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‘Speak now or forever hold your peace.’
The words echoed sharply around the church, rebounding off the stone walls and reverberating unnervingly within my eardrums. There was no hiding from them and the memories they heralded. My heart thumped painfully despite itself—despite my inner peace and contentment at the prospect of my marriage. That my husband-to-be, standing ram-rod straight at my side, had also been transported backwards twelve months to a different church, on a different day, was indisputable. I did not need to look at him to know it.
The brief moment of silence that followed seemed stretched out beyond anything that was reasonable. It was sheer will that kept me from giving in to the intrusive urge to scan the pews behind me for an interloper.
Yet, the unfolding of this day could not have been more different compared to that of our first attempt at a union. This time I had awoken with no dread and no sense of foreboding, only anticipation and happiness. I had dressed as I would any other day. There was no outward sign events would be anything other than ordinary.
I had descended to find Mr Rochester sitting in his chair. Since my return, his demeanour had become brighter over successive mornings, but once more his brow was weighted with uncertainty.
I went to stand before him, smiling, even though he would not see it. ‘Good morning, sir.’
Stirring out of his abstraction and standing up, he outstretched his arm towards me. I caught hold of his fingers, whereupon he brought my hand to his lips. I took note of a pale countenance and braced myself.
‘Good morning, Jane. Tell me, might I soon have the pleasure of hearing you refer to me by my name for once?’
‘Perhaps; although you know I am not one to take liberties.’
He humphed, muttering acerbicly about liberties, but I ignored him to appraise his attire. The shirt collar stood open and his cravat hung loose about his neck. Buttons he could master with one hand, albeit with little haste, yet the necktie thwarted him.
I took hold of the silk and, stretching up, wrapped its length securely around his throat, before tying it into a knot. I took my time, as was becoming customary, making adjustments as I saw fit. John's assistance had been swiftly dispensed with after I had made my first offer on the finishing touches of my master’s dress, and it was sure to become a favoured morning ritual for us both. His sightless eye was trained on me and, even in its damaged form, a spark denoting his enjoyment of my ministration was nevertheless evident.
Task complete, I swept my hands across his broad shoulders. ‘There—perfect.’
He half-smiled. ‘Far from it, my dear Jane. You have set the bar too high for us mere mortals to ever have hope of clearing it.’
‘Perfect, I am not. Now, come.’
I took hold of his arm, intending to direct him to the breakfast table, but he remained quite rooted to the spot.
‘Jane, I… I have been thinking.’ A shadow fell across his features once more. ‘We are to be married today.’
‘I have not forgotten.’
‘I have been considering… That is, I wanted to offer you the opportunity to change your mind today, if, indeed, you felt…so inclined.’
The last words he spoke in almost a strangled breath, so that they withered and died half-formed in his throat. I watched him, feeling the tell-tale sting of sorrow, as he gathered his composure and his rayless eye flickered from side-to-side, as if he were unsure where I stood.
‘You should take more time to consider… It will not be the life we imagined for ourselves, Jane,’ he added softly.
The life he referred to was always out of our reach. Deep down I had always known it, and so, I had never clung to it—only to him. I did not lament for anything other than for him. But I understood his loss, however. Though it had mattered little to me, his vision for our future had mattered to him, and if it was not entirely gone, it was certainly materially altered.
If he could but see me, I thought sadly—this man who had been so practiced at reading my thoughts, of being able to divine my feelings from the set of my features. Then he would know my resolve was steadfast and true. Then he would know to challenge self-doubt.
‘Jane?’
‘Sir?’
‘Well?’
The colour of irritation was starting to rise in his features and it pleased me to see it.
‘Sit and eat your breakfast.’ I directed him to his chair. ‘One might think it is you who is looking to be released from this engagement, so often do you bring it up. Are you now regretting your three day deadline for being in terrible haste? You always were a capricious sort.’
There was no need to hide my smile at his subsequent huff of indignation.
‘Regret? The very notion of it offends me!’ He shook his head in defeat. ‘I take your point, however. Very well, my elf, I shall say no more on the matter. If nothing else, it is quite evident you will gain much reward for your commitment from your unerringly pointed barbs—the employ of which you seem to enjoy and to which I must learn to better defend myself. ’
‘Oh, I am merely getting in practice, Mr Rochester, for, in time, I have no doubt I will find in you a far more competitive adversary.’
