A/N: First I'd like to thank all who took the time to leave reviews. Very much appreciated and it's a great encouragement. Secondly I should have made it clear -- but this fic is not only based on scenes from the book, but also from the new BBC adaptation of Jane Eyre starring Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson. It airs in the US on PBS on Jan 21st. Watch it! It's great! The scene with Blanche being escorted to the carriage by Rochester in chapter 1 was actually a scene from the adaptation. I hope you don't mind if I mix bits of the book and the adaptation. Some scenes are also completely original and of my doing. :) I hope it doesn't become confusing. Enjoy!

Charades

Chapter 2

Three days had passed since their return to Ingram Park. Lady Ingram scanned the mail left for her on the breakfast table — no news from Thornfield. One of the servants entered with a fresh pot of tea. She enquired if perhaps a message for Blanche had been delivered by hand. The answer was no.

What kind of a suitor was Rochester, to not send word or make an appearance? He'd seemed so enamoured of her daughter during the house party and now…nothing. It was a perplexing matter.

It was already after 9 o'clock in the morning and Lady Ingram wondered where Blanche could be. Perhaps she was out of spirits, missing Rochester. But it was odd that her daughter hadn't made mention of him since their return.

Blanche finally made an appearance and sat down beside her mother at the table. "How did you sleep my darling?"

"Very well." Blanche scanned the mail.

"I'm sorry, there's nothing from him," her mother told her.

"I wasn't expecting anything."

"I see." Lady Ingram was surprised. "Do you expect him to ride over soon?"

"I would find that occurrence unlikely."

"Blanche, what do you mean?" She was beginning to alarm her mother.

"I wished to tell you the day we left Thornfield, but couldn't bring myself to and the last few days there hasn't been an opportune moment. The truth is mother that it was all a charade."

"Excuse me?"

"A charade, a game — I know not what its purpose was except to humiliate me. Mr. Rochester made it perfectly clear to me the night before we departed that he had no intention of proposing matrimony to me."

Lady Ingram felt sick to her stomach and dizzy. She clasped her head in shock. She must have misheard – Blanche could not mean she was not engaged to him.

"Mother, are you well?" Blanche asked. She'd obviously noticed her mother turn a little pale.

"A charade? A game?" she gasped. "Tell me again, Blanche, slowly. Do you mean to tell me you and Mr. Rochester will not be getting married?"

"That is correct."

"You must have misunderstood."

"I assure you I did not. His words were plain."

This made no sense at all. What possible reason would he have to trifle with Blanche? The man had to be insane. "I do not understand. Why would he do such a thing? What kind of man is he?"

"Certainly no gentleman," Blanche answered.

Lady Ingram drank her tea in an effort to compose herself. Two matters troubled her greatly. Firstly, most of the gentry in Millcotte expected the announcement of an engagement between Thornfield's master and the belle of the county any day. She had seen to that, mentioning it at every opportunity presented to her.

She'd been presumptuous – assuming that Rochester could not resist the charms of her beautiful daughter. Reflecting on the matter she concluded that her confidence had been in haste. Rochester had known Blanche for several years and had never hinted at a courtship before. This time it had felt different though – he'd seemed to single her out from the other ladies, paying her special attention. Blanche had had every right to expect a proposal.

The second matter of concern was for Blanche's future. She'd hoped to secure her daughter a wealthy husband. She'd been so certain that within a short space of time Blanche would have been instilled as Mistress of Thornfield. Where had it all gone wrong? And what kind of rogue was Rochester to play with a young lady's feelings so?

"Blanche, it is his loss," she said, trying to reassure her daughter.

"Of course."

But what was to become of Blanche now? She wasn't eighteen anymore and Rochester had one of the last available bachelors in the area. She would have to reflect on the matter.

Two weeks had passed since his guests' departure and Edward had enjoyed the relative quietness of Thornfield. Bertha had been more placid than usual and had not attempted any further escapes from her prison. Perhaps Grace's recent increase in wages had compelled her to be more vigilant.

His days were spent attending to business. Sometimes he'd take Mesrour out for a ride. The horse was spirited and it was not good to keep him locked up in the stables. It was when he was out riding that he wished Jane was a horsewoman. He'd have enjoyed her company. Well it was something he'd see to once they…correction, if they married.

