Edward was back in residence at Thornfield fully now.

How long was I going to stay considering the impending nuptials? Not long, that was for sure, but where would I go? That was still unknown.

Looking for new employment seemed furthest from my mind as I whiled away the days in the hotel’s reception. I searched half-heartedly for job listings, something inside me blocking my earlier desire to escape as fast as I was able. I hadn’t expected to see Edward again, and when I did, I found myself holding onto the things I’d felt while we were embroiled in our secret affair.

Was it a vain attempt at hope? Reality was a different beast to the fictional worlds of the books I devoured. The author was master of all the characters’ destinies, but here, things rarely went the way one wanted them to. My hopes were futile, but I still held onto them.

I hadn’t seen him since that night in the library. I knew he’d been prowling the halls of Thornfield, but I’d been careful not to let our paths cross. I’d developed a longing and a fantasy that his heart would change, and he’d surrender to me. Even though I knew it was foolish, I allowed myself to wallow in hope even when I knew there wasn’t any.

A few days after we’d argued in the library, he’d gone to London and left word he wouldn’t be back for some time. I assumed he’d departed to conduct some business and to make preparations for the wedding. It was the talk of the hotel, and the staff walked around on eggshells whenever I was present, afraid I would fall apart at any given moment, though they didn’t have to make concessions. I was beyond my breaking point, and the only thing left for me to do was to come to terms with my circumstances.

Edward chose Blanche, and I had to move on.

I continued to dream of Queen Bee and her contempt, tossing and turning in my bed until the morning hours, visions of her turning me out and closing the gates of Thornfield in my face taunting me at every turn. It was only natural I dwelled on the thought of their intimacy, and jealousy overcame me. To think he took pleasure in her body as he did mine! I didn’t like the feeling it sent through my heart, and I attempted to close myself off to all thoughts of him in a vapid human being like her.

I took to sitting on the outer fence of the manor grounds, my legs dangling over the edge and my boots tapping against the bluestone as I watched the village and the lane with its border of hedges and fences cutting through the moor. From my perch, I would take quite a tumble if I fell, but I liked the feeling of being up high and viewing the world.

Every so often, a car or a small lorry would pass, whooshing by in a gust of wind, and still, I sat. I scarcely knew what I was waiting for, and perhaps deep down I was waiting for the return of a certain brooding gentleman, but I couldn’t tear myself away from my roost. Ah, to look upon his face once more without the oppressive presence of his wife to be.

Be with him while you may, for before long, Blanche Ingram will descend upon Thornfield as his wife—in a few days or weeks—and then you shall be parted from him forever.

Cradling my book in my lap, I flipped through the pages, idly studying the blank lines. The artist retreat had kindled something inside me, something I wasn’t sure of, but my will to try to master my words had fallen upon me, bestowing a great desire to be heard. I was fairly sure it was called inspiration, but distraction had taken root in my heart, and I hadn’t picked up a notebook and pen until now.

What should I write? Anything, I suppose, but anything was awfully intimidating. Glancing up at the sky, I watched a lone bird wheeling and soaring, its wings rising and dipping with the wind. Soon, it would depart the moor for warmer climates, and I hoped I would, too.

The sound of an engine began to hum at the edges of my hearing, and I turned toward the source of the sound. All at once, I remembered the dark lane, a patch of black ice on the road, and a certain brooding gentleman falling from his motorcycle. Shivering, I discarded the vision and listened to the approaching vehicle as it wound its way down the lane from the village.

It was hidden for some time among the hedges and hills, the sound bouncing off the rocks around me. The moor had a strange way about it in these parts. Sometimes, noises from the village would carry for miles, and one would hear them as if they were standing in the center of town—an announcement from the train station, a car horn, a slamming door, the rumble of the motorway, which sat beyond the horizon. It was a strange and magical place despite its bleak appearance, so it was no wonder I’d been accused of being a spirit that night.