‘Adversary? Again, she wounds me! What an objectionable description for your soon-to-be-husband!’
I set a plate in front of him and laughed, speaking close to his ear. ‘It is most apt, sir; I know what you are like.’
‘Hmm…’ he murmured in disagreement, but there was a small smirk about the mouth.
I sat next to him, attending to my own plate, whilst also keeping an eye on him. We managed only a few moments of companionable silence, however, before his fork was sharply set down.
‘It's no good, Jane; I can't eat anything.’
‘That is a shame, sir, because I am enjoying mine. Will you try some more?’
‘I think not.’
‘You ate very little last night.’
He shrugged insolently.
I tried again. ‘Will you not need your strength for today? There is much to be done, to be discussed, and to be organised. It may prove to be rather long day and night—I would wager you are unused to such exertion of late.
For a second he was still, but then his head slowly turned to mine, and though he did not realise it, his eye found mine directly. The lift of his eyebrows indicated he was somewhat taken aback and I braced myself for a stinging riposte. Instead, his jaw clenched, but saying nothing, he shook his head minutely in wonder. In a moment, his fingers flicked towards the fork to take it back up again.
Reader, I am sure I should not have been so bold were he not so compromised. I felt a small pang at using my advantage over him so audaciously, but I felt speaking plainly and directly were my best allies for now.
I momentarily heard him mutter quietly to himself, ‘Strength? God help me with whatever she has in store.’
~
The distance to the nearest church from Ferndean was such that it had warranted a carriage ride. We took an open carriage and once we left the murk of the wood that surrounded the old estate, the summer sun shone down brightly, providing warmth and life to all that sat under it. Mr Rochester was silent beside me, my hand placed into the crook of his arm. I described to him how pleasant the day was, what the passing scenery looked like, and detailed the nature he had always had such a keen interest for, which was now hidden from him.
In turn, that he might match his mind’s eye to reality, he bade me describe my dress. Struck by the poignancy of it, I considered lightening the situation by telling him I was attired in my old Lowood stuff frock, but instead, I placed his palm on my skirts and described to him the colour and the little adornments. I took his fingers and put them at the lace collar and then let him feel the little pearl necklace there, which sat around my neck.
There was a small smile. ‘Finally, she wears it!’
‘Only out of pity, sir; you know I have no time for such embellishments, ordinarily.’
He chuckled. ‘By the feel and weight of that fabric, I sense my Jane’s tastes have evolved somewhat since our former acquaintance. How was it she once referred to herself? Yes—my plain Quakerish governess. Ha! A likely story!’
I squeezed his arm in admonishment, feeling my cheeks heat up a little. ‘I have some way to go to get to your level of decadence. Besides, I have not changed so much that all of those adjectives are irrelevant.’
‘Be that as it may, I can think of some new ones that have far more relevance.’
‘Judging by that look on your face, I think you ought to keep those to yourself.’
He looked away with a rare, toothy smile.
~
On this day of course, there was no-one or nothing to shatter our hopes and expectations.
When I held out my left hand to meet Mr Rochester’s fingers, which probed carefully, unaided, to locate the correct finger onto which to place the wedding ring, I bade a metaphorical goodbye to Jane Eyre with no ounce of regret or dread. A swell of intense emotion threatened to overtake me and I was struck again by the chain of events that had, in less than a week, led me from Moor House to standing before God with a man I feared I might never see again. Being pronounced ‘husband and wife’, I felt almost overcome with gratitude to hear it.
Then, it was over.
After signing the parish register, and thanking the parson for his time, we left the church as husband and wife, hands clasped tightly together. I think we both breathed deeply the air with relief when we stepped back out into the sunlight. The carriage awaited us down at the gates, but I paused, smiling, and turned to survey my newly-wed husband.
He seemed to sense my appraisal. ‘Is it really done, Jane?’ he asked quietly. ‘After everything; please, are we truly married?’
His earnestness rather took away what was left of my ability to speak. Instead, I put my arms about his shoulders and pressed my lips somewhat fiercely to his. His arms tightly encircled me as he returned the pressure with as much sincerity and need.
It could not go on and I broke it off for the sake of propriety, but he did not loosen his arms.
‘Yes, Edward, we are truly married.’
He heaved a breathy sigh and tipped his forehead forward to rest on mine. ‘I dare not believe it, but if you confirm it, it must be true.’
