“For you,” he replies.
We step inside, and he pulls out my chair with a courtly bow. Did he learn that move from Rochester or his father? The dress fabric pools around my thighs as I sit, making me feel as elegant as Blanche. I study the dome-covered plates, wondering what he prepared.
Rowland lifts the metal covering, releasing a swirl of fragrant steam. Inside waits roasted chicken speckled with herbs, surrounded by colorful steamed vegetables and buttery new potatoes.
“How did you make all this?” I ask as he fills my glass with white wine.
“Have you forgotten already?” he asks back.
I gaze up into his dark eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Edward forced me to take on the role of Mrs. Fairfax.”
In between victims. Rowland leaves that unsaid. My insides roil at the reminder.
“I’ve had decades to learn to cook,” he adds as he settles into his seat. “Sometimes, when Father was away on business, Mrs. Fairfax would let me out to use the kitchen.”
“Why didn’t she set you free?”
He lowers his gaze. “I already told you. In the end, she was just as much of a prisoner as me.”
I drop the subject, not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment with talk of his captivity. We eat in comfortable silence. Rowland fumbles with the silverware, his fingers clumsy, like he’s been forced into a lifetime of eating with his hands. Apart from his strange table manners, this feels like a real date. Like a normal man courting a normal woman.
But we’re not normal. And neither is this situation.
“Do you really think it will work?” I blurt.
His gaze snaps up to meet mine. “What?”
“You plan to impersonate your brother,” I reply. “Do you think you can make it work?”
He shifts his expression, straightens his posture, and smooths his features into a slight sneer. “Of course I can, Miss Burlington,” he says, his voice cultured. Clipped. Cruel. “I’ve observed Edward Rochester my entire life.”
My spine stiffens. Every nerve in my body screams danger. Even knowing it’s Rowland, that superior expression still triggers my urge to run.
Rowland’s smirk drops, his eyes widening with alarm. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m sorry.” When he speaks again, his voice is familiar. Warm. Safe. “I won’t use that tone unless it’s necessary.”
I shudder. “That was terrifying.”
He nods. “But I’m convincing enough to fool Edward’s associates, especially his lawyer and the local priest.”
“Right. Of course.” I settle back into my chair, trying to shake off the chill.
We keep eating, but the mood dulls. The air feels heavier somehow, like a shadow has fallen over our perfect evening. Maybe it’s the impending reality that this moment was never going to last. Maybe it’s the reminder that Rochester will soon return.
“Can I ask you something?” I say during a lull in conversation.
He nods.
“What made your brother so evil?”
Rowland sets down his fork and bows his head to think. “I can’t even remember when it began. He’s always been twisted.”
“But why does he do it?”
He tilts his head, chews his lower lip. “Edward used to trap animals when we were boys. It wasn’t enough for him to kill them. He liked giving them the hope of freedom then watching them break.”
“What does that mean?” I lean forward, my breath quickening.
