DISCLAIMERS: Characters belong to Charlotte Bronte, I'm merely borrowing them. :)

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Charades

Part One

It had been a long tedious day. It had started with breakfast and making polite small talk with his guests. His patience was wearing thin and he wondered how much longer he could endure Lady Ingram's little hints about an engagement to Blanche. Also, he could barely tolerate her holier than thou attitude – he'd never met a man or woman who elevated themselves so above everyone else.

He was overjoyed when his agent made an unexpected visit and he had to excuse himself for a few hours and attend to business matters.

However his escape was short-lived as he'd been obliged to make an appearance after lunch. It seemed Blanche wished to go for a ride. Since that didn't involve having to converse with her, he acquiesced.

Mesrour was more spirited than usual and had been rather eager for a good gallop in the grounds surrounding Thornfield. Blanche and her white mare had barely been able to keep up. It made Edward smile – for all her boasting about being the best horsewoman in the county, her fair mare was no match for Mesrour.

And now he'd escaped to the solitude of his study – weary of acting out the role of perfect host. Why had he let this charade continue for so long? He was tired of it now. It had served a purpose while Jane was present, but alas she was no longer in his company. When the deuce was that witch going to return? Did she have any idea how much he missed her? Perhaps it was better that she didn't – at least not yet.

Oh, she was off doing her duty, like the good little fairy she was. Never mind that her Aunt Reed hadn't shown her a moment's kindness or that she'd packed her off to Lowood to starve and be ill-treated. But being the person that she was Jane had felt compelled to rush to her aunt's dying side.

Edward could just imagine his own reaction if he'd had an aunt like that. He'd have told her to go to the devil or some similar phrase. There'd been times he'd wanted to tell his father the same, and if the senior Rochester had still been alive, he might have.

He leaned up against the mantelpiece and sighed deeply. He felt a twinge of hunger but the prospect of sharing his repast with the likes of the Ingram family was enough to quell his appetite there and then. Maybe he'd sit with Eshton and the twins, whom his friend had taken quite a shine to — of course, all in the pursuit of scientific advancement.

The hours of the day dragged without Jane's presence. A few weeks ago it was about this time of night that he'd develop a slight knot in his stomach in the eager anticipation of spending the evening with her. He'd rush his meal, wolfing it down in one gulp. If one of the servants offered him seconds he politely refused. This was greeted with a disapproving look from the cook and a few inquiries from Mrs. Fairfax as to his health and well being. He'd reassure all that he was well and dash into his study and summon this strange unearthly creature called Jane Eyre, who not only held a fascination for him, but was worming her way into his heart.

His pulse would increase at the sight of her – all prim and proper with her hair tied neatly back and dressed in a bland grey dress. Yet to him she was the most beautiful woman on earth. He imagined loosening her hair and letting it fall, softly cascading down her back. Not only had she managed to bewitch his horse, he too was now a victim of her witchery, falling fast under her magical spell.

But now the evenings held no magic for him. He gazed out the window longingly, wondering if she ever thought of him. Did she miss him? He wished she'd at least write. He knew Mrs. Fairfax had received a letter from Jane but apart from telling him she was well and busy spending time with her family, communicated no further information.

He lit a cigar and inhaled deeply. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Jane when he heard the door open. He looked up to find Blanche enter. How rude of her not to knock! Did she think she owned the place already?

Then a thought sprang to his head. It was time to end this – to put Miss Ingram in the picture. He thought he'd already done that when he'd played the gypsy and told her he wasn't half as wealthy as she'd imagined. He was more than surprised when her attentions towards him had not cooled. She must really be desperate, he thought. He was no fool – there wasn't an inkling of love in her eye. She was a mercenary and played her part well. There were obviously no other options for her on the horizon and he surmised Lady Ingram had trained her daughter well. While a marriage to the Master of Thornfield may not be her first choice, at present it appeared to be the only one.

That gave him the upper hand. He was going to enjoy being blunt.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Not at all," she answered. "I was just taking a stroll through the hall before dinner."

And cataloguing everything in sight, he thought. "And did you like what you saw?"

"Naturally," she smiled. "It could of course do with a little management – a few new furnishings here and there."

Hmm…in his younger days he just might have been caught in her net, with her batting her eyelashes at him in that manner and her coquettish tone of voice. New furnishings indeed! He suddenly had a glimpse of what life with Blanche would be like – an image of being carted off to London in search of whatever took her fancy. With her greed his fortune would probably be spent in a year! He smiled to himself, thankful he was no longer such a young fool.

