She laughed. “No, sir; I am an independent woman now. My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds.”
I must have smiled at her, for this was Jane. This was my practical Jane. I could not have dreamed that. “But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like me?” I teased her, yet the worry was real. She had money, and I had nothing else to give her.
“I am my own mistress,” she responded. My heart rose at her words: she was promising to stay with me, to love me, to be my companion. But then she talked of neighbor, nurse, and housekeeper—what was this? This was not love, but pity. Not passion but, at best, devotion to a father past his prime. I sighed—I should have understood that perfect happiness would never be within my grasp. If she would not be my own wife, I should release her.
But, sensing my gloom, her voice changed, and she began to tease me again as of old. I thought she would be revolted by my scars, but instead she claimed she was now in danger of loving me too much. I could not believe her words, but over and over again she laid herself out to me: she was mine, if I wanted her. If I wanted her—my God!
We dined together that evening, still talking—the first time we had ever shared a meal—and it was as it always should have been.
I could barely believe it: my Jane—despite what I had done to her, she was still—always mine.
And I hers.
*
Reader, she married me. I cannot still believe it. The evening she returned, I held her in my arms, and I showed her the necklace I had worn since the day she left, and with her help I took it from my neck and returned it to hers. And I asked the one thing I had to ask her again. “Jane,” I whispered into her ear, “please. Call me Edward.”
I am sure she smiled at me, and she laughed until she recognized the seriousness in my face. “Edward,” she whispered. And then again, “Edward.” And finally, a kiss on my lips and: “Edward.”
I held her. It was all I could do. I could not speak. I could not silence my pounding heart. I could only hold her tight against me and think the words that had become truth: You are my family, and I am yours.
Two days later we were married, and at last—at last!—she was my wife, and I promised her that our honeymoon would shine our whole life long; its beams would only fade over her grave or mine.
Epilogue
Ferndean Manor was suitable for a miserable wretch living out his lonely life, but it was not a fit place for a married couple, nor a family. I told Jane we should find a better place, but she insisted not, because I had become used to Ferndean, where I could find my own way independent of her, or Mary and John.
“But it is not I for whom we need a house,” I said to her. “We need a home for our family. And a family home should never be for the oldest and least able, but for the young, for the generations to come—the home they will pine for when they are far off, and cherish when they have returned, a home to hold all the memories of a lifetime. We must build a house, Jane, that has sunshine streaming in the windows, and nooks and crannies where children can hide, and lawns where they can play. We must be sure to have rooms that are not always square or rectangular, but unusual in shape and aspect, and that lead to each other in surprising ways, and there must be attics that children can explore on rainy days, and…”
She laughed. “And banisters they can slide down?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“Did you do that? At Thornfield-Hall? Did you slide down the banister?”
“I never dared.”
“Ah! You were not such a ruffian as you like to pretend!”
“Did you? At the Lowood School? Surely not at the Reed house.”
“I never dared, either.”
“We will build the world’s best banister,” I responded, “and we will slide down it every day.”
*
It took five years, deciding exactly where such a house should be situated, and how large it should be and what it should look like: the entire planning and building of it. After two years of our marriage, I had regained a bit of sight in my one eye, and although I could not see the house plans well enough to decipher much, I could see it all in my mind, and Jane drew what we agreed upon. By the time the house was built, I knew it so well that I did not need to be guided through it, and it has become the house where our sons were born and the house where Jane wrote her life story and where she insisted I tell mine.
And now there is sunshine coming in our windows, and ponies in the pasture, and the orchard blooms in the spring with fruit trees, and I wander in the garden, and there are still some woods left, and beyond them there are meadows where sheep graze and our sons can play at being soldiers or pirates or warrior chiefs, and there is Adèle, more English now than French, who comes home on her school holidays, and has become, truly, a daughter to us, and a blessed relief, sometimes, from our boisterous sons.
And there is Jane, my dearest heart, who walks with me and reads to me and talks and laughs with me and teases, and sometimes slides down the banister when no one is about, and who calls me “Edward” every day of my life.
Reading Group Guide
Discussion Questions
Edward Rochester is an iconic literary hero. Did your impression of him change in reading his side of the story as told in Mr. Rochester, especially in contrast to Jane Eyre or Wide Sargasso Sea?
What was the most surprising or memorable thing you felt you learned about Rochester, his character, or his motivations in this retelling of the story?
“I could not get Jamaica out of my head.” Even as a young boy, Rochester is fascinated by Jamaica. Discuss its depiction in the novel and what it represents.
Who—or what—would you say is the greatest influence on Rochester’s life as he grows up? How do his friendships with Carrot and Touch shape him? How different do you think he might have been if he had never met Carrot or Touch, or if either of them had remained in his life longer?
“But then I remind myself that if I had turned my back on my father’s plans, my journey would have been entirely different, and while I might have found a satisfactory sort of life much sooner, I would never have found Jane.” What does the novel say about past experiences shaping your future?
Think about Rochester’s relationship to his father. How does that change over the course of the novel, and how does it shape the boy Rochester is and the man he becomes?
“I felt as if she saw into my soul, saw all that I was, and when she smiled, I felt the kind of approbation I had always hoped for.” This is how Rochester describes his first meeting with Bertha. Compare and contrast this with his first meeting with Jane and his impressions of the women who play such a pivotal role in his life.