When the approaching vehicle finally appeared, I recognized the beast at once. It was Edward’s motorcycle.

Knowing he’d seen me, I held my blank book close as the beast slowed and came to a stop. Well, he wasn’t a ghost, but every nerve in my body was shivering as if his spirit addressed mine from beyond the grave. What did it mean? I didn’t think I would tremble in this way when I saw him again or lose my voice or wits. He needn’t stop and speak to me, for I would make a fool out of myself, but it was too late to wave him on.

He turned off the engine, and the air was still, the sounds of nature returning around us. Removing his helmet and nestling it before him, he sat astride the magnificent black machine and stared up at me, looking quite perplexed.

“Is this Jane Doe I see?” he asked. “Is this one of your tricks, spirit? It reminds me of a time long past. A lonely road, a beautiful nymph lying in wait…only this time, I see her clearly.”

“It’s Jane who is sitting here just like this,” I replied. “And no one else.”

“What a very Jane-like thing to say.”

“I suppose it is.”

“What are you doing up there?” he asked. “Are you waiting for me?”

“I fear I cannot answer you,” I replied, thankful he couldn’t reach me on my perch. “You might twist my words to boost your ego, sir.”

He considered me, and if he found my reply irksome, he didn’t show it. “If I dared, I’d touch you and see if you were flesh and bone and not a mere shadow.”

I knew there’d be pleasure at seeing him again, and with the circumstance being so similar to our first meeting, my heart soared. I couldn’t help it even knowing I would be destroyed in the end. I was nothing but plain Jane Doe to him, and any love or endearment we once shared was but a distant memory. Neither of us could go back.

Unlike our last encounter, which had been bitter at best, this one had an eerie civility about it.

“I scarcely know what to talk to you about,” he said.

“You don’t have to talk to me at all,” I replied.

His brow creased, and his fingers tightened around his helmet. I’d said the wrong thing, but it was the right one to me. I couldn’t foster hope even as the notion went round and round in my mind, the thought popping to the forefront every other minute, forcing me to ponder it.

“You do not owe me anything, Edward,” I said. “What’s done is done.”

“I owe you a great deal, Jane,” he replied sharply.

“Perhaps once,” I shot back without thinking. “But no longer.”

His lip curled. “If only I’d met you ten years ago. What a picture we could have painted.”

I wasn’t entirely sure he was being hurtful, but his words sliced deep anyway. My fingers loosened their grip on my journal, and my heart stopped as the book hit the ground with a thwack, both our gazes falling to it. Edward threw his leg over his motorcycle and stood tall, walking around the beast to retrieve the little brown journal. Bending, I stilled as his fingers curled around it, and when it rested fully in his palm, I held my breath.

It was empty. No words marked its pages, no swashes of ink or secrets had been committed, but I felt as if he could see inside my heart and soul by merely touching the leather cover. When he opened it, I almost bit out an insult at his prying.

He glanced at the pages, flipping through the entire book, his eyebrow raising the further he went. When he glanced up at me, he said, “It’s blank. Another of your tricks?”

“I have no tricks,” I replied hastily. “I haven’t found the right words to put inside it, is all. Besides, it’s impolite to pry.”

Closing the journal with a snap, he said, “I’m sorry, Jane. I am a hypocrite of the highest order.”

I knew he was apologizing for more than looking through the pages that were supposed to hold my words, and I merely nodded my acceptance.

“How did you get up there?” he asked. “Come, let me help you down.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I threw my legs over the fence and scurried down the way I’d come up, placing my feet in the hollows and cracks in the old fence. It only took a minute, and my feet thudded as they connected with the earth below.

Handing me my book, he said, “All in one piece. Was there any doubt?”

I shook my head, my gaze dropping as I took the journal out of his hand. My fingertips brushed against his, and before I realized what was happening, the book fell again, hitting the ground as his hand curled around my wrist. He pulled me so roughly the movement almost sent me tumbling against his chest.