"And would you like to take all this on?" he asked. Her only response was a flirtatious smile. He took it to mean yes, but decided on a more direct line of questioning. "What do you really want, Blanche?"

The expression of surprise painted on her face and slight annoyance rather pleased him. His plan was working.

"I don't know exactly what you mean," she said, doing her best to save her face. He had to admire that.

"Really? I thought you were rather proficient in English."

Now she looked offended, but no words escaped her lips.

"I thought you would appreciate my directness, Blanche. Unless of course you rather we dance around the issue indefinitely?"

"A gentleman does not usually address a lady in such a manner."

"Ah, so it was my manner that offended you. I apologize. How would you wish I phrase my question?" he inquired.

"In the manner you have always spoken to me."

"I see. However, I feel it is time to bring this charade to its conclusion."

"Charade? I don't understand."

"I think we both know why you've displayed an interest in me and Thornfield. I suggest we dispense with this little game we've been playing."

"Game? I have been playing no such game."

"I see, so in truth you are madly in love with me?" he asked, with a glint of amusement in his eye.

"I…well…Edward, you know—" She seemed to stumble for the correct words.

"You are no more in love with me than I am with you. This is the moment of truth, my dear. Denying it makes you a liar."

"How dare you stand there and accuse me—"

"I dare. I've just about had my fill of you and your mother looking me up and down as if I was some prize stallion. I half expected her to have surveyors brought in to value Thornfield."

"Edward! Please—"

He continued, ignoring her pleas. "I think it would be prudent if you advised Lady Ingram to stop hinting at our on-the-verge-of-announcement engagement because once it is discovered that no such event is to pass, I believe she will feel rather foolish."

"Edward Rochester! I am speechless!" There was anger in her voice and a fire in her eyes. So she did have some spirit after all.

"Are you?" He was enjoying this.

"How you could have toyed with my feelings and led me on in this disgusting manner! You're a scoundrel!"

"Indeed I am. But I thought you were speechless, my dear."

She was about to respond when he cut in. "My dear Blanche, I have no more toyed with your feelings than you have with mine. Let us drop the pretense. I believe your annoyance at the outcome of the situation but I too well know the reason."

She looked incensed and annoyed that she couldn't come up with some clever response to wound him. She took a deep breath and announced that she would send for her carriage from Ingram Park first thing in the morning.

"As you wish," he answered. "And now with this unpleasantness out of the way, shall we go to dinner?"

If looks could kill he'd have been lying dead on the floor at this moment. "If you could be so kind and have something sent to my room?" Her voice was ice.

"Of course. What shall I tell your mother?"

"Make something up. That seems to your forte." With that she left shutting the door loudly behind her. He chuckled to himself. That was the most fun he'd had since Jane's departure.

Blanche had not been forthcoming with her mother. She'd merely explained she wanted to go home and had matters to attend to. She suspected her mother thought that meant she wished to return home to begin preparations for her marriage. Let her think that for the present, explanations would do once they returned.

With the announcement of the Ingram party vacating the premises, the other guests had felt it was time to depart as well and soon the large hall on the ground floor of Thornfield was filled with everyone's luggage. As Blanche walked along the corridor towards the room she felt a shiver down her spine as she heard her mother boasting once more how they would not be attending the summer ball because they'd be preparing for a much more important event.

Within a few hours they were packed up and ready to depart. Rochester was waiting for her and offered his hand to escort her to the carriage. This pretense sickened her and she loathed the sight of the man. To think she'd actually considered marrying him! But she would play this final charade with him – merely for appearance's sake.

Not a word was spoken between them for which she was grateful. She surveyed her surroundings – the house that she'd never be mistress of. She noticed the governess standing in the window above watching her and Rochester. What a nosey little creature she was!

Rochester released her hand as they approached the carriage and she gave him a polite nod. His face was blank and cold, his expression written in granite. Perhaps she'd made a lucky escape – could life have been tolerable with such a cruel, devious and unfeeling man?

She stepped inside while her mother assured Rochester that he would see her again soon. "Ingram Park is a short journey for an enthusiastic rider."

Blanche cringed at her mother's assumptions and imagined Rochester to be enjoying himself.

"Indeed," he answered and wished them a safe journey. With that the carriage pulled away.

"My darling, why the sour expression? I'm sure you'll see him in a few days."

Blanche had no wish to engage her mother in conversation at this point or offer up explanations. "I have a slight headache, that's all."

"Well what do you expect when you skip breakfast?"

"Don't fuss, mother. I'm sure it will pass."

