Chapter 4

Over the next few days Mr. Rochester seemed to be busy with business meetings. There were always men in business suits coming and going. Sometimes they would stay for dinner, and on those nights I would help Mrs. Fairfax in the kitchen. The meals that she prepared were never gourmet, but they were always cooked with love, and I think Mr. Rochester and his guests appreciated that. Mrs. Fairfax told me over a big pot of chili one night that when he is at Thornfield, Mr. Rochester prefers comfort food over five star cuisine.

During this time Adele and I saw very little of him. Mr. Rochester never came near the library where I taught Adele, and as far as I knew, he never sent for her in the evenings. Only on occasion did I have a chance meeting with him, and it usually occurred on the main staircase. I would be coming up or going down, and he would be walking in the opposite direction. Sometimes he would brush past me like I didn't even exist, and other times he would stop, smile and make small talk about the weather. His inconsistent demeanor towards me didn't bother me in the least. I just kept remembering what Mrs. Fairfax had said about cutting him some slack.

After a particularly trying day with Adele, (she just couldn't understand why Mr. Rochester didn't want to see her and she took her frustrations out on me!), she was finally summoned to his study. Adele ran up to her room to change her clothes so she could make a grand entrance. And I went up to my room to make sure I was neat and presentable, nothing more, nothing less.

Not surprisingly, I was the first to arrive. The door was open and Mr. Rochester was sitting in front of the fire with a glass of scotch.

'Is that Miss Eyre?'

I didn't know how he knew it was me because he never looked away from the fire.

'Yes, sir. It is.'

'Come over here and sit,' he said as he motioned to the chair that replaced the uncomfortable stool I sat on the night he scolded me.

I walked over and sat in the comfy looking chair.

'We never did set up a schedule for the gym. Do you have time to exercise in the morning or the afternoon?' he asked as the firelight flickered in his eyes.

'Afternoons are best for me.'

'Then it's settled. I'll take mornings and evenings since it is my house after all.' He smiled and took a sip of his scotch. 'See, I'm not such an ogre after all.'

Before I could respond, Adele made her grand entrance wearing a shirt and jeans that she bought with me at the mall paired with some of the accessories Mr. Rochester had brought her back from his travels. She posed in the doorway for a few minutes until he called her in. Adele ran over to his chair.

'Thank you, thank you for the newsboy cap, belt and leather bag, Uncle Edward. No one here will have these until the fall!' she exclaimed as she jumped up and down in front of him.

'Enough! Go sit on the couch and look at a magazine or something,' he said quite sternly.

Adele walked away looking hurt.

'I really like the way you put your outfit together, Adele,' I called out after her. I thought she looked quite stylish.

'Thanks, Miss Eyre,' she said as she flopped on the couch and leafed through a fashion magazine.

Mr. Rochester slumped back in his leather chair and finished off his scotch. I leaned into him,

'How do you know she is going to like what you buy for her? She seems pretty hard to please,' I said while remembering our trip to The Galleria.

He laughed uproariously.

'I just make sure what ever I buy for her is very expensive. Then I know she will love it!'

Mr. Rochester got up abruptly and yelled for Mrs. Fairfax. She met him at the door and he ordered her to go sit with Adele and keep her company. He then poured himself another scotch before returning to his chair by the fire.

'I am not use to talking to children, especially girls. It seems all they are interested in is fashion and boys. Now boys I know something about being that I was one so many years ago,' he smirked. 'But I am totally clueless about fashion as you can tell by looking at me.'

Now let me just say that Mr. Rochester is selling himself short, at least when it comes to what he wears. Whether it be jeans and t-shirts, button down shirts with the sleeves rolled up and casual pants, or custom made suit, Mr. Rochester knows what looks good on his toned, athletic body and clearly dresses to impress.

He leaned in and lowered his voice,

'Maybe you can help me with Adele. I feel that I am not spending enough time with her, but I cannot bear to be alone with her. At least not yet anyway. How about we set up some activities that the three of us can do together until I am more comfortable with her?'

I smiled.

'I think Adele would like that, Mr. Rochester. She really does crave your love and attention.'

'Great, then the three of us will do something together this weekend.'

I didn't have anything else to say, so I sat in silence and looked over at Adele as she read through her magazine. I pictured myself at her age and thought about how different my life was from hers. At nine years old I was shunned by my aunt and cousins, and given poorly fitting, unfashionable hand me downs to wear, while Adele is loved and embraced by Mrs. Fairfax and myself (even Mr. Rochester is going to make an effort to get closer to her!) and is given expensive designer clothes that she tires of as soon as the stores have something new.

