Page 36 of John Eyre

John ushered the boys to the table where, with his assistance, they untied the ribbons and opened the box. Inside were layers of tissue paper that, once pulled away, revealed a beautifully rendered set of wooden blocks. On one side were pictures, and on the other, letters and numbers.

Stephen picked up the letter D and examined it, flipping it over to look at the picture of a dog on the back. Peter did the same with the letters R and C, which featured rats and cats, respectively.

“Mr. Eyre?” Mrs. Rochester at last turned her head away from the fire. Her eyes briefly met his. “Come and sit down. The children can amuse themselves.”

John did as she bid him, taking a seat across from her in one of the armchairs that resided by the hearth.

“Draw your chair closer to me,” she said. “You’re too far away. I can’t see your face in the shadows.”

He’d have preferred to remain where he was. To hide himself outside the range of the low light that emanated from the fire and the flickering branch of candles that stood on the mantelpiece. But he knew better than to disobey a direct order. He drew his chair forward.

Mrs. Rochester resumed staring into the flames. She looked different this evening. Not quite so stern or forbidding. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her bronze-and-green-flecked eyes brilliant in the firelight. John suspected she’d had wine at dinner and possibly an after-dinner drink as well. Her manner was easier, her expression softer.

She’d been among friends this evening. Had she enjoyed their company? She must have done to look so much at her ease.

A long minute passed, and then another, as she looked into the fire and John looked at her, when quite suddenly, she turned her head and caught the direction of his gaze.

“You examine me, Mr. Eyre. Do you find me beautiful?”

“No, ma’am.” The reply passed his lips before he’d fully deliberated on it. A feeling of horror followed. Had he just said…?

Good lord.

If a hole in the floor had opened up at that moment, he’d have gladly jumped into it.

“Upon my word, sir, you’re a man of decided opinions. And you don’t cringe from uttering them, for all that you sit there as quiet and contemplative as a man of God.”

“I beg your pardon. I ought to have said that questions about appearances are difficult to answer. Tastes differ so widely.”

“I’m not to your taste, is that it?”

He inwardly groaned. He was making things worse, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Why couldn’t he have simply admitted to her beauty? He’d thought her beautiful before, hadn’t he? Strangely beautiful.

And oddly forbidding.

He moistened his lips. “It’s not that. It’s only—”

“Pray, tell me, what is it about my appearance that you object to?”

“Nothing,” he said. It was the truth. She may not be beautiful in the traditional sense, but she was deeply alluring. The kind of female who put every other woman in the shade.

How to say that without sounding like a demented fool?

He struggled for the right words. “You are, in every way—”

“What am I? You’ve already admitted I’m no beauty.”

Heat crept up his neck. “Please allow me to take back that answer.”

“I’ll allow nothing of the sort. I value a little plain speaking, even if it stings my pride.” Her mouth twitched at one corner, the barest threat of a smile. “Go on. Tell me what I am, sir. A gorgon? A dragon?”

“You are formidable.”

“At last. And does it follow that what is formidable cannot also be beautiful?”

“I’ve never considered it,” he said. “Perhaps therein lies my difficulty.”