Jane Eyre Austen

by Doyle MacBrayne

  “I believe you know me better than most, Ms. Eyre.” He suddenly seemed serious and she felt her pulse quicken again.

  She arched a brow, “Perhaps I do. I am afraid that I do not see a woman worthy of your singularity.”

  He stopped. “Singular? In what way?” She cringed, her tongue working faster than her brain, once again. “Sir, I did not mean to offend. I find you an enigma -- brilliant, kind, caring. And yet you seem to remain closed off to others.”

  “I am not offended. Relax my dear, Ms. Eyre. I am quite closed off; I am amazed that you perceive me to have so many good qualities.” He began walking.

  She smiled slightly, “As I stated, my dear sir, I do not know you well. However, I have benefited first hand your kindness this very morn.”

  He grinned as they walked for a while in silence. “So you do not see an appropriate suitor for me here then?”

  “Appropriate? Why sir, this room is filled with appropriate suitors. What is your wish? Blonde? Brunette? Trust fund? Perhaps you prefer a woman who manages her own holdings?”

  “Why should I be concerned about their hair color when they can change it as easily as their dress?”

  “Well then, sir, do you have a preference of dress? There are many dresses here marketing appropriate women.” She said acerbically.

  “Do you not market yourself? You look lovely tonight, Jane.”

  “Market myself? No sir. Do you judge my character thusly?”

  “You scorn how they dress then.” Humor laced his words.

  “I do not judge their costume; I choose not to dress in that manner.” She replied.

  “What manner is that?”

  Her eyes flicked to the shoes of a well-appointed woman leaning on a man. “On her perfectly pedicured feet, I’m sure, are a month’s expenses.”

  “So your disdain is not in their dress, but their economy.”

  “No, sir. I dare not judge their economy, or their choices. I simply state that I have not the same inclination, nor would I find enjoyment in dressing thusly.”

  “Perhaps you feel unworthy.”

  A small smirk hinted at her lips, “Again sir, you deem to judge my character.”

  “No, I wish to know you better, to understand you.” He said it gently, sincerely.

  “Then I shall attempt to explain. I do not feel unworthy; I find comfort in my plainness. I enjoy the anonymity of it. I do not seek the attention of others; I should be uncomfortable dressing as a peacock, having others judge the worthiness of my character by the feathers I preen.”

  He drew in a sharp breath, “You have a wicked tongue, to be sure. Your scolding will leave welts upon your opponents. Does your plainness allow you to express your opinions so bluntly?”

  Her eyes cast down, “No, sir. I believe the mask is assisting my tongue tonight.”

  He chuckled softly, “I’m glad of that. To think I should be scolded so severely by you is intimidating.”

  “You shall think nothing of this tomorrow, I’m sure.” She held his gaze evenly.

  He grinned, “I shall think of nothing else, I am sure.”

  Her cheeks flushed, “You have spent far too long in the company of this peahen, sir. The others await your company.”

  “And if I choose to stay?”

  “Then, sir, you risk having your judgment carefully parsed and examined, each movement you make on display for all to scrutinize. I wish to be no part of that, so I bid you goodnight, sir.” She curtsied and left his side, walking purposefully toward the kitchen. He watched her move with grace, and recognized the slight sway of her hips, a confident and feminine sway. A sway that was not aggressive, not seductive, just feminine. Grinning stupidly he headed to the bar, ordered a drink, and tried to put the image of her out of his head. Her words still clung to him, haunting him. It would take more than whiskey to wash those away.

  Clayton watched the interchange from across the room, surprised that Gray seemed so animated. Curious, he watched her leave him and then return to the buffet table, replenishing desserts. He made his way over, appreciating her figure. She was definitely attractive, but nothing like Gray’s wife.

  “Ms. Austen, we meet again.” He nodded politely, cursing himself for such an insipid introduction.

  “Hello, sirs. Are you enjoying your evening?” Her grey eyes blinked at him curiously.

  “Yes.” He looked at her lamely before deciding to just ask her, “I am curious, though . . .” he paused, thinking how to best phrase, ‘what the hell are you doing with Gray?’

