To that end, he had been kind and loving with her. He had been affectionate for the fortnight they had been married, at least to the extent he could be once her wretched courses had come, and when he lay with her he had been tender and gentle, assuring her of his devotion in every touch to her soft skin and every kiss to her sweet lips.

But despite his trustworthiness and utter devotion, she had not responded as he thought she would. He was mature enough to realize people did not always behave the way he wished them to, but he had such hopes with Elizabeth that he thought, just this once, his faith might not be mislaid.

She wasn’t cold to him, quite the contrary. She often touched him throughout the day, leaving a tingling sensation on his arm or shoulder or wherever she had placed her hand. She laughed and teased and sparkled for him without reservation. She never turned him away and accepted each of his kisses if not always enthusiastically, at least happily. He truly had nothing to complain of. He had heard stories from other men of wives who locked their doors at night and turned their faces when their husbands leaned in for a kiss. His Elizabeth would never do such a thing, he was nearly sure of it.

What was truly bothering Darcy, as much as he hated to admit it, was that her personality was not coming through in their lovemaking. If he was honest with himself, and Darcy always was, he had dreamt of her teasing him and raising that impertinent brow as she slowly slid her nightgown off her shoulders. Or sitting in the center of the bed, surrounded by white downy blankets and pillows, wearing nothing but a smile as she waited for him to come to her. Or playfully tormenting him with innuendo and suggestions throughout the day, culminating in fervent coupling that night.

But none of that had happened. She had consented to him coming to her every night she was not indisposed, even Sundays. She had consented to him sleeping in her bed afterward. She had consented to being completely bare with him, something she had been embarrassed to do but had agreed to after gentle encouragement and assurance of his affection and the dimness of the light.

As he sat being shaved the morning of the second day at The Lakes, Darcy berated himself. She simply needed time to become accustomed to the marriage bed. As her confidence grew, so would her comfort. Or perhaps it would be the other way round. Anyway, he was sure he was worrying over nothing. So Elizabeth had not met his mind’s imaginings within a fortnight of being married. Was that really something to complain about? They had plenty of time—they had a lifetime together. He smiled at the thought.