Page 80 of Jane Deyre

My hands full, I follow the mute housekeeper into the kitchen, and she shows me what to do. Scrape the plates and silverware clean, then load them into the dishwasher. I do as she silently asks, the last plate Mr. Rochester’s. The leftovers are stubborn. Using a scouring pad under scalding hot water, I scrub and I scrub and I scrub. It’s weirdly therapeutic. I feel like I’m scrubbing him out of my life.

As I load it into the dishwasher, the malignant voice of Ms. Fairfax flies into my ears. I turn to face her.

Her usually sour countenance is graced with a small though salacious smile.

“Mr. Rochester’s in the library. He has requested you bring him a brandy. Please do it immediately. Then join the others in the drawing room for coffee and dessert. Edwina has wondered about your whereabouts.”

She turns on her heel and stomps out, the darkness swallowing her.

Mr. Rochester’s plate drops out of my hand and falls to the floor.

Shattering.

CHAPTER 42

Ward

“What exactly do you want to talk to me about?” I ask Blanche, who’s seated next to me on a green velvet settee. Too close for comfort. Her long legs are folded under her, her knees touching me. She lured me into the library, telling me she had something urgent she needed to discuss in private. Against my better judgment, I agreed.

A flute full of champagne, which she brought from the dining room, sits on the table before us. The bubbles rising. Her eyes latch onto mine. “The C-word.”

Time to set her straight. Put an end to all the rumors. “No, Edwina does not have cancer. She has—”

She cuts me off. “I have no interest in discussing Edwina. Enough of her already. Do you honestly think I enjoyed hearing her talk about herself all evening? I’ve heard about her life ad nauseam. She’s like a record on repeat. It’s a shame she doesn’t have early dementia.”

I feel myself bristle. Fucking hypocrite. In one breath, she kisses Edwina’s ass. In the next, disses her.

She holds me fiercely in her gaze. “That child. How the hell could you not tell me about her?”

“I didn’t know she existed until a couple of weeks ago.”

“I should have never let you go off to Paris.”

“It wasn’t up to you. Our relationship was toxic.”

Snort. Fuck. Sleep. Repeat. I needed to get away from her. A clean break. Only I fell into the same pattern again in the City of Light. Attracted to the same kind of woman.

Her expression grows incensed. She folds her arms in her lap. “Well, you fucked up. Literally.”

The story of my life.

Her acid eyes stay trained on me. “What in hell induced you to take charge of the brat?”

A blast of anger rises inside me. “She’snota brat... and I had no choice. She showed up without warning.”

“I thought you weren’t fond of children.”

“I wasn’t.” That’s the truth. But Adele has wormed herself into my stone-cold heart. Warmed it. In fact, melted it. The same with her nanny. My mind wanders. I think about Jane Deyre. I have the burning desire to check on them both.

“Listen, Blanche, I need to go.” I make an attempt to stand.

Grabbing my arm, she yanks me back down on the small sofa. “No, you listen to me. You need to get rid of that child. Send her back to her mother whoever the hell she is.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t do that.”

“Then put her in boarding school.”

“She’s too young to be sent away to school. She’s barely five.”