  “Curious, sir?” she prompted, waiting for him to respond.

  He shrugged, “I was surprised by, uh, the way you speak with Gray. Mr. Poole, I mean.”

  She tilted her head, “It is an amusement for him, and I believe, sir.”

  He nodded, “For him, I think so, but what about you?”

  She cast her eyes down, “I am not sure what you mean. It is a game, just a game, to match verbal wits with another. I’m sure as a lawyer who makes his living through words and their many meanings; you can find the value in such a diversion.”

  “What brings you to Poole Enterprises?” Clayton asked plainly.

  “Mrs. Fairfax asked if I would be interested in short term employment. She is an old family friend.”

  “Hello, Clayton. Where’s Karen?” Gray’s voice was warm, tingling through Jane’s stomach.

  She looked up and there was Mr. Poole, effectively blocking her exit. The table was on one side, Clayton in front, and Mr. Poole forming a solid wall to her other side. He was standing very close too.

  “Karen’s got a headache and she made me come. Something about we can’t both miss it…”

  “And what were you discussing with Ms. Eyre?”

  “I was asking about you and your little game,” Clayton said evenly.

  “Perhaps you think her a spy? Are you, Ms. Eyre? Have you come to my employ to spy on the workings of Poole Enterprises?” he smirked.

  Suddenly Clayton’s interest in her made sense She arched a brow and answered drily, “I’m sure that would be an interesting profession, but sadly, I lack the guile for such an endeavor.”

  Gray chuckled, “Sadly, Ms. Eyre? Do you find deviousness a trait you aspire to attain?”

  She grinned, tilting her head, “In retrospect sir, I believe that trait would have saved me many a lonely weekend.”

  “You would use guile to fill your weekends then?” His voice was deep, and she liked the way it rumbled through her brain.

  She took a moment, “. . . No, sir. You misunderstand me. I have spent many a weekend in, per my parent’s request, in order to better reflect on my character flaws. If I had enough cunning, I believe in hindsight, I would have not been as obvious in my youthful indiscretions.” She blushed slightly remembering getting caught for TPing her PE teacher’s house.

  Gray’s head tilted back and he laughed loudly. Clayton looked confused, muttering “What did I miss?”

  Jane took pity on him, “I merely said that if I was a little more devious, I wouldn’t have been grounded so often.”

  Clayton voiced drily, “Why couldn’t you just say that?”

  Gray finally recovered, “You must admit, Clayton, the first way sounds better.” He turned to Jane, “it appears Clayton does not approve of our game. Does that make him Darcy then?”

  Jane blinked, “Sir, would that make you Bingley?”

  He appeared thoughtful, “Jane and Bingley.”

  Jane blushed, “I regret to inform you, sir, that you lack the affability of Bingley, and my character could never be confused with the sweetness of Jane Bennett.”

  “I lack affability? Did you hear her insult me Clayton?”

  Clayton rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I heard, Mr. Sociable.”

  James appeared at the table, putting down a tray of mincemeats and picking up the discarded tray. He looked at Jane and winked, “Mr. Poole?”

  “Yes?” Gray turned, surprised.

  “Mrs. Auste
n has invited you to attend brunch next Sunday at the house. It’s a casual affair, we start at eleven.”

  “Whoa, James, I’m sure Mr. Poole is occupied.” Jane said quickly. She looked to him with pleading eyes.

  Gray watched with amusement as the color drained from her face. “Oh, I am quite free, Ms. Eyre. And I am sure that brunch would be quite a treat. I am pleased to earn this favor.” He had no idea why he enjoyed watching her squirm, but he did.

  Jane’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth dropped open, “If you wish to earn a favor, dear sir, then please offer your excuses. I would be most pleased at your absence on Sunday.”

  “Janie!” James scowled, “Get back to the kitchen!”

  Jane curtsied quickly and left, her cheeks burning red.

  Gray was chuckling when he turned to James, “Why does she wish to have my excuses instead of my presence?”