"Of course." Lady Ingram asked a few other questions, but Blanche was not forthcoming and relieved when her mother gave up. Instead she stared out of her window at the passing countryside, wondering where her future would take her next. Everything felt so uncertain now.

Edward felt like a different man! Jane was home and Blanche and her interfering mother were finally out of his sight! He could be himself again, without the pretense he'd engaged in over the last few weeks.

He spent the evening with Jane, walking about the grounds while she told him of her visit with her cousins and now dead aunt. It was so good to be in her company again. He felt revived and refreshed – only her companionship had this affect on him.

They watched the sunset and then retired to the house. He asked her to stay with him if she was not tired. She smiled directly into his face, it lit up accentuating her soft features and he felt his heart skip a beat. Could he hope that she felt as he? Had he awoken in her the feelings of love and passion that had been so alien to her before?

He could not be certain yet, although he'd received a few hints. Only today she'd told him how glad she was to be back and that she considered her home to be wherever he was. He'd stood frozen to the spot when his ears had registered her words. They filled him with hope…hope for a better life, for a wonderful future…would she consent to be his bride?

Then this evening she'd brought up the topic of his supposed marriage to Blanche. Whilst the charade with Blanche had been brought to its natural conclusion, Jane continued to believe he had every intention of marrying that mercenary. He struggled within himself – uncertain and insecure. When should he end the pretense? How far should he push Jane to discover how she really felt?

It troubled him greatly to imagine that he could be the instrument of pain to his beloved, but he knew of no other way to proceed. Though there were times when he thought to hell with all of this and he'd struggle not to clasp her in his arms, press his lips to hers, and declare his heart's desire.

But there was still that lingering doubt, the possibility that he'd imagined Jane felt anything but friendship for him. There were matters to take into consideration – from the outset she'd told him she did not find him attractive. Then there was the difference in their ages – a girl like Jane would probably wish to attach herself to a man in his youth, not one weighed down with life; his emotional baggage like a millstone around his neck.

So how was he to proceed? He hadn't worked out the finer details of his plan so merely reassured her that he would find her a new position. She nodded in agreement but the reminder that her stay at Thornfield was not indefinite had drained the colour from her face. Was it merely the thought of leaving the house, Adele and Mrs. Fairfax? Could there possibly be more?

If only he could be certain! He'd played Blanche's suitor well enough – but had it roused Jane's jealousy? He did not know.

They entered his study and Jane sat down. He poured himself some brandy and offered her some. She always refused, but he made it a habit of asking her on the off-chance she might accept. He seated himself in his usual chair and gazed into the fire.

"What are you thinking of, sir?" she asked.

He smiled at her. She was comfortable with him and addressed him more like a friend than her master. He enjoyed that – he wanted her to feel at ease.

"Just what a pleasant evening we've spent together."

"I see."

"And you Jane, what are your thoughts?" He wasn't commanding as he'd once been with her, demanding her to reveal the inner workings of her mind.

She looked down at the floor and he noticed a slight blush tinge her cheeks. This piqued his curiosity.

"Nothing in particular," she answered, but speaking to the fire instead of facing him.

He wished to believe her answer was far from the truth, but tonight was not the night to make that discovery. He'd bide his time – he'd know when the right moment came along.

"Would you like to read?" he enquired. This was one of the ways they'd spend their evenings. They'd either sit in silence together, each one reading a book from his library, or she'd read aloud to him a book of his choice.

"Perhaps you would read aloud, sir?"

"Me?"

"Yes, if that would be acceptable, sir."

"Yes, it's acceptable," he smiled. "However I confess that I am intrigued by your request."

"There is no mystery, sir. I think you have a pleasing voice."

"Ah, a compliment at last! Well that makes up for you not finding me handsome," he chuckled.

She seemed embarrassed and again her eyes were fixed on anything but him. He left her for a moment and made his way to the library to retrieve a suitable book. Scanning the shelves he found what he was looking for — a book she'd placed there only today. She called it her escape book.

Returning to the study he sat down and started to read. Now and then he'd glance up and find her watching him intently. For a few brief seconds their eyes locked. Could she see what was written in his? He smiled at her and she smiled back.

It was past eleven o'clock by the time they left the study and went to their separate bed chambers. He'd been the one to suggest they retire. He'd noticed her yawn several times and she had undertaken a long journey that day. He'd secretly wished that she would have fallen asleep – he'd have had the chance to take her in his arms and carry her to bed, and have a plausible explanation for it. Alas fate was not going to be his co-conspirator and she made her way to her room on her own two feet.

To be continued...