see in truth very easily see how such a fear could arise, were my nature different, but I am who I am and it has not.”
The weather had been unseasonably warm for February since the day Darcy asked Elizabeth to marry him (or had she asked him to marry her? — it was quite like Elizabeth to jump over such proper forms, and he loved her for it). The winter fields were yet empty and grey, but there were hints of blooms and early green buds if one looked, which they did, as they took regular walks round the countryside.
The couple travelled slowly and took the road by easy stages, often just going twenty or thirty miles in a day and spending hours in each city or town of any interest. They arrived in Amiens before noon, and stayed there the rest of the day, as Elizabeth was charmed by the large gothic cathedral. Another time they simply stayed in a village where they were changing the horses because the station master mentioned that the sunset was beautiful from a hill a mile from the town.
It was.
They came into Paris early in the evening, a little before sunset.
Darcy’s man of business met them at the postal station at St. Denis. He had made arrangements for the rental of a fine set of apartments occupying two floors of a building on the Rue de Richelieu, with just a few minutes’ walk to the Palais Royal, and from there a few more minutes’ walk to the Palace of the Tuileries and the Seine.
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 façade 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.
Chapter Fourteen
As Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy explored the ancient township of St. Denis, hundreds of miles to
the north, in Meryton, Elizabeth’s mother received an extraordinary letter with the afternoon post.
She sat in the upstairs sitting room of her younger sister, Mrs. Phillips’s, house. Mrs. Bennet still often thought with unhappiness upon how far she had fallen from the days when she was the wife of one of the largest estates in the neighborhood.
If only Mr. Bennet had never become sick. If only, if only, if only…
If only she had borne a son.
A son who would have inherited the estate instead of letting it go to those scheming Lucases.
Despite the occasionally selfish and bitter tenor of Mrs. Bennet’s thoughts, she was usually cheerful and happy — she had after all not starved in the hedgerows, and the human mind can adjust to any circumstance and treat the new as normal.
Mrs. Bennet was in fact grateful to Mrs. Phillips and Mr. Phillips for taking her in. She was grateful also to Mr. Gardiner and the help he had provided. And she still enjoyed visits and gossip, as the consolations of a life which had not turned out as it ought have.
Two daughters married, but entirely wrong.
Jane could have done far better than a vicar whose living ran to maybe two hundred in a year, and that only if he aggressively made an effort to collect all the tithes owed him — which Mr. Chawson did not.
Jane had nearly married Mr. Bingley and his four thousand a year, in that last year of Mrs. Bennet’s happiness with dear sweet Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet would never be able to forget that Jane ought to be married to a man with such an estate.
Mrs. Bennet could never understand how such a promising attachment had fallen apart. At least, Jane was delightedly happy now in her poverty, and she had produced one lovely babe, a son, already.
And Lydia… Mrs. Bennet did not think often of Lydia.
She always blamed Lydia for what occurred to Mr. Bennet. And now that the war was over, and all hope of advancement through the French happily shooting inconvenient superiors was gone for him, she did not expect to see Captain Dilman ever Major Dilman.
Any man willing to marry such a girl as Lydia, with such a past, and with such charms as Lydia had, could not be a man focused upon his own advancement.
At least Lydia had married. That was better than Mrs. Bennet had ever expected.
Mrs. Bennet at least liked her granddaughter from Lydia, though she had only seen them twice, while Jane and her son were very happily settled within an easy travelling distance of Meryton.
Kitty still lived with Mrs. Bennet. She was the comfort of Mrs. Bennet’s desolation, though Mrs. Bennet would of course prefer that Kitty had married as well.
And Elizabeth and Mary… why had they gone off to become governesses?
Both wasted every chance to snag a husband. Mary… Mrs. Bennet accepted Mary’s choice. She’d never expected better from that daughter, and Mary sounded in her stuffy letters as though she enjoyed her position. Even though her life sounded dreadfully boring.
Elizabeth had always been wild and ungovernable. It was her fault the scheming Lucases took Longbourn in the first place.
Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend how even Elizabeth had been involved in such a great scandal, and she hardly knew what to believe. There had been soldiers and Bow Street Runners here to visit. And they accused Elizabeth of stealing from the earl who had employed her. And all she had was a single letter from Elizabeth written in a shaky hand, promising that she was well.
What nonsense.
What had her dear girl gotten herself into?
Mrs. Bennet always expected Elizabeth to get into some sort of problem, but never to be hung. It would be such a scandal, and she would cry and weep, and be desolate at the shame of it. And then no one would ever marry Kitty or Mary, and Kitty was pretty enough that she might do well for herself if she ever had a proper chance.
Mrs. Gardiner had told Mrs. Bennet that there had been at least two tradesmen with respectable positions who had shown interest in Elizabeth, and that she had discouraged them both. Mrs. Gardiner at the time was rather frustrated with Elizabeth’s unwillingness to accept the necessity that she would not find a man who was both a decent match and who looked decently well.
