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Her slight movement was sufficient to wake Thorne. After his eyelids fluttered open, he paused for a moment to survey the canopy of the bed blankly. Then a big grin lit up his face. Turning he saw Jane was awake.

“My love,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning towards her to grasp her hand. He somehow used this to reel her in like a fish.

Before she could do more than say good morning, Jane found herself locked in another passionate embrace. Initially a little embarrassed at her husband’s lovemaking in the full light of day, Jane soon succumbed to his caresses, returning them with some enthusiasm. Suppressing her natural modesty, she allowed the nightgown to be teased over her head and flung aside, but not before the bed curtain facing the door was drawn. She took a quick glance at her nightgown while Thorne was employed with the bed curtains. She was relieved to see there was nothing to worry about—the gown was not marked by any stain. Thorne further assured her, as he found the single hook and eye on the back of the gown before he began to peel it off, that he had asked the servants to give them some time alone that morning.

Thorne found Jane even more beautiful in the daylight, kneeling au naturel on the bed. When he proceeded to demonstrate his adoration, she responded to his kisses and caresses more promptly than she had on the previous night. He entered her quickly. Having dispelled the chief of his pent-up frustrations the night before, he took things slowly. After a full minute of gently plying her as she sighed and caressed his bottom with her fingernails, he picked up the pace. The bedhead began to hit the wall again. When Jane threw her head back and began moaning, Thorne knew he had helped her achieve the ultimate felicity. He briefly tossed up withdrawing to enter her from the back or rolling over to bring her on top of him, but decided it would be too much too soon. Based on her slight prudishness on the previous night, he thought he needed to gain her trust first before getting too adventurous. Instead, he interleaved his fingers with hers, drew her arms over her head and pinned them there as he finished off. Lowering himself to press his chest against her breasts and tease her lips with his own in the afterglow he whispered, “I love you, Jane.”

When Jane responded with something between a moan and a sigh he spooned behind her and they fell back into a nap. By the time Thorne woke again, the mantel clock was at a quarter to nine. Knowing the servants would be in soon, he reluctantly got up to pull on his breeches before walking around the room to reclaim the rest of his clothes. He also retrieved Jane’s wrap from near the dressing table and laid it across the end of her bed before exiting to his room.

On entering the bedchamber cautiously at nine, Hendy found the mistress sound asleep alone in her bed, naked but decently covered. Leaving Jane asleep, she proceeded to the dressing room to continue unpacking Jane’s trunks, giving an appreciative glance at the skylight above. The clever design of the house meant that even the chambermaids’ rooms, which gave onto the light well above, had natural light. But as an upper servant, Hendy’s window looked out upon the Avon. Her room was very much to her satisfaction, much nicer than the cheerless cell she had occupied at her former position in Hanover Square, in which it had been impossible for her to stand upright. She later discovered that these happy modifications to the house’s original design were made by Mr Thorne himself. Having worked his way up from the lower classes, he was sensitive to their lot, which, she thought, was the way of the best of social climbers, the remainder being intent on distinguishing their new status above those below them even more than people born to it.

Hendy found a more substantial wrap than the filmy creation that her mistress had donned for the master’s delectation, which she set aside for when Mrs Thorne should wake. The second trunk contained more silk gowns—the mistress certainly had a tidy number. Some of them looked like they came from the best modistes in Bond Street. At the bottom were a few more modest gowns of muslin—such as the mistress might choose to wear when she walked in the rose garden—some shawls, and lastly a flat jewellery box. Hendy opened the box to view the trinkets and was quite astonished to see an eye-popping parure of aquamarines—the sort of thing that ought to be in a strongbox. She carefully hid it at the bottom of a drawer before emerging into the bedchamber to tidy the dresser.

When Jane woke for the second time that morning, she was feeling remarkably more sanguine about her situation. Based on her aunt’s preparatory talk, she had not expected to enjoy lovemaking with Mr Thorne. But she had to admit she had not found it repugnant in any way, even regretted that he had departed to his room. She would have to wait until the evening for their next tryst. If her period started on time, she might even have to wait a week before they could be together again after that.

