“Of course.”
I sat in the chair facing hers, and she seated herself again. “You knew my mother far better than anyone else I know,” I began.
She stiffened. “I did not know her well at all, sir.”
“Still, she was a lady in every meaning of the word, was she not?”
“Yes, sir, she was.”
“When she married my father—George Howell Rochester—were there whisperings that she had married beneath herself?” This was treacherous ground, I knew, but it seemed the best. “He had the Rochester name, but he had put himself in trade, which made him a kind of pariah, no? I cannot imagine what must have been said of him in those days.”
Mrs. Fairfax’s eyes lowered.
“Did you ever hear gossip of that sort?” I asked.
“It could have happened,” she allowed.
“She was your late husband’s second cousin, I understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he never said anything? That she had married beneath herself?”
“Of course not. Your father was a gentleman, despite…”
I nodded. “Despite that he was in trade.”
She cleared her throat, and her eyes wandered away from mine. “I really don’t recall, sir.”
“I never knew my mother, as you are well aware. So I have only a child’s dream of what his mother might have been, but I assume that she was a fine woman. However”—I cleared my throat—“in all my life, and in the many, many places I have traveled, I have never met a woman as admirable as our Miss Eyre.”
If I had imagined that I would catch her unprepared, I was mistaken. “If I may say so, sir,” she said, “she is a child—only eighteen.”
“Many women of good family marry at eighteen.”
“As I say, sir.”
I had to smile that she did not dare to point out I was twice Jane’s age. “Yes, she is young,” I agreed. “But she is wise beyond her years; surely you have seen that.”
She said nothing in response, for she could not deny my words.
I continued: “Would that I were younger, or she older. But that is not the case. Is that the only reservation you might have? You should know I shall marry her regardless, but I—and Jane, I am sure—would welcome your blessing. So again I ask, is her youth your only reservation?”
She looked at me straight on. “It will indeed be said, sir, that you are marrying beneath your station. Eyebrows do rise when a man allies himself with his child’s governess.”
“You do not admire her?”
“I think she is a fine young woman, sir. But agoverness, married to the master of the house, it does…it does not…”
“It does not bode well for the governess, you are saying. You have concern that I would take advantage—”
“Oh no, sir! No. It’s just…she is very inexperienced, sir.”
I would have laughed if I had not felt so put out by the rest of the conversation. “On that count, you will not have to concern yourself,” I said to her, rising. “Miss Eyre is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.” I started toward the door, but I stopped and turned. “At any rate,” I added, “I am determined to marry her. Whether you accept her or not is your affair, I suppose, but in one month, she shall be my wife.”
After that, Jane and I—and Adèle, who despite my original wishes charmed her way into our carriage—took off for Millcote. I urged Jane to agree to the loveliest of fabrics, but she was a stubborn little thing, and instead chose only a black satin and a pearl-gray silk. The harder I tried to lavish her with gifts, the harder she resisted, saying, “I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you remember what you said of Céline Varens?—of the diamonds, the cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Céline Varens. I shall continue to act as Adèle’s governess: by that I shall earn my board and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I’ll furnish my own wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but—”
My God,I thought.Such independence in her! Cannot she simply let me spoil her while I still have the means?“Well,” I asked, “but what?”
