Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
My eyes widen. “Thanks, Mom. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
“Just... take care of yourself, okay? And always remember, we’re always here for you. No matter what happens you have a home here.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I blurt out before hugging her tightly.
I stand very still and watch her leave my room, but the moment she’s gone, the composure I’ve been holding onto crumbles. My hands shake as I stuff the last few items into the bag, my mind racing.
Why did Earl leave? Why did he marry me if he hates me? And how am I supposed to make this work with someone who is convinced I’m a gold digger?
I shove the zipper closed and heave the bag off the bed, my heart pounding. There’s no time to dwell on it now. I need to get to Thornfield Hall.
The rain has stopped and when I step outside, the elderly chauffeur who was leaning against the car, straightens and tips his cap in an oddly old-fashioned gesture.
“Mrs. Jackson?” he asks, his voice polite, professional.
“Uh... yes.”
He opens the back door with a practiced motion. “Mr. Jackson asked me to pick you up and take you to Thornfield Hall.”
I hesitate, gripping the strap of my bag tightly. The luxury, the formalities—it’s all so far removed from the world we grew up in. From the trailer park. From the Earl I thought I knew.
As I slide into the car, sinking into the soft leather seat, I can’t help but wonder: How did he come upon all this wealth? And what the hell happens next to us? The door closes and I’m ensconced in a gently perfumed, luxurious interior.
The journey to Charles’s house feels both familiar and alien, like stepping into a memory that doesn’t quite fit anymore. The town, with its tree-lined streets and weathered storefronts, hasn’t changed much. The lake shimmers in the distance, surrounded by sprawling gardens, but now, everything feels surreal, like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold.
I grip the handle of the car door tighter as the car turns into the driveway of the sprawling estate. My pulse has quickened and the nerves I’ve tried to suppress bubble up all at once as the house looms ahead. It’s grand and imposing, with a pristine stone façade, wide wraparound porch, and manicured gardens that seem to stretch endlessly towards the lake. When I was a young girl living in poverty, I used to envy people living in such grandeur, but those days are gone. Now I see such massive mansions as glamorous prisons. The people who live in them are never truly happy. I wonder again how Earl came to be rich enough to buy this place.
The car comes to a smooth halt, gravel crunching softly under the tires. I hesitate for a moment, staring out at the house. Is this going to be my prison where I will never be happy? The chauffeur opens my door, his polite, “Mrs. Jackson” shaking me from my daze. The title feels strange, but foreign. Didn’t I stand in front of the mirror a lifetime ago and practice saying it?
I nod and step out, clutching my purse tightly. The air smells of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers, but it does little to ease the nerves coiled tight in my stomach. None of this feels real.
I don’t see Earl anywhere, and that unsettles me more than I care to admit. I glance back at the sleek black town car parked behind mine. Is that his?
Nora, the Belafonte’s old housekeeper appears before I can spiral further, her warm smile a great comfort.
“Raven! Oh, my goodness, I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaims, her hands clasped in front of her as she approaches.
“Hi, Nora,” I greet. I’ve always liked Nora. She’s always been kind to me whenever I’ve come around. Her presence feels familiar and grounding, even as everything else feels unmoored.
“You look wonderful, Mrs. Jackson,” she says, her pale blue gaze sweeping over me. There are questions in her eyes, but she’s too well trained by Charles’s mother to ever voice them. “I’m sure you must be exhausted with the day you’ve had. I’ve made a pot of tea for you and your favorite blueberry pie.”
Nora’s warm concern takes me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. “Thank you, Nora. I don’t think I can eat just yet. I’m a little nervous, I think.”
“Well, that’s to be expected,” she says with a kind smile. “But don’t you worry. The pie will keep. We’ll take care of you here.” She gestures toward the house, inviting me to follow her inside.
Walking through the front door feels like crossing some invisible threshold. The grand entryway is exactly as it was on my last visit, so are the gleaming hardwood floors, and the lofty ceilings, but the traditional chandelier I used to marvel at is gone. In its place hangs the most exquisitely sophisticated, massive white vine chandelier. I gasp at its ethereal beauty and once more feel a knot tightening in my chest. What did he do to get this kind of wealth? The thought doesn’t sit right.