Paradox (The Thornfield Affair #2)

by Amity Cross

“Edward!” My lips parted with a gasp, and it was only sheer heartache that allowed me to keep my body apart from his.

  “Jane…” he began, his brow creasing. He wetted his lips, his eyes searching every part of my face before settling on my mouth.

  “Let me go,” I said, tugging against his grip. “I cannot allow it knowing you belong to another.”

  He opened his mouth and promptly closed it as if he wanted to rush off into some pretense of a tirade but had thought better of it. I tugged against him, and he let me go, the look in his eyes dampening. Turning from me, he ran his hand over his face, his fingers scratching against his beard.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said. “So will you. Soon, we shall both move on, and this will be a distant memory if not entirely forgotten.”

  “I’m glad,” he murmured, looking back at his motorcycle as if he were debating on how fast he could leave me behind.

  The silence deepened between us, and I began to regret lingering on the fence. Had I displayed my misguided hope too blatantly? Bending, I snatched up my journal and clutched it against my chest as if it would shield me from the longing I felt for Edward.

  Nothing had changed between us, the circumstances of our parting still bore heavily on any chance of a reunion, and to acquiesce to physical longing would be a mistake. I knew it, and I was sure he did, too.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as he rounded his motorcycle and threw his leg over the beast. Nor did I peek when he brought it to life, the engine cutting through the stillness of the countryside. Not a word was spoken between us, and I fought off tears—tears I hardly ever cried at all—as my foolish heart tried to betray me once more.

  As Edward disappeared up the driveway, I wondered if he were truly glad at all because I felt as if I were withering away, becoming smaller and smaller until I feared I’d cease to exist.

  That night, I shut myself in my room and lay in bed, resolving to close myself off to the coming storm and deafen my ears to the voice warning me of the coming separation, which would be final. It was the only way I knew how to survive.

  I’d begun to cherish a hope I had no right to hold that Blanche was never coming to Thornfield, that the rumor of marriage was fake, that he’d changed his mind about letting me into his secret world. I tried to find meaning in his features and movements after our encounter at the gates, but I could find none. All was as it appeared.

  Edward was a sphinx still, a paradox of double meanings I couldn’t hope to solve.

  The next evening, Edward summoned me to the library.

  I received a secret email to my personal inbox during the day with the words, “The library. Tonight. You know what to do.”

  I’d glanced at Alice, certain she’d been reading over my shoulder, but her back was to me. Our friendship was still uneasy after the revelation of her coded messages to Edward, and she’d kept herself apart from me since, waiting for me to make the first move, I suppose.

  My thoughts lingered on Edward rather than Alice for the remainder of the day, and whether or not I should go to the library and see what he had to say. It harkened back to the days of our secret affair, culminating in me stealing through the halls of Thornfield while everyone slept as if I were made of pure shadow.

  It was very cloak and dagger, but I was powerless to resist. In hindsight, I should have ignored his message and slept the night through, but I was addicted in the worst possible way. I had to go.

  The library was lit with the warm light of a fire in the hearth, the flames casting long shadows over the room. The bookshelves appeared ominous to me, the windows heavy with their drawn curtains, and the piano lid was open, revealing a black maw within that might swallow me if I ventured close.

  Closing the door behind me, I rested my back against it and waited, not knowing if I should proceed or flee.

  “Jane.”

  Edward’s voice washed over me, speaking to the depths of my soul, stirring the longing I felt for his touch. It would be foolish to submit, and I was sure to hate myself afterward if I did.

  He appeared out of the darkness, brooding and morose as always, wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a simple black long-sleeve top. The fabric clung to his broad chest, accentuating the muscle I knew sat beneath, and I prayed for guidance that never came.

  “Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the couch before the fireplace.

  I eyed it with skepticism but moved toward it, setting myself in the armchair instead. Edward sat opposite, a knowing smirk on his face, and I angled myself toward the dark library, attempting to keep myself hidden from him.

  “Do not turn away from me, Jane,” he said. “I wish to see you.”

  I turned toward him, the warmth from the fire illuminating my face.

  “It’s as if these last months have been erased, and the Jane Doe of yore has returned to my library,” he said. “You can be familiar with me. I would welcome it.”

  “I hardly know why you want to continue with this charade,” I replied, speaking my mind. “We both know things have changed, and they will keep altering.”

  “Yes,” he mused, watching me closely. “The waters increase between us, don’t they? We’re drifting farther and farther apart.”

  “Then let us drift, sir.”

  He grunted and reached for the decanter of whiskey on the table beside him. He poured himself a glass, and I shook my head when he offered me some.

  “Perhaps we can talk of all the mundane things we never seemed to have time for,” he said after he’d taken some liquid courage.

  “And what purpose would it serve?”

  “Perhaps it would be of some comfort,” he said sharply, betraying that his temper had begun to rise. “Or closure. Perhaps even understanding of the choices we are forced to make under duress, Miss Doe.”

  “If you would have me understand, then you would have to speak plainly,” I retorted, my ire just as sharp as his. “But we both know you are the very definition of a paradox, Mr. Rochester.”

  He laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Shall I begin?”