Mrs. Bennet was rather proud of Elizabeth. She had lived in the world long enough to have a decent notion of what happened. Only Elizabeth could have defended her virtue from such a man. Mrs. Bennet was very glad after the Gardiners had visited with the entire story that was running wild round London that Mary was employed by a widow with only daughters in the house.
If only Lizzy wasn’t going to be hung for it!
Mrs. Bennet was quite pessimistic enough to be sure Lizzy would be hung, just as she had been sure years before that her husband would find Mr. Wickham and duel him and be killed while searching for Lydia.
Mrs. Bennet was quite shocked when Mrs. Phillips ran into the drawing room with Kitty and her husband in tow, “A letter from Lizzy to you! From Lizzy! Posted from France.”
Everyone pushed the letter into Mrs. Bennet’s face, and they eagerly waited for her to open it, so they could find out what the news was.
Mrs. Bennet looked at the letter, sealed with red wax imprinted with a half familiar symbol. Her daughter’s name written on the outside, Pas-de-Calais was marked as the city the letter was sent from.
Something in her heart unclenched, and Mrs. Bennet could not help but smile. Whatever news the letter contained, her daughter was safe. She hadn’t even realized how deeply anxious she had been for Lizzy’s fate until that worry was gone. “In France. She is in France.”
Kitty smiled too, and Mrs. Phillips.
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Phillips said, “Open up so we can know what her circumstances are — I dare say she has written asking for money to support herself out of the country.” The country lawyer was happy enough at seeing that his niece had escaped her enemies that he did not even sound particularly sour at the prospect.
Mrs. Bennet found it difficult to understand what the letter said, for it was too fantastical to be credited.
Dear Mama,
I am sure you have worried very greatly for me these past weeks, but I am now entirely safe and well, though still I cannot return to England. I have some news which shall surprise you greatly.
I am to be married tomorrow morning, and I shall be long since married by the time you receive this letter. Now that I have safely escaped from England, I may tell you that I sought refuge after Lord Lachglass attacked me with an old friend of ours, from many years before, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He holds an affection for me that has lasted all the years since we saw each other last, and in the course of the past weeks I have realized I too have a deep and abiding affection for him. I know this shall shock you, as you always believed I disliked him, but I learned many years past that much of the source for my dislike for Mr. Darcy was based upon false pretenses.
He asked me to marry him yesterday, and I accepted gladly, and we are to be married tomorrow morning before we set off to Paris.
I have spoken to Mr. Darcy at length about your situation, and we wish to ensure you, and Kitty and Mary all can live happily and well, and maintain your positions as gentlewomen. Mr. Darcy has a large cottage on his great estate which has traditionally been used by the mother of the master if she outlives her husband. We wish to offer for you to freely live there, and Mr. Darcy will provide a pension to you to pay for your expenses. Attached to this note is a check that can be drawn on Mr. Darcy’s bank accounts at Childe’s for six hundred pounds to provide the funds necessary to move, and also to purchase some new dresses for yourself and Kitty and Mary.
I am certain that my uncles Mr. Phillips and Mr. Gardiner will help you in making business arrangements, and I have asked Mrs. North, the housekeeper at Darcy’s home in London, to call upon you in a few days, to explain the situation of the cottage and further matters.
Mrs. North was exceedingly kind to me during the time I spent ill and quite destitute in Mr. Darcy’s home.
T
ell Kitty that I miss her very much, and she must come visit us in France in some four or five months if matters have not changed such that I can return to England.
Your loving daughter, signing her name for the last time as,
E Bennet
After she finished reading the letter aloud, Mrs. Bennet stared ahead for a period of several minutes without being able to say a word, such was her shock.
Mr. Phillips recovered first and took from Mrs. Bennet the check that had been packaged in the envelope. “Looks like the real thing. Looks entirely like the real thing. Heh. Did not expect that from Miss Lizzy.”
Kitty clapped her hands. “Oh, new dresses! I am so tired of this old material!” She pinched her woolen dress with some annoyance. “But Mr. Darcy? Didn’t Lizzy dislike him very much indeed?”
Mrs. Phillips sighed. “‘Tis so romantic. He was very tall and handsome, whatever he may have said of our Lizzy. I remember he had said he did not like her appearance, but I fancy men often say that of the women they are the most fascinated by when they wish to hide their sentiments.”
Finally Mrs. Bennet comprehended the happy fate that had fallen upon her family, after so many years of ill luck. They finally had such a stroke of good luck so nearly to make up for it all. This marriage did make up for every ill luck, except the death of her husband, for though she had never understood Mr. Bennet, she had loved him.
Mrs. Bennet exclaimed aloud, “Ten thousand pounds a year! As good as a Lord!” And then shortly after she exclaimed again, “Oh, if only Mr. Bennet were alive to see how well our Lizzy has done for herself!”
Chapter Fifteen
The morning after they arrived in Paris, Elizabeth and Darcy set off on foot eager to explore the city.
Elizabeth felt full of energy and enthusiasm that morning. The lascivious nighttime marital activities they now enjoyed, being happily — very happily that is — married got better each night as she became more used to Darcy’s body, and he to her desires.
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