Seeing the mistress was stirring, Hendy came forward to offer the wrap and ask if she should summon the breakfast Jane had requested last night, or if she would prefer to take it in the morning room. After discovering that her husband had already gone off to the docks, Jane decided on breakfast in bed, requesting the novel she had brought with her—one belonging to the Darcys—in the meantime.

“The master left a message that he would be back for a late lunch,” said Hendy, returning with the novel and ringing the bell. “Excuse me for disturbing you, ma’am,” she said as Jane opened the book, “but I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the parure. Perhaps it should be in the master’s strongbox downstairs?”

“Whatever can you mean, Hendy? I have no parure.”

“The one of aquamarines, ma’am. You were wearing the comb when you arrived yesterday.”

Jane scrambled out of bed to follow Hendy to the dressing room. Her heart jumped slightly on seeing the parure.

“Oh dear! It is from my sister, Mrs Darcy! And I thought Mr Darcy was buying a gift for her! Dear me! She is very naughty, but they are beautiful!”

Jane could not resist trying the necklace against her skin in the mirror, but as to what to do with the jewel box, she had no idea—she had never possessed such a valuable thing before. Jane assured her maid she had done right in hiding the jewels. She would ask her husband for advice at lunch.

Jane went back to her novel, but she had only read two pages when her breakfast of chocolate, rolls and fruit arrived. As Hendy set the tray over her lap, she disclosed that Mrs Bellamy had offered to show her around the house at eleven, if it pleased her. Settling back to sip her chocolate, Jane begged Hendy to relay her acceptance and urged her maid to find a suitable gown, not too fine.

Mrs Bellamy was waiting at the bottom of the stairs on the hour. Thanks to Hendy’s skill, Jane was also on time. The housekeeper walked quickly through the rooms Jane had seen on her previous visit, only stopping to point out a couple of things that possibly needed modification, the expense of which was beyond the day-to-day accounts. She then selected a key on her chatelaine to open a door in the west wing, letting from a hall that led to the rose garden. Jane found herself in a comfortably furnished sitting room that adjoined a bedchamber.

“These were the rooms of Mr Thorne’s mother. The Master thought you might like to redecorate them as your own. This would make a lovely sitting room, giving as it does onto the rose garden.”

“Oh! I would not like to shift her things, Mrs Bellamy,” said Jane, looking around at the many ornaments that marked Mrs Thorne’s eight years of occupation of the room.

“I expect Mr Thorne will speak to you of it, ma’am. He had some idea of replacing the exterior walls of both rooms with glass and French doors. This area was originally intended for a library and study, but Mrs Thorne thought she would not be able to manage the stairs, which is why it was remodelled for her. So, the proposed changes will only revert it to its true function as a public room.”

Jane was still uncomfortable with moving Mrs Thorne’s things, particularly as the rooms were so well preserved, like the lady might walk back in at any moment. But she could see that the light was particularly good in the room—it would be a pleasant place to do needlework.

After touring the kitchens and the servants’ hall, all of which were remarkably handsome—much more modern and well equipped than their equivalents at Longbourn—Mrs Bellamy presented Jane with her own chatelaine. It was a beautiful Wedgwood one, rather cumbersome and clearly largely ceremonial. Jane thanked her graciously and went off to spend the time before lunch doing some needlework before changing her gown.

Thorne arrived back at the house with flowers, marchpane and decorating journals.

“Oh dear!” said Jane, viewing the box of marchpane, formed into tiny fruits. “I hope you will not always be so generous. I fear I will grow rather fat!”

“Do not worry,” said Thorne. “All is in order down at the harbour, so I will help you eat them this afternoon.”

“You do not intend to go back to work?”

“It is not my intention to work the whole day during our honeymoon, but you may have to excuse me for one or two days if a ship comes in.”

“Of course,” replied Jane.

They sat down to a tasty but plain lunch. Jane could see that she would need to go over the menus. Afterwards they removed to the parlour. Jane had her sewing basket fetched and she resumed her tambour work while Thorne leafed through the decorating journals, showing her drawings he thought particularly admirable. It was a picture of happy domesticity. After tea was brought in, Thorne settled back to read the newspaper, occasionally glancing over the top of his paper at his wife, as if he could not quite believe she was sitting there.

“Do you remember sitting with me in the Garths’ parlour doing your needlework? I so admired your nimble fingers.”