by Amity Cross
“Who will relieve your agony?” I asked.
“You will,” he whispered. “Soon. When I am inside you, it will be better than this. Away from them. Away from…” He stilled, his brow darkening, a storm cloud beginning to assemble on the horizon.
“You said some words in French to me today,” I murmured, attempting to turn the tide of conversation to smoother waters. “What did they mean?”
“Mon chèr maître,” he said. “The only master I’ve ever known.”
“And who is your master?” I asked, trembling against his chest.
His eyes drooped, some of his power seeming to fade. “I scarcely know.”
My heart swelled, and I buried my body closer to him, my hands wrapping around his waist. He was tormented by some demon, which was far beyond my understanding. I knew he would react badly if I pressed, such was his unpredictable nature, and I was too fearful to do a single thing that would alienate me from him, so I let him be.
Perhaps my closeness would soothe some of the sting his thoughts caused. If he needed help taming this unknown beast, he would come to me in time.
Who was I to claim ownership over his sorrow after two passionate nights in his arms? If I was a balm for his soul, then I was glad to apply myself.
“Rocky?” I asked, lifting my head so I could see him.
He mumbled something, his eyelids heavy with sleep.
“When you want me… Mercilessly…” I swallowed hard, my heart beginning to thrum wildly at my bold gesture. “I will be waiting.”
His hand slipped between my legs, his finger finding its way inside.
“I will have you, Jane. I will.”
16
I’d always liked Thornfield in a way.
It was a dreary place in winter, but it still held many adventures in its halls and grounds despite the quiet among the gloomy ice. In summer, it had come alive with color and life and was pleasant enough, but it was nothing compared to the secret affair I held with Edward Rochester.
I liked Thornfield very much now I’d found companionship, no matter how unorthodox.
“Oh, Jane, there you are,” Alice said, flittering into the office.
“Am I wanted?” I asked, looking up from my work.
We were working through getting Thornfield listed on some online booking sites, and I was organizing a photographer to come and take professional shots for the listings. The screen before me had several tabs open displaying the portfolios of several local artists who would be fine choices for the job. It was quite a chore, and we would have to dress and stage several rooms once our current round of guests had departed.
“Rocky has commanded you to attend dinner this evening,” Alice declared, sitting beside me. Her gaze burned a hole in the side of my face as she scrutinized my reaction.
“What?” I asked, turning to face her. “Why?”
Sitting through a dinner stiff with pomp and ceremony was definitely not part of our agreement. It was certainly not working in favor of secrecy. I wondered what his game was, but who was I to question it? He was the master.
Alice shrugged. “He just told me to tell you that you were expected.”
I sighed heavily, not liking it one bit. I hadn’t been summoned like this since that horrible evening in the sitting room. I thought I’d been exempted from such frivolity.
“He’s very much changed these last few days,” she went on, fishing for some gossip.
“He is?” I asked, sinking back into my chair. “I’ve hardly had any time to notice.”
“Something has changed his demeanor for the better. He is less angry than he usually is. The gloom and doom seems to have been removed from his shoulders somewhat. I’m not sure what it is. Have you noticed the way he ignores Blanche?”
I forced a frown onto my face lest I get up and cheer in triumph. “Really?”
“I’m not sure why,” she went on. “All of a sudden, they seem quite removed from one another.”
“Perhaps he’s realized he doesn’t love her and is happy for the clear mind,” I offered.
Edward had told me as much a few nights ago when he’d told me of his feelings. She was a poor match even though society told them they were compatible in every way. Well, society, with its strict rules of bloodlines and wealth, had it wrong.
Alice gave me a curious look. “I suppose…”
“If they aren’t to marry, then I would think she’d be done with him after this summer,” I went on. “She wouldn’t be visiting Thornfield as his wife, either.” She stared at me, her expression changing. “No more fanciful orders.”
She laughed, her expression changing to one of pure joy. “Oh, I surely hope so, Jane!”
