Page 14 of Euphoria
7
For several days, I saw little of the master of Thornfield.
Occasionally, he’d pass me in the hall, his eye hardly acknowledging I was present before he strode away to whatever meeting or delight he had planned for the day. Sometimes, he’d mutter a greeting to go with his cool stare and other times, a curt nod. I began to realize his changes in mood had nothing to do with me, so I didn’t allow it to offend. I just let it wash over me as I went about my work.
One day, he had guests for lunch in the dining room, and he sent for my detailed sums on the artist retreat—hopefully, to exhibit its contents for appraisal. But other than this one occurrence, I never heard a word about what he thought or if he’d approved my scheme. There was nothing I could do to press for action lest I annoy him to the point of tossing it out completely.
Still, Mr. Rochester presented a puzzle I couldn’t stop myself dwelling on.
I thought upon his handsomeness every time he brushed past, and I wondered at his tenseness. Truthfully, it was hard to ignore how pleasing he was to the eye with his powerful stature and hypnotizing eyes. It didn’t help that the housekeeping and dining room staff flirted non-stop and chattered about him when he was not present. Mr. Rochester was a keen sort of man, and I was positively certain he was aware of his outward appearance and the spell it wove over every female in his vicinity.
I wasn’t one to dwell on a fantasy or harbor schoolgirl crushes, so I let the notion of Mr. Rochester looking at me as more than a paid subordinate disappear before it even became a solid thought in my mind.
It was also several days before I gained the courage to slip into the library to return the mistakenly stolen copy ofPride & Prejudice. In my natural curiosity, I’d read the whole thing from cover to cover, only to realize once I was done that it was a very old and very expensive piece of literature, so not wanting to be accused of taking it, I ghosted through Thornfield to steal it back in before it was missed.
The hallway was empty as I approached, the night having drawn the few guests and staff downstairs for dinner or into the solitary warmth of their rooms. No one saw my path as I lingered outside the door. Opening it, I peered inside.
A fire was lit in the hearth, the electric lights turned off in favor of the natural glow of flame. I paused, listening and watching for movement within in case I was discovered by the last man who should find me here. Being caught trespassing once was more than enough.
Satisfied the room was empty, I slipped inside and darted to the shelf where I’d found the book. The glass panel was still unlocked, so I opened it hastily and found the empty slot. The book slid back into place like it’d never been gone, and I released a relieved sigh.There.
“Here is Jane Doe and her standard tale of woe.”
I almost leapt out of my skin at the sound of Mr. Rochester’s booming voice and pressed my back against the shelf, my hand flying to my heart.
He stood behind me, a crystal glass in his hand, likely full of the same whiskey he’d had the other night. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were dark, and he seemed in the mood to spar once more.
“Yes, my tale is standard, I suppose,” I said. “I don’t think I’m special because of it, nor do I require concessions.” I declared the last part with special care to emphasize the point Alice had made to me the night after my first meeting with the man.
Mr. Rochester tensed, and I swore he was going to burst forth like a tightened spring, and I steeled myself.
“I was wondering when you would appear. For it was when, not if,” he said, holding his glass up at me like he was toasting his own cleverness. “If you insist on stealing into my library uninvited, you must remain. Sit.” He nodded to the chair beside the fireplace.
He moved away from me and took the other seat, leaving the couch unattended. Knowing I was caught, I didn’t dare defy his whimsy, so I sat where he directed. Instead of shifting toward the fire, I turned to the darkness, edging away as if to protect myself.
“Don’t move away from me,” he said, peering at me with his strange eyes. “Come closer.”
He had such a direct way of giving orders that I found I could not disobey when he gave them to me. His voice echoed through my flesh and reverberated through my bones, bewitching my limbs to follow his command.
“There,” he said as I moved back into the light.
The fire was rich and bright, the red curtains hanging heavily behind him, framing his stature so he looked quite regal sitting there. If it weren’t for his modern clothing, I would’ve been forgiven for mistaking I’d been transported back to the sixteenth century.
The silence was broken up by the crackle of the fire and the swirling rain as the wind threw it against the windowpane outside.
Mr. Rochester didn’t seem so gloomy tonight, even though he’d caught me trespassing again. His eyes had a spark in them, which had been absent the scant few times I’d been in his presence. There was a smile on his lips, changing his entire outward appearance for the better, though he still had an air of danger about him. Best to be on my guard lest he trick me.
He had been staring into the fire the entire time I studied his features, and when he finally turned to look at me, I glanced away.
“Were you examining me, Miss Doe?” he asked. “Do you like what you see? Many women do.”
I should’ve replied with something vague, but my temper at his arrogance allowed something else to slip forth. “No.”
“There is something strange about you,” he said. “You’re a well-spoken, polite, and meek little thing, but other times, you allow your ire to burst forth, and a little of the real Jane Doe presents herself. What do you mean by it?”
“I was too abrupt,” I said, beginning to apologize. “I should have said that tastes differ and that beauty is of little consequence…or something like it.”
“You think nothing of beauty?”
