Jane: A Jane Eyre Retelling Page 5

  When I got to the breakfast room, Mr. Thorneton and Adelia sat side by side, him with his paper spread out before of him, her with the little doll she’d taken to dressing like her each day. She was showing him each of the finer points of their current outfit with special attention going to the dolls shoes.

  He was nodding as he read his paper.

  It was about as warm as a brisk fall day, but Adelia seemed satisfied with the nugget of attention.

  When I entered, he glanced up, his gaze running over me in a way that would have had my guard up from someone else, and said, “Ah, the nanny.”

  I began to wonder if the man knew my name. But, as long as he left Adelia to me and paid my income, notice wasn’t something I particularly needed.

  It had been engrained in me as a girl that notice was never a good thing. Almost all attention in the homes was unwanted. And, since I was used to the quiet of my own company, that had been more than fine with me.

  I’d sit and eat and listen to my ward’s chatter and then escape to my window seat with the books I’d pilfered from the library while Mr. Thorneton was out doing his suit guy things.

  “So, Nanny, I notice Adelia still prefers Spanish.”

  The look he gave me was one of such open challenge that I wondered what he expected to gain from it. I was, by any account and definition, in his employ and technically the nanny.

  “Yes,” I answered, ignoring the part he wanted me to react to. “Her English is too slow and she had her reasons for wanting to tell you everything in one sitting.”

  He sat back in his chair, an unreadable almost-smile nudging his hard mouth.

  “Oh. Claws. Have I been neglecting my ward?” The words were right, but the way he raised his eyebrows, tipping his head toward me asked a different question.

  I didn’t want to admit that he was, by far, the most intriguing thing I’d seen in my short lifetime. He reminded me again of the wary, pacing animal at the watering hole. But, unlike the other children at the zoo who wanted to pet and play with him, I knew him for what he was—a tightly reined predator, ready to snatch my freedom for his if given the moment.

  On reflection, I realized that Mr. Thorneton was not a lion. He wasn’t beautiful or majestic enough. He was more like a bear. Compact until he rose, showing himself at his full size, muscled and dark. Not beautiful, but still something you couldn’t help staring at.

  His head tipped to the side and I realized I’d been staring.

  “Do you find me handsome?”

  “No, sir.” All thought went out of my mind as soon as I’d answered.

  I doubted he was a man to fire me over such an insult. Make my life a living hell? Yes. Toy with me? Most definitely. Fire me…well, I doubted he could be bothered.

  “So, you think I’m…ugly?” he didn’t sound insulted.

  That was a surprise to me. One thing I’d found was that most people seemed to think themselves more than they were. Smarter, better looking, more talented. Even those who played at claiming they weren’t such things felt shocked when you agreed with them.

  “No, sir. Not ugly.” I dropped my gaze, afraid the blush creeping up my neck would let him know that while I didn’t think he was good-looking, there was something so appealing about his roughness, that I struggled to look away.

  “No?”

  “Not ugly. Just not…handsome.” I heard the absurdity in my voice. “By today’s standards.”

  I jumped at the sound of his laughter, husky and odd like he didn’t typically do it. Definitely not a sound Adelia and I had heard over the banister. At the far end of the table, Mrs. Fairfax and Adelia looked up, surprised at the sound as well.

  “By what standards might I be handsome, Nanny?”

  I glanced up at him then, realizing the challenge he set out wasn’t about his appearance, but about me and how far I’d let him push me.

  The answer?

  Not far.

  I assumed that this was not a man you backed down from a challenge with. He would know then that you were weak and he would exploit that weakness to the end of it’s worth.

  “I supposed there was a time,” I answered, thinking of Rubens and his women and pondering that we’ve all had our time—we just weren’t all lucky enough to be born into it.

  He shifted, moving his chair so we sat corner to corner, closed in, our conversation suddenly feeling intimate in the large room.

  “Do you? Do you think there was a time for tiny, plain little elves?”

  His words were measured to hurt, to draw a little emotional blood. But, I’d always known I was plain. And there was no arguing that I was tiny. I suppose a man of his size never felt small, even though he was maybe five foot ten with shoes on.

  I tried to hold his gaze, but found I had to drop mine away again. No one had ever called me a little elf before. I found I liked it. There was something secretly magical about the thought.

  “Ah, so she has a weak spot. That little blush, Nanny. Is that for me?” He leaned closer and I could feel the heat of him. “Are you…angry? No. No, that doesn’t seem right. That little smile there tells me you’re not.”

  I flattened my lips, trying not to nibble on the bottom one as he’d know the tell immediately, but still not willing to fall into his game.

  “Ah.” He sat back, looking pleased with himself. “There is a weakness in your lack of vanity. Even being called plain doesn’t bother you since you are…how shall I say? Uniquely plain?”

  I gave him a look that I hoped clearly said just how ridiculous that was. That not only was no one uniquely plain, but that the idea of being so certainly did not please me.

  Only, locked away, I held onto the thought.

  “I doubt there is such a thing,” I answered. “And, if there were, it wouldn’t matter a bit.”