“Edward!” My lips parted with a gasp, and it was only sheer heartache that allowed me to keep my body apart from his.

“Jane…” he began, his brow creasing. He wetted his lips, his eyes searching every part of my face before settling on my mouth.

“Let me go,” I said, tugging against his grip. “I cannot allow it knowing you belong to another.”

He opened his mouth and promptly closed it as if he wanted to rush off into some pretense of a tirade but had thought better of it. I tugged against him, and he let me go, the look in his eyes dampening. Turning from me, he ran his hand over his face, his fingers scratching against his beard.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “So will you. Soon, we shall both move on, and this will be a distant memory if not entirely forgotten.”

“I’m glad,” he murmured, looking back at his motorcycle as if he were debating on how fast he could leave me behind.

The silence deepened between us, and I began to regret lingering on the fence. Had I displayed my misguided hope too blatantly? Bending, I snatched up my journal and clutched it against my chest as if it would shield me from the longing I felt for Edward.

Nothing had changed between us, the circumstances of our parting still bore heavily on any chance of a reunion, and to acquiesce to physical longing would be a mistake. I knew it, and I was sure he did, too.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as he rounded his motorcycle and threw his leg over the beast. Nor did I peek when he brought it to life, the engine cutting through the stillness of the countryside. Not a word was spoken between us, and I fought off tears—tears I hardly ever cried at all—as my foolish heart tried to betray me once more.

As Edward disappeared up the driveway, I wondered if he were truly glad at all because I felt as if I were withering away, becoming smaller and smaller until I feared I’d cease to exist.

That night, I shut myself in my room and lay in bed, resolving to close myself off to the coming storm and deafen my ears to the voice warning me of the coming separation, which would be final. It was the only way I knew how to survive.

I’d begun to cherish a hope I had no right to hold that Blanche was never coming to Thornfield, that the rumor of marriage was fake, that he’d changed his mind about letting me into his secret world. I tried to find meaning in his features and movements after our encounter at the gates, but I could find none. All was as it appeared.

Edward was a sphinx still, a paradox of double meanings I couldn’t hope to solve.

The next evening, Edward summoned me to the library.

I received a secret email to my personal inbox during the day with the words, “The library. Tonight. You know what to do.”

I’d glanced at Alice, certain she’d been reading over my shoulder, but her back was to me. Our friendship was still uneasy after the revelation of her coded messages to Edward, and she’d kept herself apart from me since, waiting for me to make the first move, I suppose.

My thoughts lingered on Edward rather than Alice for the remainder of the day, and whether or not I should go to the library and see what he had to say. It harkened back to the days of our secret affair, culminating in me stealing through the halls of Thornfield while everyone slept as if I were made of pure shadow.

It was very cloak and dagger, but I was powerless to resist. In hindsight, I should have ignored his message and slept the night through, but I was addicted in the worst possible way. I had to go.

The library was lit with the warm light of a fire in the hearth, the flames casting long shadows over the room. The bookshelves appeared ominous to me, the windows heavy with their drawn curtains, and the piano lid was open, revealing a black maw within that might swallow me if I ventured close.

Closing the door behind me, I rested my back against it and waited, not knowing if I should proceed or flee.

“Jane.”

Edward’s voice washed over me, speaking to the depths of my soul, stirring the longing I felt for his touch. It would be foolish to submit, and I was sure to hate myself afterward if I did.

He appeared out of the darkness, brooding and morose as always, wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a simple black long-sleeve top. The fabric clung to his broad chest, accentuating the muscle I knew sat beneath, and I prayed for guidance that never came.

“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the couch before the fireplace.

I eyed it with skepticism but moved toward it, setting myself in the armchair instead. Edward sat opposite, a knowing smirk on his face, and I angled myself toward the dark library, attempting to keep myself hidden from him.

“Do not turn away from me, Jane,” he said. “I wish to see you.”

I turned toward him, the warmth from the fire illuminating my face.

