Page 64 of John Eyre

“I trust you’ve been well during my absence?”

“Quite well.”

“And how have you been occupying yourself?”

“In doing my job. In teaching Stephen and Peter.” How formal he sounded. How unfailingly respectful and remote. When all the while, he ached to tell her about the boys’ singing. About his visit to Hay, and what he’d learned from the vicar. So many things had occurred since last he’d seen her. And he wanted, needed…

But it wasn’t the time.

And he was in no fit state for conversation.

She took a step closer to him. “You’ve sent them to bed?”

“I have. They’d had enough.”

“And you? What’s your excuse?”

He was quiet a moment. “I wasn’t aware I needed one. With the boys gone back to the nursery—”

“Return with me to the drawing room,” she said. “You’re leaving too early.”

“I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie.

Her eyes searched his. “What is it?” she asked softly. “Has something happened?”

He swallowed hard. “Nothing, ma’am.”

“You don’t like that I have guests staying, do you? Nor do I. But it’s easier with you in the room. Knowing you’re there… I find it soothing, somehow.”

“I wasn’t aware you noticed me at all.”

Her mouth curved up at one corner in that wry way he’d come to recognize. “Don’t be absurd. Of course, I noticed you.”

“You were much engaged with your guests.”

Her smile turned brittle before disappearing altogether. “My guests,” she repeated. “Would that I could drive them all back to the Leas myself.”

John was surprised by the edge of bitterness that sharpened her words. “In this weather? It’s not fit for anyone. Least of all a lady.”

“Don’t let it fool you.” She cast a dark look at the window above the stairs. “It’s nothing but sound and fury. An illusion meant to frighten us.”

“It felt real enough to me when I was fetching the firewood.”

“You?” She looked vaguely appalled. “Don’t tell me Mr. Fairfax ordered you—”

“I volunteered. I was glad to be of use.” John wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Well,” Mrs. Rochester said bleakly, “I daresay that’s what it’s come to. Thornfield hasn’t the staff to entertain. We must muddle through somehow.” She drew back from him. “Retire if you must, but if my guests remain through tomorrow, I’ll expect you in the drawing room again, and every night until we’re free of them.”

“Mrs. Rochester, it’s hardly my place—”

“I see what you’re about. You mean to play the dutiful subordinate. Play it, then. Do as you’re told, without argument.”

“I’m not playing at anything.”

“Nonsense. We both of us are. What is this if not a farce? We shall perform our roles as written, and then, when my guests have gone—”

John held his breath for what she might say next. But her words never materialized. Her speech was arrested by the sudden arrival of Mr. Fairfax.