  “No?” He leaned forward, drawing the miniature circle tighter to the two of us. “Why is that?”

  “Well,” I glanced toward where Mrs. Fairfax knit by the fire while Adelia babbled on next to her, working on her English and hoping Mr. Thorneton would notice. “No one looks at the plain people. In some ways we’re even more invisible than those who are…”

  I faded out, not knowing how to fill in the word since he’d already accused me of thinking him ugly.

  “Ugly?” He smiled and I knew he’d seen between the lines of what I was trying not to say. “But, that shouldn’t bother either of us since neither falls into the category.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me, giving me the chance again to correct him. But, I’d found his ego already powerful enough—and not-handsome was as close to a good definition of him as I could find.

  There were other words, words I’m sure he’d heard from many women over the years that he didn’t need to hear from me as well.

  I nodded, as much of an agreement as I was willing to give—but more to just move on.

  “And so,” I continued, because there was no sense not to. “Being plain, no matter your type of plain, is a way to be overlooked. To be not attractive or repulsive enough for discovery let alone comment. And so, to be uniquely so doesn’t matter, for who would notice?”

  I rested back in my seat, just becoming aware that I’d mirrored him in leaning in during out quiet conversation.

  But, I was not off the hook so much as just more deeply dug in.

  “I did.”

  “Sir?” I asked.

  “I did. I noticed you. That uniqueness of you in your plainness.” He smiled at me as if he’d just given me a grand compliment. “Is that to say that I am no one?”

  Even with the pull of him, I could only suspect that I was just a game… a diversion. Men like Mr. Thorneton did not invest in little things. And I was little in every way.

  His words felt like a trap I had no way to avoid even as they seductive pull of them asked me not to.

  “Contiguity.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Thorne nodded as if this answered everything and I found myself sad at his acquiescence. “Perh
aps that’s it.”

  “Yes.” I forced myself to hold his eye, not admitting that his reply cut.

  I knew I was just a new distraction he filled the evening with out of boredom or—at best—an odd curiosity about his newest employee.

  But, the idea that he had seen something in me that was unique in anyway was too precious to not resent him for taking it back.

  “Well.” With that, he slapped his hands on the table startlingly the rest of us. “It’s time for the brat to be off to bed.”

  It was an obvious dismissal, and I took my leave with no more than one small glance his way. Adelia rushed around the table, hugging Mr. Thorneton in spite of his stiff near-patience with it.

  His gaze never fell my way again.

  Even as I walked from the room, I was sure of it. The weight of his survey would have been like an anchor dragging my steps slower like a ship in a sea trying to find ballast.

  I took Adelia in hand, chalking the night up to the whims of a bored rich man, and tucked her into bed myself that night, letting Sophie enjoy the odd evening off.

  Adelia thought the visit a grand time, even with the small amount of attention she actually received from her benefactor. None of that mattered if she was allowed to sit in the room. I found that particularly heartbreaking and wondered not for the first time about her mother, who I had figured out was a socialite of some renown in Spain.

  What kind of childhood had taught a child that love and happiness were just the acceptance of your presences?

  I tucked myself in bed next wondering, what type of childhood indeed?

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I listened carefully at the banister before Adelia was given into my care, watching to see if any of the visitors would appear that day and wondering what had set Mr. Thorneton in such a mode to be social the evening before.

  I was sure it was not the allure of my charms.

  As I stood there, glancing over the edge toward the west wing, listening for the quiet murmur of voices that came with these meeting—as well as the occasional shouting match I’d come to expect from a room full of men—someone cleared his throat just below me.

  I could feel the heat rise up my neck at the idea of getting caught spying.

  Somehow, my six-year-old charge had managed to never have been discovered, but when I ventured out on my own, I was found almost immediately.

  “Nanny.” Mr. Thorne stood directly below me, looking highly amused. “Were you looking for something?”

  “No, sir.” Or, not that I’d admit.

  “No?”

  His hair was still damp and I knew from the schedule of the house that he often worked out with Micha in the mornings. I could only imagine the two of them bludgeoning each other in a boxing ring to all but throwing weights at one another in testosterone fueled competition.

  But, the man standing below me was polished to a shine. His white button down rolled to the elbow showing a man’s large watch that—for once—did not look oversized on him.

  I shook my head, hoping he couldn’t see my blush from there.

  “It couldn’t be that you were looking for me, could it?”

  Oh, the horrid, horrid man. His ego was too large. Far too large.

  “No, sir.”

  I saw the flash in his eye then, the way his gaze tightened in on me, and again felt the prey to his predator. If he wished, he could probably leap over the banister and capture me and it would take no more effort than crooking his finger and calling me down.

  “I see.” He grinned. It was nearly feral. “You were just, hanging over the banister, staring at the door to my office, not thinking of me?”

  It was the tone of his voice that aggravated me, the surety of it. The fact that he was so completely convinced that I would be here for him. He had no right at all to assume that I—just because I was poor, young and inexperienced—would fall at his feet.

  “I was wondering if you were using the great room today.” The lie flew out of mouth so easily it impressed even myself. “Adelia and I had been talking about a treat for her and there’s a video she’d like to watch. I thought if you were out of the house today, we could watch it on the large TV.”

