My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(109)

“What?” He smoothed hair off her face. “What is it?”

“I was dead, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “But you’re going to be all right. I think. How do you feel?”

“You said . . .”

“Yes? I said a lot of things when you were dead.” And suddenly he was running through every word. Then he remembered: he’d admitted (out loud, yes) that he cared for her. Cared for her cared for her, if you know what we mean.

Her eyes widened. “That means—”

“I know,” he said. “I know it was forward of me to just say so, but in my defense, you were mostly dead.”

“No, no, that’s not it.”

He was confused. “Then what?”

“I can see dead people!”

Alexander laughed and pulled out his mask, then placed it across her face. “Welcome, Seer Charlotte Bront?.”

Or, rather, that was what he’d intended to say, but before he could finish speaking her name, she pushed herself up a little and pressed her lips against his.

His eyes widened in surprise, and immediately she backed away from him, giving an embarrassed cry.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t see! I don’t know what came over me. That was unforgivably rude. I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have?” His heart was pounding.

“No!”

“Oh.” Unfortunately, now he couldn’t help but see the gentle curve of her lips, the tremble in her jaw, and the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When had she become so delicate and strong at the same time?

“It was too forward,” she went on. “Please forgive me. I was just so happy and I shouldn’t have assumed anything about your feelings and we’ve never discussed—”

He kissed her.

It was the same as her kiss to him—just a touch of his lips to hers. A question. A hope. A promise.

“Are we even now?” He felt the blood rising to his cheeks, too, praying he hadn’t misread her. “Or should I prepare a heartfelt apology as well?”

“Don’t you dare.”

This time, they kissed each other. For kind of a long time. Only when Miss Eyre loudly cleared her throat did they pull away.

“We’re still here,” Miss Eyre said. “In case you forgot.”

“That was terrible to watch.” Miss Burns shuddered. “Please never do it again. At least, not in public.”

Miss Bront?’s cheeks were a lovely shade of pink as she sat up straight on the bench.

“How are you still alive?” Miss Eyre asked.

Miss Bront? pulled her notebook from her pocket. The leather sported a large hole right through the center. “I think this slowed the bullet just enough. I always knew my life was for books.”

When Alexander’s heart slowed to a normal pace, he climbed to his feet and offered Miss Eyre and Miss Burns space to sit on the bench, while he stood beside the Rochesters. The three young ladies—two living and one dead—all held hands as they watched the House of Lords and Commons burn against the night.

Two days later, they met in the flat on Baker Street. You know, the one that had been Alexander’s, but was currently Miss Eyre’s (for the rest of the month, at any rate, since Wellington hadn’t covered the rent beyond that). Miss Eyre had generously offered the flat back to Alexander, as it had been his first, but Alexander had declined. Instead, he and Branwell had rented rooms nearby.

“Tea?” Miss Eyre asked.

Everyone accepted.

Miss Eyre and Miss Burns disappeared into the kitchen, while Miss Bront? and Branwell took the sofa and bent their heads together. “We need to decide what to do next,” Miss Bront? murmured.

“I should go back to Haworth.” Branwell sighed. “I do rather miss it there. Of course, not much happens in Haworth, but that’s the point, isn’t it? I think we’ve had enough adventure.”

Miss Bront? nodded.

Alexander’s heart twisted a little when he thought about Miss Bront? going all the way to Haworth. He’d spent the last two days waiting for a meeting with the king, trying to figure out the Society’s future now that the building and Move-On Room and talismans were all gone (not to mention Wellington), but the king was still recovering from what Mr. Mitten and Wellington had done in the days before the Great Fire. The Society’s future was on his list, but it certainly wasn’t a priority. Not right now, anyway.

Which left Alexander sort of the Society’s leader by default, but not really, and because all that was so messy, he couldn’t take actions like inducting new members, even if they were seers.

Anyway, Charlotte had just agreed about the excess of adventure in London. Maybe she wanted to go back to Haworth.

He moved toward the kitchen to help Miss Eyre with the tea. Even though she currently lived here and was technically the hostess, this had been his kitchen until recently. So no harm in helping.

“It’s not that I want you to go.” Miss Eyre’s voice came from behind the door, barely above a whisper. “I’ll miss you. Of course I will.”

Alexander paused in the doorway.

“But you think I should.” Miss Burns’s ghostly voice was tight. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think it’s better if I go?”