“And we would have a great deal more rooms to fill, and that means more profit.” I clicked through the portfolios on the computer. “Thornfield is such a grand hotel. It’s a shame it sits empty most of the year.”
Alice looked at me, then at the computer and frowned. “Have you anything to wear?”
My fingers froze mid-click as I began to contemplate the event I’d been commanded to attend. Formal, silver service, four courses of artfully arranged food with names I scarcely remembered, one-hundred-year-old wines, conversation, showing off… What was Edward up to?
“Work will keep,” Alice said, turning my chair away from the computer. “Have you something to wear?”
I shook my head. Of course, I didn’t have anything appropriate. My staple was boots, jeans or the odd skirt, and a blouse or T-shirt. It was only thanks to Alice’s influence that the skirt had come out of my bag at all.
“Then come,” she commanded, pulling me up. “My closet awaits.”
“Were you a fairy godmother in a past life?” I asked as she led me up the stairs.
“Don’t worry, Jane,” she declared with a twirl. “I’ve got your back.”
Alice had my back in the fashion department, but when it came to the actual attendance, I was on my own.
Standing in the dining room as waiters hurried back and forth, I wished with all my might that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Running my damp palms across my waist, I began to fret my outfit wasn’t right. The mauve dress Alice loaned me that afternoon—bless her Narnia-like closet—was nice enough even though it wasn’t something I’d choose to wear. It was cinched at the waist, the skirt flared out in a soft ruffle, the shoulders capped delicately, and the neckline was modest, just low enough to show off my collarbone. A small silver necklace finished off the ensemble, a dainty little faux-diamond sitting in the hollow of my throat.
There’d been so much fanfare over my wild mess of hair that in the end, Alice had drawn a comb through it and made an artful yet messy braid that fell forward over my shoulder. The lipstick that coated my lips felt alien, and I resisted the urge to lift my hand and wipe it off.
My gaze caught Bessie’s across the table, and she smiled reassuringly. It was only dinner…
My hands began to shake as the full reality of the evening to come was set before me. Silver service with all of Edward’s friends and their hangers-on staring at me as if I were a curiosity on exhibition. Most of all, I’d have to endure dinner in Blanche Ingram’s presence.
“I wonder why he asked for you,” Bessie said, not noticing my rising hysteria as she set the silverware out. She picked up a fork, polished it, and then set it in its rightful place before moving on to the next. “It’s very curious.”
“It’s a mystery to me,” I replied, staring at the place settings. “I’d rather be eating in the kitchen as I usually do.”
Where was I to sit? Would I have to converse with the guests? It was the proper thing to do. I’d never been to a silver service dinner before. I knew what all the forks and spoons were for after having worked on the bottom rungs in a kitchen or two soon after leaving Lowood, but I’d never been a guest. It was madness.
“Breathe, Jane,” Bessie said kindly. “It’s an odd night indeed, but you will do just fin
e. These people will be gone by next weekend, and they’ll forget all of us the moment they walk through that front door with their bags packed. They’re a flighty bunch. Pay their shallow words no mind.”
My stomach rolled. “You say it as if you are expecting a spectacle, Bessie.”
“Every day is a spectacle,” she replied with a good-natured wink. “We’ve been given instructions that tonight is to be as casual as possible. You can sit anywhere, but if I can make a suggestion…” She finished polishing the knife in her hands and placed it on the table before ushering me forward. “Everyone has their chosen places. Their familiar spots and they’ve stuck to them, but here…” She guided me to a place at the foot of the table, directly downwind from the head where I knew Edward would sit, and pulled the chair out. “This is the perfect place. Devon and Greta usually sit either side. They’re friends with the Dents and are the least haughty of the lot.” She smiled and gestured for me to sit. “You’ll be fine here.”
“Thank you, Bessie,” I said, sinking into the seat.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured, returning to finish the last place setting before returning to the kitchen to prepare for service.
