A splendid Midsummer shone over England. It was as if a band of Italian days had come from the South like a flock of glorious passenger birds and lighted to rest on the cliffs of Albion. The hay was all got in and the fields round Thornfield were green and shorn, the roads were white and baked, and the trees were in their dark prime. On Midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in Hay Lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her drop asleep, and when I left her, I sought the garden.
I walked a while on the pavement, but a subtle, well-known scent—that of a cigar—stole from some window and I saw the library casement open a handbreadth and knew I might be watched, so I went apart into the orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like; it was full of trees and a very high wall shut it out from the court.
I was passing across it when I saw Mr. Rochester enter and look around leisurely, smoking his cigar.
I was about to turn and walk on before he caught my eye and smiled at me. Though I had reconciled myself to our new friendship, I still preferred not to be alone with him and I had endeavored since I had been back to always be in company. I found I could more easily resist the tempting darkness of his eyes with Adele or Mrs. Fairfax beside me.
“Jane,” he said, approaching me, “Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must have become in some degree attached to the house?”
“I am attached to it, indeed.”
“And though I don’t comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child Adele and even for simple dame Fairfax?”
“Yes, sir. I have an affection for both.”
“And would be sorry to part with them?”
“Yes.”
“Pity!” he said, and sighed. “It is always the way of events in this life,” he continued presently. “No sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on.”
“Must I move on, sir?” I asked. “Must I leave Thornfield?”
“I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Jane, but I believe indeed you must.”
This was a blow, but I did not let it prostrate me.
“Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes.”
“It is come now, I must give it tonight.”
“Then you are going to be married, sir?”
“With your usual acuteness, you have hit the nail straight on the head.”
“Soon, sir?”
“Very soon. You’ll remember, Jane, the first time I plainly intimated to you that it was my intention to enter into the holy estate of matrimony and take Miss Ingram to my bosom, you said that both you and little Adele had better trot forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion on the character of my beloved and I shall notice only its wisdom. Adele must go to school and you, Miss Eyre, must get a new situation.”
I felt a deep tear of emotion and if he were not there, I should have cried out in pain. I had tried to convince myself that our new friendship was what I wished for but suddenly, his marriage to Miss Ingram, which had always seemed fanciful, was real and happening so soon. It forced me to admit that I still loved him dearly.
“Yes, sir,” I answered quietly. “I will advertise immediately.”
“In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom,” continued Mr. Rochester, “and in the interim, I shall myself look out for employment for you. I have already heard of a place that I think will suit in Ireland. You’ll like Ireland, I think, they’re such warm-hearted people there.”
“It is a long way off, sir.”
“A girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance.”
“Not the voyage, but the distance, and then the sea is a barrier—”
“From what, Jane?”
“From England and from Thornfield and—”
“Well?”
“From you, sir.”
I said this almost involuntarily and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears gushed out.
“It is a long way to Ireland, Jane, and I am sorry to send my little friend on such weary travels. I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now. It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you’d forget me.”
“That I never should, sir. You know—” My words were lost in tears.
“Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!”
In listening, I sobbed convulsively for I could repress what I endured no longer and I was shaken from head to foot with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express an impetuous wish that I had never been born, or never come to Thornfield.
“Because you are sorry to leave it?”
The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me was claiming mastery and struggling for full sway. At last, I said, “I grieve to leave Thornfield. I love Thornfield. I love it because I have lived in it a full and delightful life. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high. I have known you, Mr. Rochester and it strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from you for ever. I see the necessity of departure and it is like looking on the necessity of death.”
“Where do you see the necessity?” he asked suddenly.
“In the shape of Miss Ingram. A noble and beautiful woman—your bride.”
“My bride! What bride? I have no bride!”
“But you will have.”
“Yes. I will! I will!” He set his teeth.
“Then I must go, you have said it yourself.”
“No, you must stay! I swear it and the oath shall be kept.”
“I tell you, I must go!” I retorted, roused to something like passion. “Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am a machine without feelings? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! I have as much soul as you and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you.”
With a suddenness that startled me, Mr. Rochester clasped his arms around me and pressed me against his chest. I was in too excited spirits to experience any pleasure from this and I could only think of him doing the same to Miss Ingram.
“You are a married man—or as good as a married man. Let me go!” I said, pulling away.
“Jane, I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self and best earthly companion.”
“You mock me!”
“I do not! I summon you as my wife and it is you only I intend to marry. Come hither.”
“Your bride stands between us.”
“My bride is here,” he said, again drawing me to him, “because my equal is here and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?”
Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp for I was incredulous.
“Do you doubt me, Jane?”
“Entirely.”
“I would not—I could not—marry Miss Ingram. You, you poor and obscure, small and plain as you are, I entreat to accept me as a husband. I must have you for my own—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”
I stared at him uncertainly.
“Oh, Jane, you torture me!” he exclaimed. “With that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!”
“Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?”
“I do, and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.”
“Then, sir . . . I will marry you.”
“Come to me—come to me entirely now,” said he.
