Chapter 11
Paris, France
One Week Later
It had been seven years since Cosette had last seen the winding waters of the Seine, the day she’d crossed the arched bridge of the Le Pont Neuf to leave the city for a better life in England. As she sat in a hired carriage across from Davien and looked out across the river, she had to give a shudder. She had finally returned to the city of her birth. Although many of the nobles had moved into the Faubourg Saint-Germain district to be closer to the king and the lavish entertainments provided at court—it had still been difficult to pass through the gateway of the Porte Saint-Martin and see that the city hadn’t changed that much in the intervening years.
“A rather disheartening scene, isn’t it?”
Cosette didn’t turn to face Blackburn, but felt tears well in her eyes as the church bells across the city at Notre-Dame marked the noon hour, while in the distance, the cannons from the Palais Royal of King Louis XV were fired.
The poor still littered the dark, overcrowded streets in the heart of the city, forced to travel by foot to sell their wares in the central market at Les Halles, and relied on the charity of the church in order to survive the harsh conditions brought about by their low wages and high taxes. The blue uniforms of the Parisian police could be found on every corner, but with a new flood of immigrants breeching the city walls every day, it was nearly impossible to keep up with the constant threat of crime, which ran rampant.
Clean drinking water was still fought over at the public fountains, and laundry and bathing was done in a barge on the banks of the river where waste flowed freely. Bread, meat, and wine were high commodities for every Parisian, but the best cuts went to the upper classes. Any uneaten meat from their tables was sold to the highest bidder.
“I remember when the king’s father died,” Cosette said softly. “The people gave thanks to God. They had hope that his son would free them from a life of poverty.” She waved a hand at the window. “But . . . it’s all the same.”
“It will change,” Davien returned, his tone confident. “The lower classes outnumber the nobility. They will eventually grow tired of this way of life and form a rebellion. It’s already begun with the Age of Enlightenment and the Encyclopedie, which has challenged the people to consider human reason, instead of relying on the church and country to provide for them. The expenditure of the war in the British colonies hasn’t helped matters, not to mention the costly excesses from the king and his court.”
“Parisians have always prided themselves on fashion and the arts,” Cosette pointed out.
“An error that will cost lives,” Davien added. “The royals can not continue with such excesses as fine Sevres porcelain, and costly amusements like masked balls and the theatre without expecting a backlash from a people that are suffering starvation and maltreatment.” He snorted. “But Louis is too busy preening in front of his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, to notice the unrest in his own city.”
Cosette wanted to disagree, but the truth spoke for itself in the dilapidated conditions around her.
But then, as if rising from the abyss from the enslaved lower classes, a manicured courtyard came into view in the prestigious neighborhood of Marais, surrounded by numerous, elegant limestone buildings. Cosette almost felt sick that she should be staying in such luxury when so many were suffering such a short distance away.
Davien must have noticed her disgust, for he grasped her chin and placed a light kiss on her lips. “You’ve paid your dues to society. Don’t feel guilty for allowing me this chance to indulge you the short time we’re here.”
Cosette swallowed, but she nodded.
They were greeted at the front door of a hotel particulier by a stoic manservant, along with a woman who appeared equally severe. It wasn’t until the man instructed a nearby footman to retrieve their bags, did Cosette turn to Blackburn with a curious expression.
He merely winked at her and said, “To keep up appearances that we’re a normal couple.”
She smiled. “Naturally.”
Cosette had to admit that the duke had spared no expense to see to her comforts on the journey to France. He saw to all the preparations. She hadn’t needed to lift a finger. Even her things were magically packed and loaded into the coach while she had been in the library reading more of Calmet’s book. It was now safely packed in her bag so that she might peruse it in her spare time.
The crossing of the English Channel had been equally pleasant, and although she was slightly disappointed that the duke had procured separate rooms, she was comfortable in her cabin.
Since she didn’t suffer from seasickness like many others, Cosette ventured top deck as often as she could to relish the scent of the fresh, salty air. At times, Davien would join her, where they would converse about nothing more involved than the weather, but for the most part he left her to her own devices, and seemed content just watching over her from afar.
After she remembered the voice calling to her from Paris that day in his chamber, he had been careful to keep his distance. The light kiss he’d given her in the carriage had been the closest thing to affection that he’d displayed in the past seven days, although he treated her as gracious as a queen.
What was even more surprising was the fact that the beast hadn’t made an appearance lately. No shocking hunting event, no lewd advances that she’d come to expect from Blackburn when he was in the clutches of the animal inside, no . . . nothing. Lately, Davien was almost . . . normal. She didn’t know if it was because of their mutual respect for one another, having developed some sort of unspoken pact that kept the beast in slumber, but she had to admit that it had been rather nice, if not slightly frustrating. She still craved Davien with a passion that consumed her at times, but she was reluctant to act upon it for fear it would shatter this newfound amicability.
Now that they were going to be surrounded by a houseful of servants, Cosette knew that the chances of pursuing a carnal relationship were even more slim. But perhaps it was for the best. They didn’t need to be distracted by lust for one another when they were here for a purpose: to find the voice behind the locket.
“Your Grace. Everything is prepared for your stay. And for the lady, of course.” The butler bowed in reverence to Davien’s title, but when he looked to her, Cosette felt the ground shift beneath her feet. How exactly had Davien introduced her?
“Thank you, Monsieur Pickens. I’m sure my betrothed and I will have a wonderful time in Paris.”
“Naturally.” Again the man bowed, but whatever he said after that fell on deaf ears. Davien had claimed she was
his future bride? He had said that they were to keep up appearances as a couple, and yet . . .
The idea of becoming the Duchess of Blackburn touched something deep inside of her.