Yes, that was his plan and had been so for quite some time – if it ever bore fruit was yet to be seen. He'd tried to draw her out the night he'd dressed up as the gypsy, but he knew all too well how her conscience would stand in the way of happiness if the truth about him were to be revealed.

If he wanted his fairy for his own, he would have to deceive her. Ugh…he hated that idea, but what was he to do? He could not risk losing her. Now that he'd tasted what heaven it was to be with her, he could not give up such a joy, even if it meant lying to his innocent lamb.

One day…one day when the time was right, when he'd had her safe for at least a year – he would reveal all to her and pray that God would be merciful and that Jane would understand and find forgiveness in her heart. But he was getting ahead of himself. At the present time he still did not know if Jane would accept him as her husband.

He'd finished breakfast and was on his way to his study to look at some papers when he stopped at the half open door to the school room. Edward stood in the corner, unseen, and watched Adele and Jane. He'd done this many times before and never been caught. He watched as Jane patiently tried to explain a simple mathematical formula to the young Parisian whose mind was probably more preoccupied with thoughts of pretty dresses.

He smiled to himself. If he had his way she would not toil with her governessing slavery much longer. He was becoming impatient and struggling harder each day to resist straining her to his heart. Feigning disinterest was too difficult. He could not act the cool master, nor could he merely act the friend. Friend – bah! Friendship's rose was very pale compared to the passionate red rose of love and desire.

If it were not for his doubts he would speak his heart. But the thought of rejection plagued him. He had to test her mettle – to know whether her feelings were as strong as his. And there was only one way to accomplish this. He had to present the prospect of forever being separated from him.

Another charade – another lie – oh yes, he was tired of these games. But life had been cruel and taught him not to take any chances. He'd been a gullible fool when dealing with Bertha and where had that landed him? He's been a trusting son when it came to his father and he'd been betrayed. Discovering his friend Richard had been a co-conspirator on the plan to wed him to his lunatic sister had set Edward against ever trusting another friend as long as he lived.

Since that time he'd been careful to not allow acquaintances to ripen into any kind of deep and meaningful friendships. He'd sensed that Eshton would have sought him out more often, but Edward had been careful to keep him at arm's length. Trusting no human soul and not sharing confidences was the far safer option.

But with Jane it had been different – he'd sensed her sympathetic nature from the start. Without knowing it he'd spoken freely to her of such personal matters like his relationship with Celine and his need for redemption. She'd been an attentive and kind listener, her eyes full of warmth. But was it pity or love? He ached to know. The uncertainty was driving him mad.

As for the details of the charade…well he'd planned it last night while trying to fall asleep. He'd come up with the name of Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall and five fictitious daughters who lived in Ireland. Their ages would range from eight to fourteen years. He'd even made up names for them in case Jane enquired. Now he needed to wait for the opportune moment to breach the subject.

"Monsieur Rochester!" he heard Adele cry. Damn! He'd been so wrapped up in his ponderings he hadn't realized he was now in Adele's direct line of vision. Instead of working on her mathematical problem, it appeared that she'd grown impatient and decided to practice a few pirouettes, much to Jane's chagrin.

Now that she'd spied him she came rushing up the doorway. "Monsieur, I am so tired of mathematics – can you persuade mademoiselle that I continue another time, s'il vous plait?" Her expression and tone of voice reminded him of Celine and the memory brought bile up his throat.

Celine has always asked him for things in such a manner, whether it be a new carriage, new dress or item of jewellery. He tried to push the thought of her away and concentrate on Jane.

"Adele, do not trouble Mr. Rochester," he heard Jane say as she approached him.

"I have no intention of making any such petition on your behalf, Adele. Arithmetic is very useful, you should be grateful Miss Eyre has the patience to teach you."

Adele gave him a disappointed expression and skulked back to her desk. "I did not mean to interrupt," he started, thinking up some kind of plausible explanation for his presence to Jane. "I was merely passing."

"I hardly think you need to explain your presence in your own home, sir," Jane teased.

"Of course," he nodded. "Well I won't disturb you any further." He started to walk down the corridor and then stopped and turned. Jane was standing in the doorway watching him. "I'll see you later this evening, Jane."

"Yes, sir."

