“It’s all right, I am awake,” she said from the settee. She smiled at him shyly and he returned it.

She was grateful, really. She knew he did not need to give her time to adjust, he did not need to be patient with her or have tea sent up. But he did these things because he was a good and kind man and while she was wounded from the events of the previous day, she decided not to let it overcloud her good judgment.

So he was proud. What of it? Now he was also her husband and she should focus on his good qualities and hopefully, with time and a little effort, his pride would wane.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked her softly, afraid to startle her.

She felt her heart soften a little more.

“Yes, quite well. Thank you for the time. It was very restorative,” she said the last quietly, hoping he understood her meaning.

He looked at her softly but kept his position near the fireplace.

“You are welcome.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I am well.”

She replaced her cup and stood, looking around before settling her eyes on him. She supposed this was the part where she was supposed to welcome him to her bed, but she had no idea how to go about such a thing. Should she turn down the coverlet for him? Plump his pillow? Climb in first and hold out her arms? It all seemed utterly ridiculous!

“What—what should I—what do you wish —” she was flustered and incoherent and making no sense at all. “You must think you’ve married a dunce, Mr. Darcy.”

He smiled and took her hand, coming a little closer. “I think no such thing.”

She had so many questions: What he expected of her, what she should expect of him, what the protocol was for this entire affair. Would he sleep with her after? Should she invite him to stay? Or ask him to leave? Which did he expect? Which did he prefer? Should they speak? Remain silent? Wouldn’t that be terribly awkward? To be silent for half an hour altogether? Suddenly she was filled with apprehension. Did it take half an hour? Less time? More time?

“Dearest, what troubles you?” He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, inadvertently making her more nervous.

“I, oh, I have so many questions!” she blurted. Her eyes widened in shock at her admission and he laughed lightly. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

She fidgeted nervously, glancing between him and the floor repeatedly, her face getting pinker by the moment.

“Really, Fitzwilliam, it isn’t necessary for you to laugh at me so! You have me in a very delicate position! You could be gentlemanly about it,” she said with a pout.