He adjusted, eventually, though for the first two…four times, he could have sworn he would fall out of his saddle, dead asleep. Dear readers, whew. This took me a while. As always, I want to know (truly) what you think. Darcy congratulated himself on having thought of the forfeit. It was a most brilliant idea. Now his little wife watched him cautiously, clearly both entranced and terrified by the idea of what he could ask of her. It was obvious to him that her knowledge of such things was more, perhaps, than for most females her age—for she was a reading kind of girl; but on the other hand, it was necessarily incompleat. Now she trembled every time he looked at her and blushed whenever he arched an eyebrow—not so much in fear, mostly in breathless anticipation. But of course, he had nothing like that in mind. At first, he intended to use the forfeit—a strange idea that had occurred to him at the sight of her distressed, shamed countenance, a moment before he had said it—to make his life easier. He had told her the truth: her stubborn refusal to do as she was told was driving him slowly insane. He was not accustomed to be constantly gainsaid. She was continuously ready to deny him before giving it a moment of thought. He could never guess what would cause her displeasure. He had wrestled from her the pleasure of her company on morning walks (not that he desired her to be there, but he liked walking out with Georgiana, and Georgiana liked walking out with her new sister-in-law), but she had protested vocally when he had slipped his coat over her shoulders.