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The Palais Garnier Opera House glittered with gems, gold and gaslight.
"Oh, it is so lovely," Elizabeth stood admiring the art. "Thank you for suggesting the opera, Fitzwilliam." She had expected a beautiful production. She had not expected such a beautiful theatre. It was stunning.
Darcy stood admiring his wife. She was alive and sparkling with pleasure. Five-and-twenty years married and his Elizabeth remained among the most handsome women he knew, equaled only by their two precious daughters. Focusing his attention back on the art of the Grand Foyer, he brought a particularly beguiling painting to her attention. "Terpsichore reminds me of you, wife."
"You flatter me. Fitzwilliam. I am no longer in the bloom of youth."
"I state only the truth." He had often seen such a look on the face of both a youthful Elizabeth Bennet and a mature Elizabeth Darcy. "You are every bit as beguiling today as you were the day I married you," Darcy stated firmly. No one could change his mind on that point.
"Very well, consider it settled. I am beguiling," she shot him that exact look, "and you are in need of spectacles."
Darcy simply shook his head. She may not see it in herself but he did. "Let us find our box, shall we?" There was no need to argue the point here. There would be time enough after the opera to convince her to see things his way.
Not long into the opera, the soprano in the role of Marguerite started croaking like a toad. Moments later, the huge chandelier crashed down from the ceiling into the audience and panic ensued.
Darcy and Elizabeth were safe in their box on the third tier. They remained in place until Darcy felt that it was safe enough for them to leave their box and the building. The couple spent the rest of their evening taking comfort in the other's arms, grateful neither had been injured.
They learned in the morning that a spectator had been killed. It was unclear at that point if the death had been caused by the fallen chandelier or in the subsequent pandemonium and stampede to exit.
Two weeks later, after a visit to Versailles to view the new historic galleries, Darcy and Elizabeth were back in Paris.
"Shall we attempt the opera again, my dear?" Darcy asked. He wished for a second chance to view the muse which reminded him of his wife. He hoped to commission something similar to hang in their chambers at Pemberley. He also hoped to convince Elizabeth to commission a costume similar to Terpsichore's to wear in their chambers as well.
"The soprano was rather dreadful, Fitzwilliam," she said, calling his attention back from his mental image of his wife dressed as a Greek goddess.
"I have it from the concierge that the opera star portraying Marguerite has been replaced with a younger soprano, a Miss Christine Daaé. He has heard that she is extremely talented."
"Well, she could not be worse than the last soprano, and the opera house was extraordinarily beautiful. Yes, I believe I would enjoy another night at the opera."
Or perhaps not, Elizabeth thought later that evening. That extremely talented young soprano was abducted during the production of Faust and the Palais Garnier had to be evacuated when the abductor threatened to murder everyone in the building with explosives.
The next morning, Elizabeth asked, "Fitzwilliam, might it be possible to journey back to England a few days early?" She had enjoyed their journey, and most definitely enjoyed the time spent with her husband. However, if they never attempted to attend another production of Faust, or to view the interior of the Palais Garnier again, Elizabeth felt their lives would continue on just fine.
"Yes, my dear. I do believe that could be arranged." Darcy also felt it was best to return to England as soon as may be. After all, the hotel concierge had been able to obtain the contact information for the Terpsichore's artist, Paul Jacques Aimé Baudry, and that particular arrangement could always be made by post.