Page 87 of Jane Deyre

Outside, thunder rumbles, but with Ward lying next to me in his bed, my life-long fear fades. He makes me feel so protected, so safe. So treasured and cherished. Yet, I know I can’t stay and will myself to slide away from him.

He holds me back by my forearm. “Jane, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

I struggle to sit up and battle my longing for him. “Back to my quarters.”

“No.” His voice is strong and commanding. “You’re staying here with me tonight, my delicate flower.”

“I can’t stay. What if Ms. Fairfax discovers me?”Us.I shudder at the thought, thankful we didn’t wake her.

“Don’t worry about her. You’ll leave the same way we came in. You’ll be fine. We just need to be discreet.” A beat. “Until I figure things out.”

His last words disarm me. “What do you mean by that?”

I feel him tense. His face darkens. “It’s complicated.” Before I can probe, he rolls me on top of him and makes love to me again—each stroke impassioned and possessive—until we magically come together, our fused bodies depleted and exhausted.

Cradled in his arms, I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come to me.

I’ve never felt so loved by a man. But, reader, the man I’m in love with is hiding a secret.

CHAPTER 46

Jane

Following our night of unbridled passion, the June gloom lifts. The cerulean sky is cloudless, the sun radiant, birds and butterflies aflutter. The yard is verdant, full of vibrant, colorful blooms. No longer shrouded by a blanket of fog, Thornhill basks in its full glory. There is a change in the air, now sweetened by the scent of jasmine; a change in all of us. Well, except for Ms. Fairfax, who’s as cold and hostile as ever.

I, for one, believe to be the very happiest woman the sun shines on. Reader, did you note I said “woman”? Yes, overnight, I transformed from a girl to a woman. There’s a rosy glow to my usually pale face. I walk differently. Hold my head high. Put on a little makeup every day. My confidence soars. Edwina sees it in my acting as well. There’s a newfound power to my words. A deeper connection to my lines. I’ve added a star to my vision board: one that looks just like the gold ones on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame withmyname on it.

There’s also a change in Mr. Rochester. He’s different from the man who took me to my former residence, which seems like ages ago. His hardness has softened. He’s no longer mercurial or cynical. His dark, brooding persona has given way to a lightness of being. He smiles and laughs often. Spends a lot of time with me and his daughter. With his openness and accessibility, I’ve let go of my worry that he’s hiding something from me.

We can’t get enough of one another. But we’ve been very secretive about our relationship. We refrain from public displays of affection, and I sleep every night in the guesthouse. I’m not sure if Ms. Fairfax suspects what’s going on, but one cannot be too careful when it comes to the Witch of Thornhill.

I asked Ward why Edwina has never fired her. He explained that her father’s will stipulated that Alice Fairfax be given a lifelong position at his estate with a hefty compensation package. When I pressed Ward for the reason behind Edward Rochester’s bequeathal, he simply told me there’s no rhyme or reason and changed the subject. His face darkened, eyes narrowed, and his voice was inflamed with wrath. I have a niggling feeling there’s something he’s not telling me.

Stuck with her, she’s the only thorn in my side. She continues to treat me with disdain and acrimony. However, her sneers and jeers no longer have the power over me they used to have. I’m no longer intimidated by her raised despotic brow. Nor her menacing threats. She may loathe me, but I feel loved. I may not be beautiful, but I feel beautiful. Mr. Rochester has done both those things to me.

So, reader, let me give you a glimpse into what my sun-filled days at Thornhill are like.

I have a routine:

An early breakfast.

Activities with Adele.

Lunch on the veranda.

My acting lesson with Edwina while Adele watches some TV.

More activities with Adele followed by a bath.

Dinner.

Bedtime for Adele.

And my favorite activity of all... my evening tryst with Mr. Rochester in his bedroom. He is the most glorious and generous lover, the most beautiful man who’s ever existed. With a sculpted body like a Greek statue that belongs in a museum and a brilliant mind that rivals any Greek philosopher. I’m learning so much from him, both as his student and lover. How to pleasure him and intellectually challenge him. I’m lucky I’m almost as well read as he is. After breathtaking sex, we spend hours dissecting a book, a poem, or a play. The plain, poor, insecure Jane Deyre now feels his equal.

He, Adele, and I spend a great deal of time outdoors in the yard. We break open the badminton set... I bring Adele’s drawing materials outside and we sketch landscapes of the splendid flowers, trees, and shrubs... we help Edwina, who’s a walking encyclopedia when it comes to roses, with her gardening... and we finally go swimming in the sun-drenched pool. Ward has taught Adele how to swim and I, too, can now swim. Edwina, who sometimes joins us but never goes into the water, regales us with stories of her notorious star-filled pool parties back in her heyday. I glom on to every word. What a life she’s lived! I’m more eager than ever to read her memoir.

Even indoors, we have fun. With sunshine flooding the windows, the days longer, all gloom has left the house. Everything is brighter.