“It’s as if these last months have been erased, and the Jane Doe of yore has returned to my library,” he said. “You can be familiar with me. I would welcome it.”

“I hardly know why you want to continue with this charade,” I replied, speaking my mind. “We both know things have changed, and they will keep altering.”

“Yes,” he mused, watching me closely. “The waters increase between us, don’t they? We’re drifting farther and farther apart.”

“Then let us drift, sir.”

He grunted and reached for the decanter of whiskey on the table beside him. He poured himself a glass, and I shook my head when he offered me some.

“Perhaps we can talk of all the mundane things we never seemed to have time for,” he said after he’d taken some liquid courage.

“And what purpose would it serve?”

“Perhaps it would be of some comfort,” he said sharply, betraying that his temper had begun to rise. “Or closure. Perhaps even understanding of the choices we are forced to make under duress, Miss Doe.”

“If you would have me understand, then you would have to speak plainly,” I retorted, my ire just as sharp as his. “But we both know you are the very definition of a paradox, Mr. Rochester.”

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Shall I begin?”

“As you wish.”

“What would you know, Miss Doe?”

“If I must sit here and be a prisoner to your changefulness once more, then tell me of your business,” I replied. “It seems to be the only thing I am able to ask, which is not off-limits. Alice told me you work with some kind of property investment.”

“Property, business, technology,” he explained, his mouth twitching at my offhanded barb. “I work mainly at the umbrella corporation. I have a controlling share of the company, though there is a board of shareholders and trustees who assist in the overall structure of the business and its subsidiaries.”

“It sounds complicated,” I replied, folding my hands in my lap.

“It is, but it helps us become more successful. Having to answer to someone else keeps power in check and the business running smoothly. Ultimate power corrupts, or so they say.”

I agreed wholeheartedly and thought upon the similar words Rivers had spoken to me about success and the journey to obtain it. I was keenly aware of Edward’s eyes on me, and I shifted on the couch, trying not to think of what we’d done on it in the past. His touch, his mouth, his kiss…

“And you keep your offices in Europe?” I asked, attempting to keep the conversation focused on Edward and his work. Anything to have his attention on something other than me.

“Paris,” he replied. “Most of my business is within the European Union, though I suspect it is all going to change in a few years with the recent vote. It’s difficult to say if it’s going to be good or bad just yet.”

“It must be stressful,” I said. “Being responsible for all those people.” He glanced at me curiously, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Your employees.”

He picked up his glass and sipped at the whiskey before placing it back on the table beside him. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is difficult. I have to keep a lot of people happy, Jane. Sometimes, a few hearts have to be broken to keep most intact. It’s a terrible responsibility.”

Somehow, I knew we weren’t talking about his business anymore, and I squirmed uncomfortably, my gaze flickering around the room in an attempt to avoid his.

“Jane?”

“Please, don’t call me here again,” I whispered, rising to my feet.

“Why?” he asked, his voice lowering dangerously. “All we have done this evening is talk innocently. Two friends enjoying one another’s company.”

I swallowed hard, my throat constricting as emotions swelled and warred inside my head and heart, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“You care still,” he mused, standing stoically.

“Of course, I care. I’ve always cared, but you love her, not me.”

His eyebrows rose, and he shook his head. “You think it’s for love I’m marrying?”

“So it is true,” I replied, the last shred of my hope dying inside me.

“If I could learn to love again, then it would have been you, Jane. No one else.”

I stared at him, hardly believing the torment he was putting me through. “Then why?”

He turned from me, his shoulders tense. “Why do the wealthy marry anyone?”

For more wealth. It was a slap in the face, and I stood there completely stunned for what felt like the passing of an age. When I was able to gather myself, I turned and fled, slamming the library door closed behind me. Once, I never wanted to be parted from him, but now I wished to be parted forever.

Who could solve the paradox of unrequited love? I wished I knew their name so I could ask how to solve this riddle for better or for worse.