I sat awkwardly, reaching again and again for the glass of water before me for something to occupy my hands as I waited for the other guests to arrive and my torture to begin.
A few people began to arrive, seating themselves as though they were familiar with their places in the room. Just as Bessie had said. I’d always kept myself apart at dinner, but lunches, afternoon teas, and cocktail parties were things I couldn’t excuse myself away from, so I wasn’t aware of the inner workings of this time of night.
I watched as more people came in, filling the room with voices, and when two people sat either side of my place at the end of the table, I studied them closely. The woman to my right looked at me curiously, and I offered a polite smile. The man to my left was oblivious to all but his wineglass.
“I’m Greta,” the woman said, smiling in return.
Her hair sat around her shoulders in russet waves, her skin pale and freckled, her eyes colored like honey. She was delicate and just as waifish as Alice. Her bright red top hung just so on her slender frame, complimenting her coloring perfectly.
“And that’s Devon,” she added, nodding across the table at the man.
I glanced over to him, and he smiled. He was handsome enough with a clean-shaven jaw, chocolate-colored eyes, and a short back and sides haircut.
He inclined his head and asked, “And you are?”
“Jane,” I replied politely.
“Oh, yes!” Greta exclaimed. “You’re the woman who has spearheaded this artist retreat we have been hearing so much about!”
“It sounds fantastic,” Devon added.
“Thank you.” I blinked furiously, turning my gaze to my lap as I felt my cheeks heat. Edward had been talking to his guests about me? No wonder Blanche had been so spiteful. My curiosity was raised, wanting to know exactly what he’d said and to whom, but with it came the heavy load of doubt that had plagued me all my life. The wounds I’d been so determined to wear with pride were stinging as they opened once more. Why should I be fearful of attention? Not all of it was intended to be bad.
“Oh, here we go,” Greta muttered, flicking her russet waves back over her shoulder.
I glanced up just as Blanche sashayed into the room, her head held high as if she believed herself to be a regal princess. She did look the part with her tailored black skirt and cream silk blouse with gold buttons. Her hair was out, her ringlet curls arranged perfectly, and her makeup was just as artful. Her plump lips were crimson, and her blue eyes shimmered against the darkness of her eyeliner and mascara.
Her stature was imposing, her perfection a stark contrast against my frayed edges, and when her gaze fell upon me, her lip curled in unmasked distaste.
I stilled, waiting for the moment she opened her mouth and cast me out of the room, but Edward strode in, and her attention was pulled away. Casting me one more look before she went to capture his attention, I could see the warning plain in her eyes. Keep your hands off.
In my own mind, I would stand up to her and proclaim my union with Edward, but I was far too meek to do so even if I wasn’t confined by the agreement we’d shared the other night. He had chosen me, albeit not in a way I fully liked, so that should be enough of a triumph without rubbing another’s face in it.
Service began, and the salad course was served followed by the soup. As I picked at the food before me, I was keenly aware of Edward’s presence, the string binding us together taut in our close proximity. If I was bold, I would raise my eyes, find his, and share a secret smile. If I was bold, which I was not. I continued to sit rigidly among the rich guests, attempting to play a part I didn’t understand.
Greta and Devon chattered aimlessly about one thing or another—their family’s yachts and how they compared and whose was better, their work, their current stay at Thornfield, and the excursion they’d taken to a neighboring manor some twenty miles south. From time to time, they asked me a question or attempted to include me in their meanderings, but I knew nothing of boats and multi-million-pound businesses, so my attempts to include myself were paltry at best.
It wasn’t until the main course arrived that I glanced up. Edward was staring at me intently, his brow furrowed. I’d come to know when he was deep in thought, and he had that look about him now. He was puzzling me out. His lips curved as my gaze lingered, and every part of my body began to hum.