  “As you wish.”

  “What would you know, Miss Doe?”

  “If I must sit here and be a prisoner to your changefulness once more, then tell me of your business,” I replied. “It seems to be the only thing I am able to ask, which is not off-limits. Alice told me you work with some kind of property investment.”

  “Property, business, technology,” he explained, his mouth twitching at my offhanded barb. “I work mainly at the umbrella corporation. I have a controlling share of the company, though there is a board of shareholders and trustees who assist in the overall structure of the business and its subsidiaries.”

  “It sounds complicated,” I replied, folding my hands in my lap.

  “It is, but it helps us become more successful. Having to answer to someone else keeps power in check and the business running smoothly. Ultimate power corrupts, or so they say.”

  I agreed wholeheartedly and thought upon the similar words Rivers had spoken to me about success and the journey to obtain it. I was keenly aware of Edward’s eyes on me, and I shifted on the couch, trying not to think of what we’d done on it in the past. His touch, his mouth, his kiss…

  “And you keep your offices in Europe?” I asked, attempting to keep the conversation focused on Edward and his work. Anything to have his attention on something other than me.

  “Paris,” he replied. “Most of my business is within the European Union, though I suspect it is all going to change in a few years with the recent vote. It’s difficult to say if it’s going to be good or bad just yet.”

  “It must be stressful,” I said. “Being responsible for all those people.” He glanced at me curiously, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Your employees.”

  He picked up his glass and sipped at the whiskey before placing it back on the table beside him. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is difficult. I have to keep a lot of people happy, Jane. Sometimes, a few hearts have t
o be broken to keep most intact. It’s a terrible responsibility.”

  Somehow, I knew we weren’t talking about his business anymore, and I squirmed uncomfortably, my gaze flickering around the room in an attempt to avoid his.

  “Jane?”

  “Please, don’t call me here again,” I whispered, rising to my feet.

  “Why?” he asked, his voice lowering dangerously. “All we have done this evening is talk innocently. Two friends enjoying one another’s company.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat constricting as emotions swelled and warred inside my head and heart, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

  “You care still,” he mused, standing stoically.

  “Of course, I care. I’ve always cared, but you love her, not me.”

  His eyebrows rose, and he shook his head. “You think it’s for love I’m marrying?”

  “So it is true,” I replied, the last shred of my hope dying inside me.

  “If I could learn to love again, then it would have been you, Jane. No one else.”

  I stared at him, hardly believing the torment he was putting me through. “Then why?”

  He turned from me, his shoulders tense. “Why do the wealthy marry anyone?”

  For more wealth. It was a slap in the face, and I stood there completely stunned for what felt like the passing of an age. When I was able to gather myself, I turned and fled, slamming the library door closed behind me. Once, I never wanted to be parted from him, but now I wished to be parted forever.

  Who could solve the paradox of unrequited love? I wished I knew their name so I could ask how to solve this riddle for better or for worse.

  10

  When I was six years old, I dreamed often of a great black dog prowling the grounds of Gateshead, the manor home in which I was brought up by the Reeds.

  Sometimes, it sat by my feet, its eyes blazing with fire as its tongue lolled from its mouth. In others, it circled me as I stood on the lawn, snapping and snarling until I was forced to run. I’d dream about the beast for a week, then on the last night, I’d see visions of a car that had been reduced to a twisted lump of metal, steam and smoke billowing from under the bonnet with green radiator fluid leaking onto the road below. The hound would circle, scratching and snapping at the doors and windows in an attempt to get inside.

  I was only a baby at the time, but it was my young mind attempting to remember and make sense of the accident that claimed my parents’ lives and changed mine irrevocably. And thus, I came to associate the dream with darkness and death.

  Later, as I grew up, I came to understand it was a dark omen, a symbol of bad things on the horizon. I dreamed of the beast occasionally, and the very next day, something would happen. Someone I knew would be in an accident, someone would pass away, or someone would be in trouble—the latter was usually me—and I came to fear the appearance of the hound.

  Perhaps it was a premonition after all because, that night, after seeing Edward in the library, I dreamed of the black dog, and the next morning, a visitor came to Thornfield.

  I hadn’t seen the dog in years. Truthfully, I’d quite forgotten about it, but when I saw him again, I recognized his furry head and flaming eyes as if he’d never left. He was a relic from my past, so perhaps that was why he’d come back to me then.

  That morning, I was alone in the office lamenting the prior night’s events when I heard a noise out in the gallery. The heavy oak door had opened, letting in a blast of icy air that tickled at the nape of my neck. Rising, I ventured out to see who had come. It had been a long time since guests had crossed the threshold, and it was a harsh time of year to brave the moor for a holiday.

  A young woman stood in the center of the room, her gaze turning about the walls, studying the paintings hanging all around. When she removed her woolen hat and faced me, I immediately recognized her blue eyes and golden hair.

  It was my cousin Georgiana but not the same Georgiana I remembered.

  The last time I’d set my sight upon her, she’d been a slim, fairy-like girl of eleven. Now she was twenty-six, fully grown, fair skinned, and curvy. Not plump but average. Her hair was as gold as I recalled, coiled with tight ringlets and shiny, and her eyes sparkled blue with youth, but her expression carried the burden of her mother’s illness.

