Page 24 of John Eyre

John looked up with a start.

Mrs. Rochester was seated on the stone bench, her figure half shadowed by the bare branches of the thorn trees. She was in mourning dress again—another plain black gown with long, tight sleeves and an equally form-fitting bodice. There was nothing particularly alluring about it. It nevertheless served to accentuate the swell of her bosom and the comparative narrowness of her waist, drawing his eyes, quite against his will.

“Mrs. Rochester,” he said when he found his voice. “Good morning.”

“Mr. Fairfax informed me that you were accustomed to walking here.”

“I am. That is…I do. Most mornings. But how…” He inwardly cursed his lack of eloquence. It wasn’t his habit to become tongue-tied in the presence of a lady. “Your ankle—”

“It’s much improved today. Not entirely healed, but well enough to put my weight on.” A cashmere shawl was twined loosely through her arms. The soft fabric had been dyed black to match her gown. “You’re surprised to see me.”

“A little.”

“You shouldn’t be. I don’t believe in prolonging unpleasantness. Better to get it over with.”

“Is there going to be unpleasantness?”

“Possibly.” She frowned at him. “Come here.”

John approached slowly. He felt rather like a fly being invited into the web of a spider. An exceedingly handsome spider, but a spider nonetheless. He came to a halt in front of her, fervently wishing that he’d taken more time with his appearance this morning before setting out for his walk. His black hair was disheveled, absent even a single drop of macassar oil to tame it, and he wore no hat to hide its condition. Along with his rumpled waistcoat and trousers, it put him at a distinct disadvantage, especially when faced with the composed figure that Mrs. Rochester presented.

Her posture was impeccable, her spine straight as a ramrod. She wore no bonnet. Her head was bare, her dark tresses caught up in a large roll at her nape. The cold morning sunlight shone on the white streak at her temple.

His stomach clenched on an inexplicable pang of…something. Desire, he feared. It was as bewildering as it was unwelcome. Good lord, he wasn’t attracted to the woman, was he? She may be beautiful—strangely so—but she was, in every other way, unconventional to an unsettling degree.

She was also about to dismiss him without a reference.

He had no reason to feel anything for her other than animosity.

“Sit down,” she said in the same imperious tone in which she’d addressed him yesterday.

John was reluctant to obey. Then again, it was better than standing in front of her like some errant schoolboy waiting for his dressing down. After a moment’s hesitation, he sank onto the stone bench at her side. Her heavy skirts bunched against his leg, as he angled himself to face her.

She turned to him, so close that he could see the extraordinary length of her eyelashes, black as soot, framing her bronze-flecked eyes. “Mr. Eyre—”

“Mrs. Rochester—” He broke off. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

She needed no encouragement. “I know I was harsh with you last evening. Too harsh, I suspect. And for that I must beg your pardon.”

His heart beat hard. An apology was the last thing he’d anticipated.

“You must understand,” she said. “I’ve been traveling for a long while. And when I come home, it’s never for any length of time. I’m unaccustomed to staying overlong in one place. I can’t abide it. Which is why I require people here at Thornfield whom I can trust to do my bidding, even when I’m halfway around the world. It’s vital that my orders are obeyed.”

“But the children—”

“Do let me finish.”

His jaw tightened. “Of course. Forgive me.”

“What I’m trying to say is that the servants here know better than to question me. They haven’t any need to, nor any right. Thornfield is my house, and the children are my responsibility—solely my responsibility. Mr. Fairfax should have made that clearer, but I expect he was dazzled by all of your earnest reforms. Indeed, they’re not all objectionable.”

“Not all?” he repeated. “I don’t feel that any of them are objectionable. Every step I’ve taken since I arrived has been for the benefit of Stephen and Peter. You can see that for yourself. They’ve flourished under my care.”

Her frown deepened.

“And it hasn’t been easy,” he added. “Mr. Fairfax could provide me with no information about where it is they came from or what their mother tongue might be. Nothing save the fact that they’d taken ill on the journey here.”

“It’s the truth.”