I nodded briskly. ‘Are you happy, sir?’
A laugh rose up low through his chest and he straightened up in order to look upon me. ‘An inane question, and yet, I find I have not the words to do its answer justice.’
I smiled, my vision blurring. ‘My, that is unusual.’
‘Ha ha! And what say you, Mrs Rochester?’ His hand blindly reached up to cup the side of my face, forestalling any answer I might make. ‘Jane, I… I ardently wish I could see how it is you look right now. I imagine it to be as you have never looked before.’
In spite of my efforts, some tears did then escape, but their tracks succeeded in bypassing his fingers and went unnoticed, to my relief.
‘Am I right, Jane?’
‘I am sure that you are,’ I managed in reply.
His mouth lifted at the corners. Pulling myself together, I smiled what I was now beginning to term my loudest smile, sure that in some way he would be able to hear it in my voice.
‘To answer your first question, Mr Rochester, I am so happy I am quite sure I could float back to Ferndean.’
‘Float, Jane?’ He scoffed. ‘If it be, I assure you it will not be as a result of your happiness, but of your witchcraft!’
Laughing, I extricated myself from his embrace and took hold of his arm so that we might continue the walk to the carriage, which would bear us henceforth to the future that awaited us. I glanced up at his features, feeling at once exhilarated to view them in the new light of husband and wife. I fancied I could detect already a return of that proud countenance of old; that strong set of his shoulders that brooked no quarter and signalled only self-assuredness. It pleased me. I turned my eyes quickly back to the path ahead, exhilaration giving way to something else entirely.
At the carriage, I made to allow him to enter first, but he refused. Taking my hand, he kissed it.
‘After you,’ he ordered, leaning in as I ascended the steps to whisper ‘wife’ in my ear.
The word rang in my ear for a few moments more whilst he settled in next to me. He was mine now, and I was his. I wound my hand into the crook of his injured arm and gripped his forearm tightly. Something felt different already; his presence at my side, the sight of the ring on my finger; even the air had a heightened quality to it. If I struggled to rationalise the provenance, the pulse in my neck increasing its rapidity suggested I was not entirely unaware.
The carriage set forth and I looked determinedly out across the moors, looking for focus.
‘Well, Jane,’ rumbled the voice at my side, eventually. ‘Tell me, what are you thinking?’
What was I thinking? Words deserted me. He would have been better served to ask what I was feeling. Resisting the urge to fidget under scrutiny, I tried to summon my earlier bravado of the morning.
‘Well, sir, would it interest you to know that the sky remains cloudless, at least, that is, looking westwards? The sun is currently at its—’
‘Jane,’ he interrupted with a swift growl, shifting to look at me. His hand lifted upwards and instinctively I assisted its journey to my face. ‘I am not at all interested, and if you tell me the weather is, indeed, what it is you are thinking about right now, I will be most displeased.’
His fingertips fluttered at my cheek and jaw, and I met his unseeing eye stoutly, determined he should not feel my amusement.
‘I am most definitely not thinking of the weather, sir.’
His thumb had found the edge of my lips and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss against them. ‘Good,’ he murmured, before next kissing my cheek and then my forehead. ‘Good.’
He settled back against the cushion, adjusting the brim of his hat. ‘And, Jane, you needn't have worried about breakfast, because I am quite prepared—I have a sumptuous lunch on order. Your expectation of a long day and night was absolutely correct, and, I assure you, I have no intention of wasting a second of it.’
There was a distracted pause, after which his tone softened. ‘There is much to celebrate. You must be celebrated.’ He reached across and squeezed my hand where it was still clasped about his arm. ‘Mark me, this day will live long into our hearts, Jane.’
I was filled not with trepidation as I listened to him, far from it. I felt alive and expectant—equal to the task. I looked at his hand, still resting over mine, and brought my free hand to alight on top of it. The wedding ring on my finger caught the sunlight and glittered fascinatingly. I smiled at it and then at him.
‘And so it will, Mr Rochester,’ I replied. ‘Though, I’m sure it could never be long enough.’
He glanced at me, a brief flicker of surprise evident. I wondered if he would choose to tease me for my sentiment, but then his mouth lifted in a gracious smile of agreement.
‘No, my dear, most assuredly, it could not.’
FIN
AN: Thanks for reading : )