“Elizabeth,” he said awkwardly. She raised her eyes to his. “Do you, are you, are you comfortable with the idea of marrying me?” He had wanted to ask the question for some time but had always found a reason not to. It was not like him to avoid introspection, but when it came to his bride’s feelings about their marriage and about himself especially, he often found it better to not think on it too much.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’m quite comfortable.”

He raised a brow in disbelief and confusion.

She continued, “I will admit that I wasn’t in the beginning. You know I was not expecting your addresses. But I am quite comfortable now.”

“You are?”

“Yes, I am! Now do stop trying to cry off! I am marrying you!” she cried playfully, repeating his words from their walk on the beach the week before.

He raised her hand to his lips and led her back to their sisters, and not a moment too soon. Elizabeth had meant it when she said she was comfortable, for she was. She’d had time to consider and become accustomed to his presence and she was now comfortable with the idea of their marriage. Beyond that, she couldn’t say. And she would really rather he not ask.

~

Comfortable. Elizabeth had said she was comfortable with him. With the idea of their marriage.

Comfortable. Hmpf.

It was a perfectly innocent word, but not the one he would use to describe his feelings about his impending marriage. No, he would use elated, excited, joyful, pleased to an immense degree, eager, happy.

And yet, she did not seem any of those things. He knew her feelings were not equal to his; her father had warned him of it the night he sought her hand. In many ways it was to be expected. They hadn’t spent as much time together as he would like and she was very young. He had a moment of regret that he had not properly courted her, in Hertfordshire or in Kent. Of course, at Netherfield he had been fighting his feelings and thought they were conquerable. By the time he realized they weren’t, he was under his aunt’s watchful eye. He could never court a woman that wasn’t his cousin at Rosings.

But still. Had he pushed to marry too soon? Should he have spent more time in Margate? The few days he had spent with her had changed her demeanor around him immensely. Unless he was vastly mistaken, she enjoyed his kisses and his embrace, and both boded well for the future. She teased him and smiled at him and seemed to trust him. What was he so unhappy about? Was a content bride not a good thing?