Page 9 of Euphoria
5
Ididn’tlike reentering Thornfield.
My escape to the local pub did nothing to rouse me from my stupor, nor did it excite my mind. My return to the hotel was to embrace the dreary loneliness from which I wanted to free myself, yet I had no other place to go. My little room and its perfectly adequate bed awaited me though it was only ten p.m. Hardly time for a young woman to turn in.
After such a nomadic life moving from place to place and only having as much money as I was paid the week before, the sedentary lifestyle with a regular amount of savings should’ve placated me, but it didn’t. I’d longed for calm among the storm I was used to, and now that I had it, I found it didn’t suit me at all.
I lingered on the lane, slowing my pace as the lights of Thornfield approached. I took my time at the gate, dawdled in the yard, and slowed outside the main entrance. My eyes seemed to be drawn from the gloomy old house to the world beyond, even though it was dark and full of dangers of its own.
The moon had ascended into the sky, casting a silver hue over the grounds, and everything sparkled under her light. It was a kind of magic that was just out of my reach. I could feel it all around, yet I was apart from it, and once I crossed the threshold of Thornfield, it would dissipate until it was no more.
I did not want to go inside, yet coldness bade me to enter.
“Jane!” Alice exclaimed the moment I opened the heavy door. She was frayed at the edges, her usually cheerful exterior frazzled. “Where have you been?”
“I went to the village,” I replied, shutting out the night and turning to the electric glow of the main gallery. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s back!” she exclaimed, darting to and fro without any discernible reason.
“Who?”
“Rocky!” she cried, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I mean, Mr. Rochester. He’s having dinner in his rooms. I need a dessert… Fruit and cream. No, cake! He likes the chef’s cake!”
“Mr. Rochester? Back from where?” I inquired, following her through the gallery to the kitchen.
“Europe, of course!” she exclaimed, directing the chef to prepare a dessert for their master.
Of course! I refrained from rolling my eyes. Instead, I inquired as to what I could do to assist.
“No, no,” she said. “It’s all under control. No doubt, he’ll want to see you tomorrow.”
No doubt. I’d sent him my proposal for the artist’s retreat a month ago and had yet to hear a reply. I had tried not to take it to heart, but I was proud of what I’d put together. Every piece had been carefully constructed to show exactly how much revenue it would raise for the failing hotel. There was merit in my sums. I was sure of it.
“Then if you don’t need me, I’ll turn in for the night,” I said.
Alice waved me off, so I retreated to the main gallery. Instead of rising to the second floor and the employee lodgings beyond in the east end of the manor, I turned to the west wing, far too awake to even comprehend sleep. By all means, I should be exhausted from my turn to the village, but my mind was alive with all kinds of musings—Mr. Rochester returning as if he’d been spirited in by supernatural means, and the man on the motorcycle causing my blood to pump more furiously. Sleep was beyond me.
The only thing that seemed to soothe me when I found myself in such a passionate mood was reading a little until my mind would calm itself into a lull. Thornfield’s library had become my refuge, and as no one seemed to pay it a visit, I pretended it was all mine. It was merely a silly fantasy, but I’d never had such a grand space feel comforting before.
Upon entering the room, the air felt different from what I was used to. At first, I thought it was because the chilled corners of Thornfield were alive for a change, but as I crossed the room, I saw one of the glass doors, which housed one of the many shelves off limits to me, was open.
Standing before it, I stared at the books, uncertain as to how to proceed. Another excitement! What was I to do with this one?
Running my fingers along the spines, I felt a thrill roll through my body. The forbidden was now obtainable but at what cost? Who had opened the doors that had always been closed to me? Surely not Mr. Rochester? He was in his rooms having dinner. He was the only change to happen to Thornfield since I arrived, so it must be he who had the key.
I was alone for the moment, no sound echoed outside or within the library, so I picked a tome that appeared beautiful to my eyes and plucked it from the shelf.
Opening the cover, I glanced over the title page—Pride & Prejudiceby Jane Austin.
“Who are you?”
I shrank back at the booming voice, startled by the ferocity of it, and almost dropped the book on the floor. Turning, I saw a man standing several paces behind me, and my heart leapt at how close he’d come without alerting me to his presence.
He was tall and broad shouldered, his slate gray sweater clinging to his chest, dark jeans hanging from his hips just so…and his face. It was nothing like I’d ever seen. His jaw was sharp and covered in stubble, his brow creased with a deep-set scowl, and his eyes matched, making his features a perfect set of arrogance and temper.
His stature was so imposing I could scarcely look at him for seconds at a time without lowering my gaze under his intensity. The man was a predatory figure, indeed.
“I’m sorry, am I not meant to be in here?” I asked, glancing at the book in my hands like I was a child who’d been caught stealing sweets.