  “Jane, is that really you?” she asked, looking me over with as much surprise as I had her. “You’re so changed but just as waifish as you were as a child.”

  “Georgiana,” I said, standing before her.

  “I can’t get over it,” she said, looking me over yet again. “You’re so pretty, Jane! How are you?”

  I grimaced, hardly understanding her reasons for being so nice. When we were children, she’d always disregarded me and my quarrels with John, hardly noticing I was there at all. Now she seemed interested and engaged, and I wondered at her growth.

  “I’m as well as can be,” I replied. “And you?”

  “Tired mostly,” she replied. “But I suppose you already know the reason why.”

  I nodded. Mr. Leaven had told me of it when he’d come to entice me back to Gateshead, and it was likely the reason Georgiana was here now. Knowing the answer, I asked anyway, merely to be done with the pleasant pretenses.

  “What brings you here?” I asked.

  She sighed and lowered her gaze for a moment before saying, “When Mr. Leaven returned without you, it sent the entire house into a frenzy. Mother was very displeased.”

  “I’m sure she was, but it can’t be helped,” I replied.

  Aunt Sarah and her illness had been the furthest thing from my mind in the last weeks, and truthfully, I’d forgotten about her entirely. Perhaps it was uncharacteristic of me to push away the request of a dying woman, but the past was where it should be. Not forgotten but not reimagined in my present wanderings, either.

  “I know you were treated unfairly, Jane,” Georgiana said, her gaze meeting mine. “I’m sorry I allowed John to harm you so, but I was only a child.”

  “I’m not doing this to punish you,” I said, shaking my head.

  She grasped my hands, and her eyes began to mist with tears. “Then why won’t you come?”

  I couldn’t move. Staring at Georgiana, I pondered her words. Was I being unjust in declining to see my aunt? Was I now the cruel one? For as long as humankind could write, the law of the land had been an eye for an eye or a variation of it, but was it the right course of action?

  Removing my gaze from my cousin’s, I glanced around the gallery, attempting to collect myself. I became aware of a dark figure looming on the landing above, and I beheld Edward leaning against the banister, watching our exchange with a blank expression. Scowling, I pulled on Georgiana’s hands and ushered her into the sitting room away from prying eyes. If there was one thing I didn’t want Edward meddling in, it was my past.

  I sat us by the windows in a little recess made up of two seventeenth-century-styled gilded brocade armchairs and a matching couch. The room was empty save for us and would be private enough if we kept our voices low.

  “Do you remember the last time you saw her?” Georgiana asked.

  “I haven’t seen her since the day she forced me to go to Lowood,” I said. “Do you know what I suffered there?”

  She lowered her gaze and stared at her hands, looking rather uncomfortable. Of course, she knew. The story of Mr. Brocklehurst and the things he’d done to the children in his charge had made the news for weeks. Had Aunt Sarah understood exactly what she was abandoning me to?

  “Please, Jane,” she said with renewed vigor. “She’s been quite adamant you come. I scarcely know why, but she has some things she wants to talk to you about.”

  “And I have to come in person?” I inquired. “To Gateshead?”

  Georgiana nodded.

  “And what does she want to talk to me about?”

  “She won’t say, I’m afraid. You know what Mother is like. When her mind is set…”

  I held my tongue and turned my gaz
e to the window. I knew exactly what Aunt Sarah was like when her mind was made up. I’d experienced it all my life.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Georgiana was silent for a moment as she pondered my question. “Amends,” she replied when she’d arrived at a conclusion. “After John’s suicide and her stroke, she seems to have changed. I certainly don’t recognize her. There are parts of her still there, but her disposition has altered. If she disliked you still, she would not call for you as adamantly as she has. I believe she wishes to make amends before she dies.”

  I stared at her incredulously. “Her dying wish is to make amends with me?”

  “Seems like it.”

  I didn’t know if Georgiana’s belief was true or not. I had no way of knowing if Aunt Sarah would apologize or berate me further or if she merely wished to see what had become of me, but I would go. It seemed the right thing to do, no matter what had transpired between us in the past.

  “Fine,” I said, grimacing as Georgiana leaped from her chair and threw her arms around me. “I will come, but it depends on permission from my employer.”

  “Of course,” she said, extracting herself from me. Remaining on the couch beside me she added, “We must talk about everything, Jane. I wish to know you now and forever. That is my hope. I never had a sister, and John was never much of a brother. Now that he is gone and Mother is soon to depart, I am very much alone. I wish to make amends.”

  “Amends? After all this time?”

  “I was a weak-willed child,” she admitted. “I followed Mother blindly and never stopped to think for myself.”

  “What has changed?”

  “I moved to London when I was eighteen,” she explained. “I did without fine things, I made my own choices, I found employment, and I forged my own path. It was difficult at first, but I came to realize many things about myself. When all that horrible business with my brother happened and I came home to Gateshead, I was no longer influenced by Mother’s wicked tongue. I think it helped…with you.”

  “Well,” I declared. “Independence becomes you.”