Page 19 of Euphoria
He was dressed in a fine slate gray suit, the fabric fitting his broad shoulders just so, and his white shirt and black herringbone tie matched accordingly. He was a perfect picture of refinement, apart from his hastily shaven beard, while I was the exact opposite. Chaos surrounded me, my hair was wild and thrown over my shoulder, my shirt was slightly crumpled, and my trousers were dirty at the knees from kneeling on the floor. For the first time since childhood, I felt ashamed of my appearance.
Edward glowered at me, no doubt making up his own mind as to my state, and finally offered me a folder. When I hesitated, he shook it at me, his brow creasing deeper in annoyance. Reaching out, I plucked it from his fingers.
“For your venture,” he said.
“My…” The artist retreat! I glanced down at the contents, and when I saw the check he’d slipped among the papers, my heart did a turn in my chest. “But this is too much.”
“Your budget was too modest,” he said, glancing briefly over my shoulder at Alice. “You need to readjust your expectations.”
Higher? Usually, I had to cut them to a quarter of what they were or at most half. Edward had just doubled them with a flick of his wrist.
“Thank you,” I said quickly, in case he changed his mind.
“Your proposal has merit, Jane,” he said. “Good luck with it.”
As he turned and began walking away, I stepped forward to watch his departure across the main gallery. Realizing I hadn’t thanked him for the computers he’d caught us unpacking, I called out to him, surprised at my confidence. Something had shifted inside me since his arrival, awakening a part of my soul I never knew existed. It was a curious thing not to censor oneself before acting. I wasn’t sure what exactly had triggered the metamorphosis, and a transformation it was, no matter how small it appeared.
“Thank you for the computers,” I called out, the words sounding larger than life in the empty gallery.
I expected him to keep walking and not acknowledge me at all since his temper seemed to be raised, but he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He nodded once, then disappeared outside.
My hand curled around the doorjamb as I listened to the sound of a car coming to life, and I sighed as the sound of tires crunching over gravel signaled his departure. Wherever he was going, I hoped he was coming back afterward.
Returning to the office, I scolded myself for the rash thought. Mr. Rochester was interested in the rejuvenation of Thornfield as one of his most valuable holdings, not because he had a romantic interest in one of his paid subordinates.
When I looked at him, I did not see a man who was interested in such whimsy. I saw a powerful man who took what he desired with little regard for wooing his conquest. He did not make concessions or pause to reflect on their feelings. His command had empowered me to follow blindly before, so he had no need to shower me or anyone else with gifts.
Truthfully, I did not want them. Possessions did not fill me with the satisfaction conversation and understanding did.
Helping Alice lift one of the iMacs onto the desk, I listened politely as she chattered about Edward and the computers, adding a thought here and there to placate her. She seemed to think he thought of me as a favorite and that I had won his respect, but I wasn’t brave enough to believe her.
Later that night, when Thornfield had finally lulled into a deep silence, I curled up in bed and opened the iPad, scarcely believing it was for me. The first thing I found was the iBooks app. Connecting to the hotel’s patchy Wi-Fi, I downloaded all the classics—Vanity Fair,Sense and Sensibility,Anna Karenina,Wuthering Heights,and more still—and each filled the memory like a welcome friend.
It was a generous gift indeed, but with all these books at my disposal, I didn’t have any need to go to the library. The more my mind mulled over this revelation, the more I began to believe Edward was trying to discourage me from his presence. It didn’t make sense to give me everything I could ask for and then replace the one thing I cherished the most.
An electronic book was a poor replacement for the chance of seeing Edward Rochester.
The puzzle had become more complex the more pieces I slotted together, hindering any progress I’d already made toward finding out who the man was at his core. Perhaps I’d never know, and that was a sad thought. Humans wanted to understand the world and each other, but they also wanted to be understood themselves.
Why should he hide? I was not at all comfortable with not knowing.
It was past one a.m. by the time I fell asleep, my eyes sore from reading and the tablet underneath the pillow beside me.
Why should he hide, indeed.
