Page 19

T he wedding took place at one-thirty in the afternoon.

Mr. Darcy was anxious for them to be on their way, so by four o’clock, Elizabeth had said her goodbyes to her family, and the newlyweds were in his roadster, heading out of town.

Their wedding night would be spent in the Hermitage, a fine Nashville hotel, and they would remain there for five days before returning to begin married life at Pemberley.

Nashville was sixty-one miles away, so it was a lengthier car trip than Elizabeth had ever taken, but they would arrive there by evening.

During the trip, the newly-formed Mr. and Mrs. Darcy sat either awkwardly in silence or engaged in stilted conversation about the wedding, the simple punch and cake reception in the fellowship hall—anything but the strange situation in which they had put themselves.

After a quiet dinner at the Grille Room, housed at the hotel, they retired for the evening. Darcy unlocked the door with his key and Elizabeth noticed his hand shaking slightly.

Now what does he have to be nervous about? I’m the blushing bride here. She shivered, trying not to remember her mother’s instructions: “Let him do what he will to you.It will hurt some, but it’s necessary. And whatever you do, don’t cry. We don’t want him to have regrets about marrying you.”

It sounded cold, mysterious, and a little medieval.

Thank goodness for Aunt Madeline’s advice.

She was practical, explaining exactly what would happen.

Elizabeth found nothing her aunt said particularly shocking.

Working in the vet’s office had exposed her to a lot of things she would never have encountered in a sheltered Chicago neighborhood.

It did seem rather bizarre for humans to act that way, though.

She hoped she could make it through the act without laughing.

When she had said as much to her aunt, Madeline smiled wryly and told her laughing was probably not advisable, at least the first time, lest she completely obliterate her husband’s masculinity.

They shared a good giggle over it, and that conversation had relieved most of Elizabeth’s anxiety—until she actually got to the hotel room.

Mr. Darcy held the door for her, and she smiled a brief thanks.He looked about as grim and forbidding as she had ever seen him.

Elizabeth stopped at the threshold of the suite, stunned.

A round table adorned with flowers sat to one side, and a sitting area with two overstuffed chairs was on the other.

Through the door on the other side of the room, she caught a glimpse of an armoire and a bed—already turned down for the night—with big, white fluffy pillows that looked quite inviting.

She walked through the bedroom, taking it all in, and stepped into the bath.

A claw foot tub with various soaps and lotions was at one end.

Elizabeth also saw a sink with a mirror on the wall above it.

Lights were mounted all around. She had never seen such a thing before and gasped in admiration.

“Do you like it?” Mr. Darcy’s deep voice rumbled behind her.“I asked for one of the nicer rooms.”

“I’ve never stayed anywhere so luxurious! It’s beautiful.”

He looked pleased. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to, ah—well, I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She blushed. “Thank you. You’re very thoughtful.”

“Do you want some time alone? Or we could sit for a while? I think it’s too late to go out anywhere, but—”

“I don’t want to go out.I think I just want to go to bed.” She stopped, blushing even hotter, if that was possible. “What I mean is—”

He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.“I know what you mean, Elizabeth.” He took a deep breath. “Why don’t you go ahead and get ready for bed, and then we’ll sit over there and talk for a bit.” He looked at her as only Mr. Serious could look. “There’s no rush.”

Grateful, she smiled. “I won’t be but a few minutes.” She closed the door and leaned against it, jumping half out her skin when a knock sounded at her back.

“Do you want your bag?”

“Oh, yes, thanks.”She opened the door and took the carpet bag from him, their hands brushing as he handed it to her. They looked at each other, startled, when static electricity passed between them.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She grabbed the bag and closed the door in his face, muttering another brief thanks.

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth emerged, wearing a white floor-length nightgown in a thin, gauzy chiffon.

The sleeveless bodice was designed with a low neckline.

Jane had made it for her as a wedding gift, along with a matching robe, which she wore open over the gown.

She’d washed her face and cleaned her teeth and looked about as presentable as she could.

Peering out into the room, she saw her husband, sitting on the sofa.

He was sipping from a glass and staring into the gas logs of the fireplace.