  James lifted his mask to his forehead, “Because brunch is her mother’s attempt to find a husband for Jane. Consider yourself lucky. Mrs. Austen only holds brunch once a month, and it’s a good meal. Jane’s embarrassed because of Mrs. Austen’s peculiarities, and the fact you’re her boss.” James nodded at Clayton, “Close your mouth,” he ordered, and then continued. “It’s not like Jane enjoys the brunches In fact,” he turned back to Gray, “you could do her a favor -- tell her mom you’re willing to court her so Jane is off the hook for a few months.”

  Clayton scoffed, “That’s not a good idea, Gray.”

  Gray mused, “Perhaps it could be beneficial to us both.”

  James nodded, “Sure. You show up here stag, you’ve got a line of ladies begging for your attention. Court Jane, you’ve got built in safe dates. I mean, she’s not ugly, she’s smart, and you don’t have to worry about her wanting more than…” He looked at the reaction on Gray’s face. “Oh, just forget it. Jane can’t lie; her mother would figure it out immediately.”

  Clayton agreed, “It’s a very bad idea Gray. She works for you.”

  James grunted, returning to the kitchen. Gray looked around for Jane, but she was nowhere to be seen. He waited until James was back in the kitchen before looking at Clayton, “I don’t know; she’s amusing, attractive, and bright.”

  Clayton grumbled, “. . . Young and odd. Face it Gray, she’s a little strange, and her mother too.”

  He shrugged, “She’s neither tedious nor insipid.”

  “Jesus, Gray, you need a girl? I can find you a girl.” Clayton looked exasperated.

  Gray shot him a warning glare, “No Clay, I do not need a girl.” Clayton heeded the warning look, helped himself to a dessert and watched as his friend calculated risks and benefits of Ms. Jane Eyre Austen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  On Monday Jane brought in her lunch and set it in the community refrigerator. She nearly yelped when she closed to the door and found Mr. Poole standing on the other side.

  “You are most trusting Ms. Eyre. I sincerely doubt that lunch will be there when you are hungry.” He grinned mischievously.

  “Your peasants steal the fruits of others?” she asked drily.

  “I am afraid so. Come, Fairfax has a minifridge.” He pointed toward the door. She reached into the fridge, pulled out her lunch and giggled at the absurdity of his language - combining that formality and the word minifridge in the same breath.

  He entered the office. “Fairfax, I declare that Eyre may leave her lunch in your office for protection.”

  Mrs. Fairfax cocked a brow, “Does that mean you won’t eat her lunch? Because I’m pretty tired of you eating mine.”

  He looked shocked. “Fairfax, you surely are mistaken. I would never take food from your mouth. Ms. Eyre has declared that I am kind, caring, and brilliant.”

  Jane coughed lightly and added, “And an enigma and singular.”

  Mrs. Fairfax grinned, “She has a good grasp of you Mr. Poole.”

  He turned to Jane, “Ms. Eyre, your lunch is safe with me. But pray tell, what did you bring today?”

  She held his gaze. She brought leftovers and she struggled with the wording. She finally responded, “Mutton.”

  He grinned, “Mrs. Fairfax, perhaps today we should treat Ms. Eyre to lunch. I’m not sure the temperature in your minifridge is safe to store mutton.”

  She looked up, “Go to work, Poole.”

  He chuckled, “Yes, ma’am. Have a good day Ms. Eyre.”

  Jane trotted out of the office and sat down at her desk, grinning stupidly at their exchange. He was fun; there was no doubt about it. He was a man who liked to play. There was a folder on her desk on top of her keyboard. When she opened it she found a list of things to do this morning. She happily set to work and finishing within two hours. She knocked on the door and Mrs. Fairfax told her to enter.

  “You don’t need to knock, and you know you can buzz me too,” she said kindly.

  “I forgot. These are for you. Would you like copies emailed?”

  She nodded, “Yes, that’d be great. Thanks for typing the envelopes too.” She looked up, “Are you looking for a project?”

  Jane grinned. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to understand her need to keep busy. She handed Jane Mr. Poole’s notes, which were very neatly written, and asked her to make a PowerPoint presentation, adding graphics as she deemed fit. The notes were to be typed up and emailed by tomorrow afternoon, but the PowerPoint wasn’t due until the end of the week.

