He was incredibly cheerful and his valet stifled more than one smile as he watched the master of the house grin like a fool while bathing, combing his hair, and getting dressed. He’d barely been able to stop long enough to be shaved.

Darcy reentered his wife’s room with a spring in his step. She was sitting before the fire with her hair around her like a curtain, much of it still damp, and a comb in her hand. Her expression was blank as she stared into the flames.

“Good morning, dear.” He placed a swift kiss on her cheek. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she asked, suddenly surprised at his presence.

“I asked if you were hungry. There is breakfast in the sitting room.”

Just then her stomach released a loud growl and they both laughed.

“I suppose that answers the question. Come.” He held out a hand and she followed him into the room between their private chambers. A selection of breakfast items was laid out on a side table and she quickly filled a plate and sat across from Fitzwilliam.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

She flushed. “Yes, I did, thank you. And you?”

“Better than ever.” He grinned, of course.

She nodded and looked down as he winked at her, her face impossibly red now.

“What shall we do today?” she asked a few bites later.

“Whatever we like. There is no set schedule. I thought in the days to come it would be nice to give you an in-depth tour of the house, and of course you’ll want to meet with the housekeeper and cook, but otherwise, we are at our leisure.”

She nodded. She felt as if she was doing a lot of nodding lately. He looked entirely too satisfied with himself. She would have been irritated by it if he weren’t being so charming. She shook her head, another thing she was doing a lot of these days. Would she ever fully understand her husband?

“I would like to meet with the housekeeper and cook tomorrow, if I may,” she said.

“Of course you may. You are the mistress of the house; you may do whatever you wish.”

She smiled and he returned it. He seemed utterly at ease and almost annoyingly happy. She never thought she would say it: Fitzwilliam Darcy—Man of Merriment. She almost made herself laugh with the thought. Why was he so much more comfortable than she was? Did he often have breakfast with women in his private sitting room? Had he been married before?

“Am I your first wife?” She was sure she was, but she wanted to double check.

He choked slightly on his tea. “Pardon me?”

“I’m sure I would have heard if I wasn’t, but it suddenly occurred to me that I never asked you before and I wanted to know.”

“Yes, you are, of course. What on earth would make you think otherwise?”