My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(85)

“I suppose I should search for another position as governess,” Jane said now as they plodded along the garden path. She shuddered. “One that doesn’t require references.”

“For what it’s worth I thought you were an excellent governess,” Charlotte said.

Jane didn’t answer. She was looking off into a patch of dead rosebushes, but she was seeing something else. Thornfield Hall, perhaps. Helen was still clearly hanging about Jane, but the true ghost that seemed to haunt Charlotte’s friend was Mr. Rochester.

Breaking up is hard to do.

Charlotte kicked at a loose stone on the path. She hated the idea of Jane going off to another job somewhere and never seeing her again. She would have loved it if they could have all stayed on at Haworth—Emily and Annie and Bran and Jane—and played a happy family.

But it was not to be. “I’ll only stay another week, two at most,” Jane was saying now. “And then I’ll be off to find a new adventure in child-rearing. Hooray.”

“Hooray,” Charlotte agreed faintly.

Behind them, a voice cleared gruffly. Jane and Charlotte turned to see Bran standing there. Charlotte lifted her glasses. (We know, we know, her tortoiseshell glasses were lost in the scuffle at Thornfield Hall, but Charlotte had discovered a spare, slightly-more-worn pair of spectacles in her dresser drawer in her room at Haworth.) So at this moment she could see her brother perfectly well.

He was dressed in some of Father’s nicer clothes, although the pants fit him poorly. And he’d attempted to tame his wild mane of red hair with a comb and some water. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Hello, Charlie. Miss Eyre.” He gave an awkward little bow.

“Uh, hello, Bran,” said Charlotte. “What are you doing?”

He shifted from foot to foot. “I was wondering . . . if it wouldn’t be too much trouble . . . if you’d be so kind . . . as to give me a private audience for a moment?”

“Huh?” Charlotte didn’t get it.

“With Miss Eyre.” Bran’s face was getting paler and paler. His freckles stood out horribly. “There is something I wish to speak to her regarding.”

It was silent for several heartbeats, as both Charlotte and Jane were genuinely confused as to what Bran could possibly want. Then Charlotte said, “All right, whatever you say, dear,” and tromped off toward the house, leaving Jane and Bran alone in the garden. Well, mostly alone. She stopped after she’d gone a few paces and tried to listen in on their conversation. But the wind was blowing—as it always seemed to be blowing in this part of England—and she could only make out a few words. Parsonage—he definitely said the word parsonage. Lowly parson. Duty. Family. And . . . love?

That’s when Jane came charging up the path, shaking her head. Bran trailed behind her, his voice pleading. “At least say you’ll think about it.”

“No!” Jane burst out. “I will not marry you, Mr. Bront?! I cannot believe you would have the gall to ask me! Not after everything that’s happened!”

“But don’t you see it would solve so many problems,” he panted. “Jane! If we were to marry, you could stay on at Haworth. You’d have a place here. You’d have a family. If you don’t marry me, where will you go?”

She stopped walking so fast he nearly crashed into her. She spun around and stuck her finger right in his face. “Do you love me?” she practically screamed.

“Well . . . no.” His face had gone from pale to bright red. “But what’s love got to do with it, in this day and age? Our marriage could be like an arrangement between friends. If you like we could live like brother and sister. . . .”

Jane got a frenzied look in her eyes. “Well, that’s just the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. At least since the last idiot who followed it up with trying to kill me!” Then she literally screamed and pushed him away from her. She turned and fled back down the path and into the house. Charlotte heard the door slam, and then another slightly muffled scream of rage.

Charlotte discovered that her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. Turned to her stunned, woefully foolish younger brother, who was just staring after where Jane had gone.

“Well, that didn’t go very well, did it?” She managed a sympathetic smile.

“She does not want to marry me,” he remarked.

“Clearly. And that’s hardly surprising. Considering what she’s been through.”

His flush grew deeper. “Oh, I know,” he said sharply. “I’m strange-looking, and I’m clumsy, and I make a mess of everything. But I was trying to do her a kindness. She has no one to turn to. I thought . . .”

“I know. I heard what you thought.” Charlotte walked over and stuck her arm through his, turning him to move away from the house. “It was very thoughtful of you, Bran. But a little thoughtless as well.”

“I’m sorry,” he bleated.

“Don’t tell me. Tell her. But give her time to cool off first,” she added quickly as they heard another bellow of rage from the house, this time followed by a crash of some kind.

They walked for a while without speaking. Gradually Bran’s face returned to its regular color. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“I’m a fool,” he said with a rueful laugh.