After several nights of pleasure at his hands, I was yet to return it, and that’s where my mind went. I imagined the look on his rugged face as he came undone, my body screaming to fall to its knees before his and unravel his longing.
Laughter beside me broke Edward’s spell, and I blinked. I was so bewildered by what had passed between us, my eyes clashed with Blanche’s.
She scowled, then turned to Edward. Instantly, she followed his intent stare, and as it led straight back to me, her annoyance rose even more. Lowering my gaze, I fixed it on my plate, my mind too scrambled to concentrate on the conversation around me. I let myself draw away, and soon, it was as if I wasn’t there at all. Greta and Devon talked to their other tablemates, not troubling to include me, and I felt the familiar maw of depression open up inside me.
I could pretend all I liked, but it was painfully clear I didn’t belong in this world. I longed for the simplicity of the kitchen and the staff who had become my friends. I desired something entirely different than what was laid on this table before me.
As with the first night Edward had commanded me, I should have denied him. Was I so eager to please lest he leave me behind again?
Excusing myself as the last of the plates from the main course were cleared, I slipped from the dining room, my chest feeling lighter as the oppressive stare of Blanche Ingram was removed from my body.
“You’re going to miss dessert.”
I turned at the sound of Edward’s voice and scowled. “I care not for cake.”
He knew I was unhappy, and he took a step toward me. “Jane…”
“I would please you but to command me to sit there and be ignored? I would think you cared little for me.”
“You were at the other end of the table,” he said, reaching for my hand and grasping it in his own. “I asked you to come because I needed you there, Jane.”
“I am not a lucky charm,” I said. “I am a person with heart and feelings.”
“Did you try, Jane?” he asked.
I hesitated. “I…”
He lowered his gaze. “I see.”
“I would make you happy,” I muttered. “But I feel as if I’m a disappointment. I could have tried harder, but I fear I have not much in common with your friends. They are so far above me I flounder.”
His gloomy cloud began to rain down on us both as he said, “I see I’ve done you wrong yet again.”
“No,” I declared, tightening my grasp on his hand.
“I’m not suited for fine dinners and light conversation. What do I know of sailing through the Greek islands? I’ve never been out of England.”
Edward didn’t reply, just raised his hand and plucked the tiny piece of glass that posed as a diamond from my throat and turned it around in his fingers.
“I feel like that stone,” I murmured. “Pretending to be more than she is worth.”
“Don’t,” he said, his voice rasping. “Don’t compare yourself. Physical wealth cannot be compared for spiritual fulfillment. We share something that cannot be held in comparison to anything on this earth. I need you close, Jane.”
“I can be close in the kitchen,” I offered.
There was a crash behind us from the dining room, followed by laughter, and we pulled apart like lightning. My heart beat wildly at the thought we could have been discovered standing so familiar with one another.
Edward sighed and ran his hand over his face, his eyes showing signs of exhaustion. “Jane, could you humor me for one more week?”
“Why? If it’s only one more week, surely…”
“Please?”
It was not in his nature to plead, so I acquiesced. “Of course.”
For a moment, I was sure his mask slipped and revealed a little more of the secret demon he was harboring. I fancied I could see the toll it was taking on his spirit, and what was revealed alarmed me.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, beginning to worry.
“Yes,” he said, waving me off. “Rest tonight, Jane. Tomorrow…” He glanced over his shoulder toward the dining room, and seeing the door still closed, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on my lips before hastily withdrawing. A daring move indeed!
“Tomorrow,” I replied. “Rest well, sir.”
And there we parted, two secret lovers adrift in two storms of their own, both unwilling to share the burden.
17
That night, I couldn’t sleep for thinking of Edward’s look when he stood before me in the sitting room.
What was it about Thornfield and his life that troubled him so? When I first arrived, Alice said he rarely remained at the hotel for longer than a few days, a week at the most, outside of summer. Would he remain and linger with me after all the guests had gone? If he did intend to leave, then the change would be too bleak to comprehend.