“That Inevershould, sir: you know—” Between her tears, she told how she would grieve mightily to leave Thornfield. My heart skipped for a moment, worrying that she would not stay if Thornfield were no longer mine, until I realized she loved it for the same reason I did, for the happiness it offered, not for the walls themselves. She went on, “It strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from you for ever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity of death.”
“Where do you see the necessity?” I asked. I sensed we were close to finished—here was my final provocation and, at last, at long last, she spoke her heart to me.
“In the shape of Miss Ingram, a noble and beautiful woman, your bride.”
“My bride! What bride? I have no bride!” I looked directly into her eyes. I had thought by now she understood.
“Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you?” she nearly shouted. “Do you think I am an automaton?—a machine without feelings? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?—You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. It ismyspiritthat addressesyourspirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are!”
“As we are!” I echoed her, and I wrapped her in my arms and I kissed her. “As we are, indeed,” I whispered, “and have always been.” I kissed her again and looked into those lovely eyes of hers. “So, Jane!” I said.
“Yes, so, sir,” she responded, “and yet not so; for you are a married man.”
I gasped: had she known all this time?
“Or as good as a married man,” she continued, “and wed to one inferior to you—to one with whom you have no sympathy—whom I do not believe you truly love; for I have seen and heard you sneer at her.”Miss Ingram, it was Miss Ingram she meant.“I would scorn such a union: therefore I am better than you—let me go!”
Oh, youarebetter than I, Jane. Youare.
“I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now,” she said.
She continued to fight against my arms, but I held her tight. “Jane, be still; don’t struggle so, like a wild, frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.”
“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me,” she insisted. “I am a free human being with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.” And with a final, great effort, she pulled herself away from me.
“And your will shall decide your destiny.” This is what I had waited for all those months: a declaration of feeling that held us not as master and employee, but as equals. “So,” I said, “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.”Such as they may be.
She stared at me in silence, unbelieving, and suddenly I realized I had played the game too far. My serious Jane refused now to listen as I promised, again and again, that it wassheI intended to marry. I explained that I had driven Miss Ingram away with tales of a lost fortune, that I had never loved her, that we were finished.
“Are you in earnest?” she asked. “Do you truly love me?—Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?”
“I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.”
“Then, sir, I will marry you.”
“Edward,” I whispered. “Say Edward—give me my name—Edward, please, my little wife.”
“Dear Edward!” she whispered.
Edward.“Come to me—come to me entirely now,” I said, holding her close, her cheek against mine. “God pardon me,” I whispered to myself, “and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her, and I will give my life to make her happy.”
But even as I said those words, the wind came up, and the trees began to creak with the force of it, and a streak of lightning darted across the sky, and a crash of thunder jolted us to run, for the rain was already beginning to fall. We dashed through the grounds and into the house, and I helped her remove her sodden shawl and loosened her hair, and then I could not resist kissing her again and again. I had eyes only for her: her cheeks rosy from the sudden chill and the exertion, the hair falling down her back into whose tresses I buried my hands. She thought herself small and plain, but to me she was warmth and light—life itself—and in my joy I could not have enough of her.
When she made to draw away from me, I understood, for it was late and Adèle would be there in the morning, vying for Jane’s attention, and there was much that I must do as well. I led Jane upstairs to her chamber and kissed her again good night and went on to my own room.
The storm went on for two more hours, rain pelting against the casements, lightning flashing across the sky, thunder roaring and cracking and rattling. In the night I rose two or three times and went to Jane’s door and knocked softly, making sure she felt safe.
In the morning, the sun shone out clear and bright. The storm had gone, with nothing to show for it but the felling of the old horse chestnut at the bottom of the orchard.
Chapter 20
Iwas late in rising that morning, having lain awake in bed the full duration of the storm, my mind as tossed as tree branches in the wind. I would marry Jane in a month, as soon as the courts cleared me of the weight of Bertha’s bond, and I would take her away soonest possible on a honeymoon, then to a new home. I hadn’t told her of that part yet—I hadn’t even thought where we might live: let Jane decide that, I thought, for I was hardly used to the idea myself. I would arrange for Adèle to be taken into a school—no, Jane must see to that too, as she surely would have a better idea of Adèle’s needs and capabilities than I did.
I would send for the family jewels immediately—they had been locked in a safe at a London bank since my mother’s death—and never mind that they were part of Gerald’s inheritance: they had been my mother’s.Mymother’s. I would take Jane to Millcote and buy her the finest of fabrics for dresses. As long as I possessed the inheritance, I would spend it as I pleased, and I had promised myself in Gateshead that Jane would have only the best of everything. That would not go on forever, but for the next month, it would.
Jane was at breakfast with Mrs. Fairfax when I came down in the morning, and I dared not face the two of them together, for I realized how it must look to the proper old lady to see the master of the estate marrying the governess. Instead, I returned upstairs to the schoolroom and waited there. Adèle bounced in shortly. She was surprised to see me, but, taking advantage of every opportunity for affection, she leaped into my arms.
“You have become too big a girl to jump into men’s arms—into anyone’s arms,” I scolded her. But I did not put her down immediately.