She set her bag by the desk and proceeded over to him.

He turned at her approach and went very still.

His expression was unreadable except for a widening of his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he said in a hoarse voice.

She looked down, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “Jane made it for me.”

“I wasn’t speaking of the gown—it’s lovely, but I meant the woman in it.”

She flushed and said nothing.

As she sat down in the other chair, she noticed that he had doffed his jacket and tie, and his shoes, leaving him in his stocking feet. The top two or three buttons of his shirt were undone, but to her immediate relief, all his parts were still clothed.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?” He indicated another champagne flute sitting on the little table beside him, filled with bubbly, gold liquid.

“Champagne? Where—?”

“It was a wedding gift.”

Elizabeth remembered sipping on her father’s champagne one New Year’s Eve when she was small, but she had long forgotten what it tasted like. He held out a glass to her. She started to take a sip but stopped when he spoke.

“To my wife—and her health and happiness. Cheers.” He nodded and clinked his glass to hers.

“Cheers,” she replied, taking a sip. Bubbly like a soda and stronger tasting, but it was not unpleasant at all. She took another drink.

He patted the sofa. “Could I convince you to sit beside me?”

She moved over obediently, her heart thudding so loud she was sure he could hear it. His arm lay across the back of the sofa, and he reached over to touch her shoulder gently. “Are you all right?”

“I’m nervous.” It seemed pointless to deny it.

“How can I put you at ease?”

She looked at him in disbelief, but no, he was actually serious. She let out a rueful laugh. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Do you know what’s to happen? What to expect?”

“Yes, I—I mean my mother told me.”

“Oh no,” he said with a grimace.

She laughed again. “But then, Aunt Maddie talked with me too.”

“I see.”

“Maybe we can talk for a while first.”

“If you like.”

“Or maybe it’s just better to get it over with. I don’t know. Do you know?”

He looked at her, startled, and let out one of his sharp bursts of laughter. “No, I don’t. I’ve never done this before either.”

“What? You mean neither of us knows what they’re doing?I was counting on you…” Elizabeth was dismayed. “You’ve never—no wild night in college?”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Of course not. Remember who you’re talking to, Lizzy,” she said under her breath. “Never with Anne?”

“Certainly not!” His tone was indignant. “She was a lady! And fornication is a sin.”

“Oh, well, excuse me. Sorry to offend your gentlemanly sensibilities.” Strange how this fact relieved her, although her nerves were still jumping.

“Don’t fret, Elizabeth. I may not be experienced, but that doesn’t mean I’m not educated.”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“I—good lord! I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you!”

“I am your wife. This business concerns me as well as you.”

“Yes, well…”His cheeks were a dark red, and Elizabeth was actually a little charmed by his embarrassment.

“So? Who did you talk to?” Her eyes opened wide. “Not my father!”

“No!”

“Or my uncle?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Yes.”

“So who?”

“Richard.”

“You asked the sheriff?” Her question ended in an unsophisticated squeak.

He looked defensive. “He was the only married man I knew well enough to discuss it.And I didn’t ask. He—he offered his…advice.”

“The sheriff is married?” Elizabeth’s mind was reeling from this new information.

“He’s a widower.”

“Oh.” The bluster went out of her voice, but it was quickly replaced with curiosity. “What happened to his wife?”

“She died giving birth, almost six years ago.”

“And the child?”

“The baby boy died a few hours after.”

“Oh, how awful!”

“This is not a good conversation to be having right now,” he said to himself.

She looked straight at him. “Do you think I don’t know about the dangers of bearing a child? Any girl who pays attention to women’s talk knows about that.”

Rather than answer, he leaned forward and kissed her, gingerly, tentatively, as if he was dipping a bare toe into a bath or taking a small sip of hot soup from a spoon.

His lips traveled to her jaw, the place behind her ear, where her neck joined her shoulder.

She felt him right her hand that held the champagne flute before he took it from her and drained the glass, eyes on her face the entire time.

When they first entered the room, it had all been incredibly awkward. That was no real surprise to him. The newlywed situation was strange in the best of circumstances, and their courtship and marriage was…atypical, he supposed.