  “A treat for Adelia?” He sounded doubtful, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah.” He nodded and turned abruptly, striding into his office and shutting the door firmly.

  I stared after him unsure what had just happened.

  And wondering what video Adelia would see as a treat that I could put on in the great room to cover my lie.

  Chapter 11

  That evening, I tried not to show my anticipation as Adelia bounced from foot to foot, her hand tightly held by Sophie who was trying to rein her in.

  “Mr. Thorne may have us visit after dinner tonight again, no?”

  “We’ll see.” I answered her while squashing my own speculation. “Mr. Thorneton is a very busy man. Last night was a treat. We don’t always get treats so closely spaced together.”

  “But he did not have any of the busy-ness men come to work today. He will be free to be with us.”

  Her small child’s broken English was coming along very well the last week. Today’s class had gone especially smoothly and I suspected it had mostly to do with the limited attention Mr. Thorne had given her the night before.

  She’d asked for some specific words—although “business” was one she still hadn’t perfected.

  It was then, as I was coming down the hall to the front of the house to join the others for dinner, that I heard the front door close in the distance, before the deep purring rev of the motorcycle sounded in the drive and sped off.

  With that sound, my whole body relaxed. The tension I’d been holding slipped down my spine and out the tips of my fingers in a way that surprised me. I hadn’t realized I’d all but been holding my breath wondering if he’d be with us again tonight.

  Adelia too must have heard his retreat for she was in a pout by the time I got to the dining room.

  “Mr. Thorne has taken his motorcycle away.” She said it accusingly, as if it might be one of our faults by some chance. As if we should have captured him and kept him here for her.

  “Yes. He has.” There wasn’t any reason to argue with the child. She’d pout and Sophie would scold.

  The rest of the meal was spent with Adelia sullenly babbling…in Spanish.

  It was, as rebellions go, a small one and so I let her. She would run on in Spanish and I’d answer her in English, waving Sophie off since meals were supposed to be an English-speaking event each night.

  I could tell by the end of the meal, Mrs. Fairfax was beginning to get frustrated with the bilingual battle raging on around her, but there was nothing to be done.

  I laid all of our headaches at Mr. Thorneton’s feet and was glad he didn’t join us as I was fairly sure I’d tell him that to his face by the time we finished eating.

  The horrid man would probably laugh, finding it humorous that he’d created such havoc between those he probably didn’t even bother to consider in passing.

  I spent the evening trying to help Sophie entertain Adelia since the girl was in a mood. My sanity felt at risk and I couldn’t help but think about escaping to my room. Just getting up and walking out of the miniature battle going on with Adelia as the driving force.

  I’d like to say I wasn’t paid enough for this, but—knowing the money I was making was obscene compared to anything I’d seen before—that was a hard thing to convince myself of.

  I can only guess that Mrs. Fairfax had an idea of how difficult Adelia was when she hired the nanny search agent. Or, that never having had children around, the household assumed that like everything else, more money equaled more experience.

  But, when I thought back to my interview with Ms. Maxwell, I had to wonder about the bent some of her questions had taken. It made sense now that she had wanted someone without family—without ties. Our world
here was far from the one I lived in and I was fairly sure that regular guests—or vacation time—wouldn’t have been welcome.

  Not that I could see them personally being offended. But, with their constant obsession with keeping things ready and perfect for Mr. Thorneton, I could understand them not wanting strangers in the house.

  And, at this point, I was not sure that Sophie could handle Adelia all day on her own. It was amazing that she was growing more willful than when I’d arrived. I would have thought that was impossible. But, apparently not.

  When it was finally time to send the little monster to bed, I wound my way up the stairs to my apartment, glad for the thousandth time for the privacy offered to me there.

  Even in the tiny studio I rented, I’d felt more locked into other people than here in this small set of rooms.

  In the city, my studio was a leftover space shoved between apartments, the walls so thin that I lived with the sounds of fights and sex and the cycle of a day on each side of me, the smells from the pizza parlor below constantly keeping me grounded in where I was.

  But here… silence felt like a gift I was given and kept safely wrapped up in its box. As if I owned it. As if it was something I could take out and enjoy whenever the fancy struck me.

  Other people would want to own noise and movement—I owned my peace.

  I settled into the window seat, not checking my little house or the French doors across the garden. I was determined to lock myself into the world of the book I’d begun that afternoon. Escapism was another gift I had here at Tower House.

  But, it had been warm that day, a sweetness of fall sliding toward an end. Because of that, my window was cracked just enough to let in the freshness we’d be missing through the winter. And, with the air still smelling so crisp, I couldn’t help myself. I knew there would be few evenings like this left to me. And, who knew if I’d be here next fall to enjoy the brisk evening walks that had been a part of my first few weeks.

  Bundling up, I hurried down the back stairs formerly used by servants and snuck out into the night. The moon wasn’t quite full—nothing as romantic as that. Perhaps, halfway so. Enough to guide me over the rough edges of the garden and down to the path around the lake.