Edward Fairfax Rochester had been elated when Jane had told him she was glad to be home to him. The thought was comforting, a reassurance, that she was falling in love with him, though he was sure she may never love him as ardently as his passion for her. He would take a third, a quarter or even a mere tenth if only she would just say his name instead of Sir or Mr Rochester, he would be certain that his heart would remember its purpose and beat once more within his breast. If she would submit to his kiss and return it, he would cease to be a shell and return to life. If she consented to becoming his wife, it would be a clean slate and he could grow into the man he should have been before his father and Richard Mason had corrupted his chances and set him upon this path.
He equally cursed and blessed these men for without them and their betrayal he would have never followed his desire across the continent, for without Celine Varens and Adele, his angelic Janet would have never come into his home. She is now his whole life, his reason for both the waking hours and his dream laden slumber.
He could hear her quiet purposeful step, following the skipping feet of his ward. The carriage had arrived and he wished to show it off to gauge her reaction. See if she would approve.
Adele naturally climbed in, anxious for another present. His smile grew when she saw Jane and his throat closed, worried as to what she would say, did she approve?
Once he had heard about her childhood with its lack of affection and presents, he vowed to cover her in jewels while he held her tight, singing sweet lullabies between showering her in kisses, never to let her feel cold, hunger or loneliness again.
When he saw her sigh and saw the reproach in her eyes he had to fight to keep the smile on his face.
"Don't you think it will do well for Mrs Rochester?"
Jane frowned and he wished reverently that it was because she had bitten into the green apple of envy and jealousy. Please let her wish it was hers. She only had to say the word and he would marry her in the morning, his whole plan gone. Where he would devote the rest of his days to making up for that one frown, ensuring it would never happen again.
"Wouldn't she look like Queen Boadicea leaning back against those purple cushions?"
He focused on Adele and got caught up in her glee, he missed the sighed comment.
"I only wished I matched her better in looks..." for as plain as Jane considered herself he had yet to find another so sweet and angelic, he was still a little cut about her lack of partiality to his looks, he knew he was not handsome but she was so quick to tell him. "You sure there is no potion you could give me to improve my looks?"
"I'm sorry sir," How he hated that word, "but as I have already told you it isn't within the realm of magic."
He couldn't be certain but it was almost like her voice had become colder and lost the teasing lilt.
"Come Adele."
She guided his ward away and left him to ponder every detail of a two minute interlude to find any inclination that her heart swayed in his direction. If she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wished to hold her there, he wished to clutch her tight to his bosom fearful that like the witch he proclaimed her to be on their first meeting , she would just melt away never to be found again.
He glanced up the north tower to see Bertha, the real witch, was flying her crimson flag. Oh there was days when he hated that rich sensual shade. That was until the night when his little Janet had saved his life and soul. When he pulled her close, his hand had enveloped her tiny ones, revelling in the silken textures of her skin, when she cheeks had darkened, blossomed and glowed, that he had grown to enjoy the hue again.
He had not then since ceased in finding ways to encourage the flush that filled her cheeks and blotched the milky cream of her chest and neck or even the tips of her ears that poked above her hair, when the comment was particularly disagreeable to her.
He had grown used to hearing his laughter, no longer the harsh bark but now rich and hearty, when she had criticised him or made reference to his hideous looks. Even in private the thought of her did terrible things to him, either laughing out loud at a stored comment or having to lock himself away for a afternoon while he came up with a book of ways more pleasurable to both of them to get that healthy blush to cover her entire body.
He quickly adjusted himself, "George you can put it away now."
Well this has been hanging around waiting for me to post it. I really got into Jane Eyre with Toby Stephenson and Ruth Wilson. And this is just a one shot I wrote when bored at work...
R&R love ya MM