With some trepidation, I closed the distance between us. Stepping into his arms, he enclosed them around me and held me tightly to his chest.
“Oh, Jane, I love you,” he whispered.
I tilted my head and looked up into his sincere, dark eyes. In turn, they scrutinised mine and then began to spark with the heat of desire. I felt it too; a rippling sensation beneath my petticoat that was delicious and warm. My blood boiled with it and a torrent of passion swept through me.
He gently cupped my chin with his hands and slowly brought his lips to mine. Overhead I heard a slight breeze ruffle the branches of the chestnut tree in the duskiness of the evening and the nightingale began its song once more. His lips against mine burnt like fire and my own body answered by pressing his with a desperate, hungry fever. At first we were delicate, but all at once our craving overtook us and we grasped for each other with trembling fingers and heaving chests.
As he pulled away from me, my breath hitched in my throat and I slid my hands beneath his jacket, letting them roam eagerly across his broad chest. His dark eyes were soft and loving whilst being fierce and commanding at the same time, and all at once I realised that he did love me, for I had never seen that look on his face before, or rather, it had always been hidden.
I began sinking to my knees and pulled him down also, my hands clasped around his neck, my fingers knotting themselves in his hair.
“I want to lay with you here, right now,” I whispered, a smile spreading across my face.
He gave me a devilish grin in return and took me by the waist, pushing me to the ground. The earth was cool and moist, but I did not pay it much heed as he pinned me against it.
“I will take you here, Jane, but I want you to be bare,” he said.
We were alone in the grounds of Thornfield and on an evening like this, it was unlikely that we would be disturbed.
“I have wanted to do this since I met you on the causeway and you bewitched my heart,” he added.
“I thought you had forgotten that time, sir.”
“Oh, Jane, I never forgot.”
With that, he roughly turned me over and began expertly unlacing my dress. He had it undone in seconds and my undergarments were soon off and pooled beside me. The cool breeze against my bare skin made me shiver, as did my intense anticipation.
I made to turn around but he stopped me. “Stay where you are,” he said huskily.
My heart thumped in my chest and waves of yearning coursed through my body. He lightly touched his forefinger to the nape of my neck and them achingly slowly, he ran it down my spine, grazing my back with his rough nail. I shivered. Next, he placed his tongue at the base of my spine and licked up, between my shoulder-blades and to my neck. I gasped in surprised delight.
He paused for a moment and I heard a soft scuffling sound as he removed his clothes. I tried to turn to look, but he said, “Arh, no Jane.”
Suddenly I could feel his warm bare skin against mine as he pressed his chest to my back. I shuddered with pleasure as he pulled my buttocks into his lap and I felt his long, hard erection between my legs.
“Oh, Jane,” he grunted, as he leant down and smelt my hair.
My breathing became shallow as he nuzzled his nose against my ear, gently bit the lobe, and then trailed kisses across my neck. Meanwhile, his hands stroked my stomach, skimmed my ribs, and took each of my breasts firmly in his palms. His lips began to lick, kiss, and nip my shoulders as his hands massaged my breasts and his fingers tugged and flicked my nipples.
I leant into him, pressing myself as hard against him as I could and throwing my head over his shoulder in pleasure. He responded by gently biting my chin. My hands caressed his thick, muscled thighs and my nails dug into his skin as hot yearning raced through me.
Suddenly, he pushed me forward so that I was on my hands and knees and I gasped at the shock of it. I made to turn around but again, he stopped me. He placed each of his hands firmly on my waist and leant into me, brushing his erection against my thighs. I sighed with wanting and sank down onto my elbows, pressing my cheek to the earth.
Without warning, I heard a sharp slap and felt a sting of pain as he smacked my behind and before I could react, he slammed into me, forcing me to cry out. The feeling was deeper than anything I had experienced before and he pounded into me again and again, faster and faster. I groaned as an intense thrill coiled in my stomach and threatened to overflow. His hips thudded against my buttocks and I clenched my teeth in unbelievable pleasure.
My whole body convulsed and bowed as I climaxed. I cried aloud, collapsing against the hard, wet ground. Waves of ecstasy rocked my body and my limbs tingled with release.
A second later, Mr. Rochester pulled out of me and came. He laid down beside me as we both panted, our brows sweaty and our bodies trembling.
We stayed in companionable, blissful silence for a while, staring at the sky as stars began to appear. However, it was clear that the wind had picked up and we noticed a cluster of dark clouds moving this way.
“We must go in,” said Mr. Rochester, “the weather changes. I could have lay with thee till morning, Jane.”
“And so I,” I whispered.
The rain began rushing down and we hurried back into our clothes. He helped me with my dress, then hurried me up the walk to the house. He was taking off my shawl in the hall and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first and nor did Mr. Rochester.
“Good-night, good-night, my darling!” he said, kissing me repeatedly.
When I looked up on leaving his arms, there stood the widow: pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her and ran upstairs. “Explanation will do for another time,” thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea that she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every other feeling and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, I experienced no fear and little awe.
Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night and half of it split away.