  Jane typed up his notes. His handwriting was clear, decided, each letter perfectly formed, not rushed. His thoughts were the same, Jane mused. Mr. Gray Poole ran a billion-dollar industry that had interests ranging from pollution control to oil refineries, reaching to providing engineering services to other businesses. It seemed there was no pie his thumb was not in. The notes she was typing up were for a plan to help Costa Rica retrieve oil more efficiently, economically, and environmentally soundly. Jane was saddened to think of the rain forest already devastated in order to retrieve the oil. The plan included reforestation techniques for the already spoilt land, just proving he was a caring individual. Her heart skipped a few beats and she realized she was developing feelings for him. Calming herself, she reasoned she was not his type. She was too young and just his receptionist with whom he liked to tease verbally.

  At lunch time, Mrs. Fairfax had left and Jane went in to retrieve her lunch. She startled when he appeared behind her as she closed the minifridge door.

  “May I help you, sir?” she asked shyly.

  “Walk with me, Ms. Eyre.”

  “Yes, sir.” She followed him down the hall, leaving her lunch on her desk. He walked purposefully to the stairwell and opened the door for her. Once inside he stopped, looked up and down the stairs to see if they were in private and relaxed.

  “How is your mother, Ms. Eyre?”

  “She is well, sir.” Jane had no idea what this conversation was about, other than he wanted to play with her.

  “No, Ms. Eyre, I fear you do not speak the truth. How is your mother?” His eyes studied her carefully.

  She felt her heart stop, wondering what her mother could have said to him at the party. “She suffers from a broken heart, sir. It has affected her most egregiously, I am sorry if she said something to disturb you.”

  His eyes softened, “No, she said nothing.” His mouth set in a grim line, “How do you see me, Ms. Eyre? Do I suffer from the same ailment as your mother?”

  Realization swept over her. He was asking her if she thought he was crazy. “I believe your heart has been broken, sir, but not your mind. My mother cannot judge between her fantasies and her realities. I believe the latter is too harsh for her.” She looked at him gently, “Sir, I do not wish to offend you, but I have assumed your creative nature allows you to play, as we all did as children.”

  A corner of his mouth went up, “I prefer your opinion of my. . .” he paused, one eyebrow lifting, “singularity, to the reality.”

  Her stomach flew to her throat. She had upset him. “Sir, please do not consider my opinions of any val
ue. I am like a silly school girl in my play; my tongue is faster than my wit, and not as clever as it should be.”

  “I find that I do value your opinion, Ms. Eyre. Tell me, who taught you to play in this manner?”

  “My father enjoyed a lively discourse at supper.” She smiled, “It is there that I learned to sharpen my tongue.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Does it bother you, Ms. Eyre, to play this game with me?”

  She smiled warmly, “No, sir. I quite enjoy it. It reminds me of a better time, when my parents were both alive and in good health.”

  “I enjoy challenging you with words, Ms. Eyre.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are most singular, Ms. Eyre,” he said wryly.

  She arched her brow, “I regret, sir, I must correct you. We cannot both be singular.”

  He laughed, “Then how would you describe yourself, Ms. Eyre?”

  “As others have done so -- peculiar seems to fit me well, sir.”

  “The word does not do you justice. You are exotic, remarkable…”

  “Sir, those are synonyms, as are curious, eccentric. I believe the descriptor is accurate and I take no offense by it.”

  He grinned, opened the door and motioned for her to exit. “I appreciate your candor in our discourse, Ms. Eyre.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She tilted her head toward him as he reached for the door, opening it for her. She walked slowly back to her desk and he entered his office. She sat down and mulled over the conversation. The man wanted to play games with her, just games. Jane swallowed; she could probably play games and still come out with her heart intact. Probably.

  Gray closed his office door and sat down at his desk wanting to beat his head against the blotter. What an idiot he’d been to even speak with her alone. She could easily sue him for harassment. He needed to stop. Clayton was right; she was at least ten years his junior and certainly deserved to enjoy her youth. She was willing to play the same game she played with her father, the game that wasn’t a game at all for her mother. She was amusing and kind to him, but then he expected she would be kind to all. She was incredibly sweet and willing to tolerate his singularity.