I was lost in my contemplative mood until I was disturbed by Mr. Rochester's gruff voice.

'Speak,' he commanded.

I must have shot him a dirty look because he apologized immediately.

'I'm sorry for being rude. You must know by now that I am like that sometimes. Please forgive me. I have a lot on my mind.'

I leaned into him, and looked concerned.

'Is everything alright? Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener.'

He chuckled.

'That doesn't that surprise me in the least, Miss Eyre. . . I bet people seek you out just so they can unburden themselves and bask in your God given ability to listen without judgment or pity.'

'How do you know I am capable of that?' I asked sounding a bit surprised.

'There is something in your eyes.'

I blushed and looked down. He laughed and leaned into me.

'Am I making you feel uncomfortable? Don't you know how to take a compliment?'

'I'm not use to compliments. I don't know how to handle them.'

He sat back and studied my countenance.

'That is too bad, Miss Eyre. Just what kind of childhood did you have with no presents and no compliments?' he asked with a look of concern on his face.

Now it was my turn to chuckle.

'Let's just say that the group home that I was placed in wasn't the most nurturing environment in the world.'

'It must not have been because I can tell that you have a real problem opening up to people. Maybe that is why you are such a good listener. You do for others what you really want done for you. . . By the way, when someone gives you a compliment you could say, thank you.'

I looked up into his dark, sexy eyes, and felt butterflies in my stomach.

'Thank you, Mr. Rochester.'

We sat for a while with my green eyes locked into his black ones. I didn't want to look away, but Mr. Rochester nervously threw back some scotch and said jokingly,

'Enough about you. Now where was I. . . my past. It seems that when I am not engaged in some useful activity, dark thoughts cloud my mind. When I was your age I knew nothing of pain and despair, but now that I am thirty-eight, I feel as if I have had enough to last for a lifetime. And what I regret the most is. . . it was all my own doing. I can't blame anyone else but myself. Not bad luck or interference from others, only myself.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

He looked into my eyes again, and a sexy smile appeared on his lips.

'Coming from anyone else that would be taken as pity, and I hate pity. But coming from you, well, it just makes me want to open up even more.'

I leaned in so he could continue talking without Mrs. Fairfax or Adele overhearing.

'Now don't get me wrong, I haven't killed anyone or swindled little old ladies out of their life savings. Heck, I haven't even kicked a dog, but none the less, I'm ashamed of myself. I should have known better. I was old enough to know better. The signs were right in front of me, and I choose to ignore them. . . See,' he said as he leaned back in his chair with an even bigger smile on his face, 'I just can't stop opening up to you. I think when you grow up you should become an psychoanalyst or a therapist.'

I looked confused.

'What's the difference?'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'I'm not quite sure, I think a psychoanalyst gets paid a lot of money to listen to you complain about your life, and interjects only when you make a break through. While a therapist gets paid lots of money, and actually gives you suggestions on how to solve your problems. You would do well in either profession,' he said as he finished off his scotch. 'If I can give you some words of advice to live by, Miss Eyre, since I am twenty years older than you, and have had more life experience, let it be these: Don't do anything that will cause regret because regret is very hard to live with.'

I was very surprised by what he had to say.

'So, you are saying don't take risks? And what about the regret that comes from not doing anything?'

He laughed and shook his head.

'Miss Eyre, you're too smart for your own good! What I mean is, when you have the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders telling you what to do. Go with the angel. She will never steer you wrong.'

I could have talked with Mr. Rochester for hours, but I heard the grandfather clock in the hall chime ten times. I stood up and was just about to say goodnight when he exclaimed,

'What? Leaving me so soon?'

I motioned towards the sofa.

'It is way past Adele's bed time.'

Mr. Rochester looked over at Adele who was yawning while resting her head on Mrs. Fairfax's shoulder. Mrs. Fairfax's head had fallen back against the top of the sofa. She was snoring quietly.

'I see I've kept you too long, my apologies,' he said as he bowed his head to me.

I smiled at him.

'No apologies necessary. I hope we can finish our conversation at another time.'

'You can bet on it, Miss Eyre. I really do enjoy talking to you. Sweet dreams.'

I gently woke up Mrs. Fairfax before walking Adele up to her room and putting her to bed. She was very tired and didn't object to me not reading to her. After she was tucked in, I went to my room and got myself ready. As I looked in the mirror and brushed my teeth I thought, Mr. Rochester is certainly a very troubled man. I feel for him. It is a shame that he wasn't able to make amends with his brother before he died.

I then crawled into bed and tried to fall asleep, but every time I closed my eyes I saw Ed flirting with me at the bar. I think those feelings of love at first sight may have been on the money after all.