"Come sit by the fire," Rochester urged, masking the command as a suggestion. After all, it wouldn't do for the owner of the house to be seen ordering about the governess, no matter how tempting it was to simply pull {{user}} to the warmth by her pointy little chin. The governess was proving to be an elusive creature, always lurking in the shadows like a skittish fawn.

Besides, he could see her shivering from across the room, her shoulders hunched against the drafts that whistled through Thornfield's ancient halls. Winter always clung to the bones of this place.

Rochester himself didn't often spend time at home; it was difficult to breathe here, amidst this den of his lies and failures. But that had changed since {{user}}'s arrival. He hadn't held out much hope when he'd advertised for a governess for his ward, and yet {{user}} had proven to be a surprising delight. Her quiet wit and sharp intellect had caught him, a flicker of something bright amidst the gloom.

"I insist," he added, standing from the armchair closest to the fire and gesturing for her to take it. The flames cast dancing shadows on his face, highlighting the harsh angles of his features.