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L ater that evening, Elizabeth stood before the lighted mirror, fascinated by the bright incandescence that flooded the room even after dark.

She combed and pulled her hair into waves and curls about her face, trying to imitate the style Georgiana had created yesterday for the wedding.

With practiced efficiency, she pinched her cheeks in an effort to give them more color.

She rarely wore makeup of any kind because she was gifted with a natural blush, thanks to the peaches-and-cream complexion she inherited from her mother.

There was no money in the Bennet family budget for cosmetics anyway.

Georgiana had been insistent about taking her to the Meryton drugstore to buy a few things.

“I wish William wasn’t in such a hurry. We don’t even have time to give you a proper bridal shower,” his sister had grumbled. Georgiana was in her element, opening and sniffing bottles and jars with mysterious contents, and making proclamations about each one.

She had exclaimed, “Yes, definitely” or “What is that? It smells awful!”

Elizabeth left the Meryton pharmacy that day with a basketful of Georgiana-handpicked items: shampoo scented with lavender, soap that didn’t contain lye, some kind of lotion to keep her skin soft in the dry winter air.

At her mother’s insistence, Elizabeth had also splurged on a little tube of lipstick, bought with her wages from Uncle Ed’s office. Guilt had prevented her from purchasing anything else for herself.

Leaning toward the mirror, Elizabeth applied some of that lipstick as her thoughts returned to her situation. William apparently had no qualms about spoiling her beyond all imagining, if their excursion earlier today was any indication.

He escorted her to three dress shops, some of Georgiana’s favorite haunts in downtown Nashville.

Elizabeth was somewhat surprised when the dressmakers recognized him at every place.

Either his sister was a very good customer or Mr. Darcy’s tall, handsome form attracted its own attention.

The young shop girls were quite solicitous, although slightly less enthusiastic when they discovered he was buying a trousseau for his new wife.

Her husband was as stern and forbidding as ever in company.

Elizabeth was beginning to realize that was his way in the presence of new people, those outside his circle of family and friends.

She found that particular trait off-putting when she first met him, but it didn’t seem to bother others as much as it had her.

At the dress shops, he sat in the politely offered chairs located near the mirrors, folding his large frame into the small wooden seats, frowning or nodding his disapproval or approval at the clerks’ choices.Or sometimes, he simply shrugged as if to say, “Whatever you like.”

Elizabeth had grown up listening to strong opinions about her appearance from her mother, but a male perspective on her clothes was a novel experience.

It was a particularly odd feeling having her person appraised so closely, especially by a man who now had a very good idea of what she looked like without any clothing at all.

That thought led her back to images of the previous evening.

Who knew what she was supposed to think about that ?

No, it was not the horrific experience her mother had predicted nor was it the tender, warm interlude Aunt Maddie had described.

If she had to put a word on it, perhaps it was… tolerable.

A chuckle escaped her. In any event, that was part of being married, and she had best accustom herself to it.

Her husband seemed concerned for her comfort, and she was thankful.

In fact, he had treated her with kid gloves—as if she were a delicate flower that would crumble under the slightest pressure.

His attentiveness pleased and yet slightly embarrassed her.

She wondered if his consideration would last once they returned home.

To her mind, special treatment was unnecessary.

Yes, Pemberley was a grand house—she had been there to meet Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper.

But Elizabeth knew exactly what role she would play.

Her husband had said she would be the “mistress” of the house, but she knew the reality: she was a farmer’s wife and had no expectations of leading a pampered existence that might have been hers if her family had remained in Chicago. That future was long lost now.

She inspected her reflection in the full-length mirror, resting on its stand in the corner.

The dress was undeniably beautiful; she had to admit, his taste in clothing was exquisite.

A boat neck and capped sleeves framed a close-fitting bodice.

Yards of the same plum-colored silk, cut on the bias, flowed and flared jauntily at her feet.

The back plunged almost to her waist, leaving her feeling a bit bare.

She had blushed furiously when the dressmaker pulled her aside and asked her if she had “foundation garments to accommodate the lines of the bodice.”Elizabeth had no idea such underthings even existed.

By mid-afternoon, they had ended up with four every day and two Sunday dresses bought off the rack, the plum evening gown and a wrap and gloves to go with it, two pairs of shoes, two nightgowns, a new coat and other cold weather items, some lingerie, and three pairs of stockings.

Orders had been placed for even more clothing over Elizabeth’s protestations at the expense.

Darcy frowned at her and said something about “fitting for your position” and “my wife,” and she acquiesced, not wanting him to think her ungrateful.

Surely, he realized she would be working mostly in the garden and the barn?

Levi denim trousers and work boots, or at least a simple work dress and apron would be more appropriate.

Wouldn’t they? What might she actually be doing with her days now?

She and Uncle Ed had given Mary her job at the vet office, so no more stocking shelves and ciphering accounts for Elizabeth.

When she told William this, he looked at her if she were stating something painfully obvious.

Apparently, her new position as his wife didn’t include gainful employment.

Elizabeth had mixed feelings about that.

Since moving to Kentucky, she had become used to contributing monetarily to her family and had grown to like the idea that she was providing for people who needed her.

Now, she existed only to please her husband and run his house, and her recently discovered usefulness was null and void.

Besides, what was there for her to do at Pemberley?

The extremely efficient and hard-working Mrs. Reynolds had been running the house without a hitch since Georgiana was an infant.

Elizabeth felt her mother’s reproach as surely as if the woman was whispering in her ear. Be thankful for your good fortune. As Charlotte said, every woman “within twenty miles” would love to be in Elizabeth’s brand-new leather shoes right now. So, why couldn’t she feel more appreciative?

The door to the suite opened and closed again, followed by heavy footfalls.

Elizabeth checked her appearance one more time and was pleased with what she saw.

But the glamorous woman who stared back at her was a stranger, a facade covering the woman she had come to know in the last seven months.

She drew in a deep breath and tried on a graceful smile.

William liked it when she smiled at him.

William was pulling out his suit and tie when the bathroom door opened.

He turned and was stunned silent at the vision before him.

He had seen Elizabeth in her new evening dress earlier that afternoon—had asked the clerk for that color specifically, in fact, because he thought it would flatter her.

But then, they had been in public view and in the harsh light of day.

Now the low lamplight gave her hair a soft shimmer and her porcelain skin a warm glow.

A slow smile graced her lips and lit up her eyes—the perfect image of a femme fatale who had walked right off the silver screen and into his bedroom.

He shut his mouth self-consciously and turned away from her.

He wished now he had ordered dinner served in their room tonight.

“The dress suits you,” he said, probably the biggest understatement he had ever uttered in his life.

It was an inane comment, but he didn’t want to sound as foolish as he felt or be accused of flattering her with empty praise.

“I made reservations for seven o’clock at the restaurant.

They have a jazz band that plays after dinner.

” He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in one long series of swallows.

“That sounds lovely,” she replied in a gentle voice that set his blood to simmer.

“Be ready in a bit,” he said and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Darcy leaned against the sink with both hands, taking several deep breaths in an effort to reassert his self-control.

Looking at his face in the mirror, he saw his pulse hammering against his neck.

He waited, and after a minute or so, he thought he was calm enough to shave without slitting his throat. He began assembling his razor.

Spending the entire day with Elizabeth had been a blissful torture.

The worst had been the dress shops—his eyes gliding over her form, devouring every detail, visualizing her without the garment on at all.

She had to be wondering why he cared so much about what she wore.

In truth, he couldn’t care less about the clothes—he just wanted to look at her, constantly.

It was a humbling—and, if he was honest—terrifying realization.