Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms as her hands lay
clenched at her waist. Jane, braided chestnut hair wrapped tightly around her
head, stood proudly at her master’s feet.
Rochester’s eyes flitted to the one slight strand of hair that tickled her
cheek, clenched his jaw and inhaled, then returned Jane’s stoic gaze. The
breeze that once carelessly fluttered through the room, ceased to flow, leaving
the air heavy; hovering at the very surface of the words they spoke.
Though larger in
both stature and height, Rochester and Jane appeared equals in this moment, and
as Jane raised her chin, it became difficult to distinguish who employed whom.
“What do you mean
you’ll be leaving? Why? What do you owe these people who cast you out and left
you to rot?”
Jane’s brow
furrowed, and her chin raised higher. “Her son is dead, sir, he ruined himself,
and his mother is drowning in sorrow. She is my aunt, and I must tend to her.”
Rochester’s
shoulders abruptly turned away in aggravation, but his head and stormy eyes
remained fixed on Jane; their darkness looming into the pearlescent light of hers.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks, sir.”
The words had
barely escaped her lips, before lines of outrage and something else…
desperation, perhaps… creased Rochester’s reddened face as he growled, “Unacceptable!
No! I forbid it. You mustn’t stay gone so long.”
It was the last
sentence that betrayed his anger. You
mustn’t stay gone so long. It was not a demand, no, it was a plea, and its
intensity struck Jane to her very core. Her hands wrung around themselves as
she struggled to maintain her composure; sure the manic beating of
her heart could be felt pulsating throughout the stagnant air.
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