My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(49)

“Do you remember Sarah Curshaw, from Lowood?”

“The one with the green eyes?” Jane said.

“Yes. And how she went into that church that random day and met Mr. Bourret, who was so immediately taken by Sarah and her green eyes that he simply had to marry her? It was the biggest scandal, because Sarah’s family was penniless, and Mr. Bourret brought in four thousand pounds a year.”

Jane looked weary. “What’s your point, Charlotte?”

“If you became an agent, you’d be richer than Sarah Curshaw, the richest girl we know. You’d be set for life.”

“I don’t understand,” Jane said. “Why would they be willing to pay me such a sum?”

“Because you’re special, Jane,” Charlotte answered, pressing down the stab of jealousy she felt in her chest. “You’re what’s called a Beacon. You can—”

Jane held up her hand. “Stop. No more, Charlotte. I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—”

“I am no one special,” Jane said. “I am just a girl. I can see ghosts, yes, but it has only ever brought me trouble!”

“But, Jane, if you would only—”

“No. I don’t need another minute to give you my final answer. No. No, no. Go away, Charlotte. Stop playing your little game.”

Charlotte felt the heat rush to her face. “You’re a selfish girl, Jane Eyre. You’ve been given an opportunity that some of us would—well, not exactly kill for, but desire very much, and be willing to work incredibly hard to attain. And this miraculous chance is offered to you, freely, but you turn your nose up at it. You’re throwing it all away, Jane! You’re a fool!”

There was a moment of thunderous silence. Then Jane said, under her breath, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. You’re not trouble.”

Charlotte thought Jane was trying to make amends, but then she realized that Jane was not speaking to her. She was speaking to Helen.

“She’s here right now, isn’t she?” she asked. “Helen Burns?”

Jane’s eyes flickered with surprise. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwood can see her. He’s not here to relocate her,” she added quickly, as Jane’s face filled with alarm. “I wish you would have told me yourself. I thought . . . I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Jane said.

“Tell me the real reason, then, that you won’t accept the Society’s offer.”

Jane bit her lip. “There’s no real reason. I am simply content to stay at Thornfield Hall.”

“But why?”

“It’s warm here—so warm, my toes are nice and toasty every night, no chilblains, ever—and the food is very good, and I am becoming so fond of my little pupil, and then, well, there’s . . .” Jane sighed. “Rochester.”

“Rochester?”

“Rochester is a good and decent man. He’s been so kind to me. He’s not what you might consider classically handsome, I know, but he’s tall and dark, at least. And there’s something so appealing about his broody mannerisms. His scowl is so . . . attractive. And sometimes when we talk I feel that he’s the only person who really understands me. It’s like my soul communes with his. It’s like he—”

“Oh, blast. You’re in love with Rochester,” Charlotte observed. And then everything suddenly made much more sense.

Jane’s face colored. “No. Of course I’m not in love with Rochester. That would be entirely inappropriate. He’s my employer. He’s . . .” Charlotte stared at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Jane,” Charlotte began.

“I know he’s a bit older than I am. But that just makes him wiser, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Jane.” This was a distressing development. Charlotte could contend with Jane’s low opinion of herself, her unfair prejudice against the Society, her unwillingness to picture herself as respectable or wealthy. But if Jane was in love, well, that was that. Jane would not be coming to London with them or joining the Society.

Love trumped everything in a woman’s life. More than ambition. Respectability. Common sense. Love, they’d both been taught, conquers all.

“So you’re in love with Rochester,” Charlotte said with a little sigh. “When did this happen? How did this happen?”

Jane shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. He made me love him without even looking at me.”

Charlotte wasn’t sure how that worked, but she said, “And you think he loves you, in return?”

She nodded. “Once, he put his robe around me when he thought I might be cold.”

Charlotte gasped. “That is romantic. And scandalous. Jane!”

“I saved him because his bed was on fire,” she confessed, and then she recounted the entire story of her time with Mr. Rochester, including their unusual introduction on the road, the strangeness that was Grace Poole, the incident with the fire, and their moment yesterday in the garden. By the end of the tale Charlotte, too, was convinced that Jane and Rochester were indeed soul mates.

“And then he said, I knew you would do me good from the first moment I saw you,” Jane finished up.