He made his way to his study with a spring in his step. She'd been watching him instead of returning to her duties. He was pleased. Perhaps there was reason to hope…

While Jane had been at her Aunt Reed's he'd left his guests for two days for a journey to London to pick out a new carriage. Its purpose was two-fold. He had every intention of becoming a bridegroom therefore a new carriage was warranted. He purchased a beautiful, ornate white one. It was for Jane, but that would not be revealed until the opportune moment. In the meantime he could pretend it was for Blanche, and study Jane's reaction.

He'd discovered on her return that he was not to be the one to impart the knowledge of this purchase. He'd accused her of having second-sight when she'd told him she knew full well of his trip to London to buy the carriage – but the knowledge had not been acquired by supernatural means. The truth was in fact that Mrs. Fairfax had written to her and communicated the news.

He'd been unable to gauge her feelings on the matter; she seemed rather muted on the subject. Perhaps visual evidence would give him a better clue.

The carriage arrived promptly on time this fine morning – at 10 o'clock. He proceeded outside to inspect it and was rather pleased to see Adele hurriedly running out, with Jane in tow.

Now he'd play his card. Over the years he'd become quite adept at poker, fooling his opponents into parting with their hard earned savings. Jane did not play poker and he assumed, therefore, could not tell when he was bluffing.

Adele was her usual Parisian self, climbing into the carriage and giving it a good look over, as if it had been purchased for her sole use.

Edward took his opportunity and asked Jane if she felt this would not suit his bride-to-be perfectly? She did not answer, merely surveyed the carriage. He pressed on, asking her if she had some kind of potion which could make him more handsome, so he would suit Blanche better. He'd meant the comment to sound humorous. Her response, while jovial, was not what he'd hoped for.

He knew he was no Apollo but he did hope that something about his physiognomy might attract Jane. When she'd told him she found his voice pleasing the evening of her return from Gateshead his heart had swelled at the compliment.

He watched her and Adele retreat back to the house and sighed in disappointment. The gentleman who'd delivered the carriage asked for his signature and Edward invited him inside to sort out the payment.

Lady Ingram had encouraged her daughter to attend the summer ball after all. At first Blanche had protested, explaining that she did not wish to explain to prying people why she was not making arrangements to become Mrs. Rochester.

Lady Ingram told her not to fear and that her friends would be too well mannered to ask. Blanche did not appear convinced, but after spending over two weeks at Ingram Park, seemed grateful for the opportunity to vacate it. Lady Ingram had also heard through an acquaintance that a rather rich solicitor from London by the name of Mr. Hamilton would be attending. He was a cousin of the Dent family and would be their guest for a few weeks.

Her friend had informed her that Hamilton was a widower in his early forties, and had one son around the age of nine. She knew Blanche was not overly fond of children, but if anything came of the two of them being introduced to each other the boy could always be sent away to school.

Blanche was surprised when her mother announced that she would not be going with her.

"I think you will be better off without me."

"I see."

"What do you mean by that tone?" Lady Ingram asked.

"While you feel people may not have the courage to question me as to why I am not yet residing at Thornfield as its mistress, you fear some may take the opportunity to poke fun at your never ending boasting in regard to my supposed wedding to Edward Rochester."

"I did not boast!"

"Mother, every opportunity that availed itself I heard you announce to people that our engagement was on the verge of becoming official."

"You can not blame me for expecting this."

"Perhaps…but your presumption did not serve you well."

"For your sake, Blanche, I wish I could take the words back."

"Why for my sake? You tell me I should go to the ball and hold my head up high as if nothing has occurred. I also hear you have picked out my next victim…err forgive me, I mean suitor."

"Blanche, you can not afford to be choosy – not at your age!"

"Quite true. However, I am no fool. It is not for my sake that you do not wish to attend. I repeat again – you fear being mocked by your own circle of friends."

Lady Ingram had no wish to argue with her daughter or let Blanche have the upper hand. She was grateful when a servant interrupted them asking if Blanche was to go riding today and if her horse should be made ready. She requested that it was.

"I will do as you wish, Mother and go to the ball. I will capture Mr. Hamilton's attention, flatter him and try out my feminine wiles on him, but on the condition that you attend with me. However, this time I would caution you not to bring up the subject of weddings or engagements until I instruct you to."

She did not wait for a response but left the room. Lady Ingram was taken aback. Her daughter had never spoken to her in such an abrupt manner. But it seemed she had no choice but to comply with her daughter's request. Maybe it would not be as humiliating as she feared.

To be continued…