The corridor stretched before her, longer than it had any right to be. Elizabeth moved forward carefully, one hand trailing along the wall for support.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped from the alcove as she approached, his expression grave in the flickering candlelight. The shadows carved deep lines in his face.
“Cousin Anne,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth reached the alcove and leaned heavily against the wall, her borrowed legs trembling with relief. The stone felt cool through the thin fabric of her gown.
“You delivered my letter?” Elizabeth asked, desperate for confirmation. “To Jane Bennet?”
“I did,” Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed. “I rode to London as I promised and found Miss Bennet at her uncle’s house, though Ihad to wait for her return from an outing. I put the letter directly into her hand.”
Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. “And her response?”
“She read it immediately,” the Colonel said, and now a hint of admiration entered his tone. “Did not hesitate for a moment. Simply folded the letter, placed it in her pocket, and informed her aunt she needed to leave for Kent at once. I have never seen anyone pack with such efficiency. She had a bag ready within twenty minutes.”
The image of Jane responding with immediate action made Elizabeth’s eyes burn with tears. Of course Jane would not hesitate. Would simply trust that her sister needed her.
“I hired a coach,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, “and escorted Miss Bennet to the parsonage myself. Delivered her safely to Mrs. Collins’s care a half-hour ago.”
Elizabeth’s legs gave out entirely, but the Colonel caught her elbow before she could collapse. She leaned against him for a moment, letting him bear her weight while relief flooded through her.
“She is here,” Elizabeth whispered, and her voice emerged broken with emotion. “Jane is actually here.”
“Indeed,” the Colonel said, and something in his tone made Elizabeth look up at his face. He was watching her with an expression that mixed concern with growing confusion. “Though I must confess, the reception was somewhat strange. Mrs. Collins seemed delighted but bewildered by Miss Bennet’s sudden arrival. And Miss Elizabeth herself appeared quite surprised to see her sister, which struck me as odd given that you had written specifically to summon her.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced, trying to construct some explanation. Anne would have been surprised to see Jane arrive unexpectedly. Would have had no knowledge of the letterElizabeth had sent. The recognition that Anne was currently at the parsonage, perhaps even now conversing with Jane while wearing Elizabeth’s face, made Elizabeth’s stomach turn.
Elizabeth forced herself to straighten, and respond to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “There are reasons for that surprise. Reasons I cannot easily explain.”
The Colonel’s expression shifted, concern giving way to something harder. “Cousin Anne, I hope you are not attempting to interfere between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Whatever your feelings about his interest in her, such interference would be unworthy of you.”
The accusation struck Elizabeth with unexpected force, followed immediately by understanding. Of course he would think that. Would assume Anne had summoned Jane in some scheme to disrupt Darcy’s courtship.
“No,” Elizabeth said, and she put every ounce of conviction she possessed into the single word. “I promise you that is not my intention.”
Or, she thought, not her primary intention. Nobody deserved what Anne de Bourgh was trying to do, ensnare him by deception.
And if Anne succeeded, what then? If Mr. Darcy married “Elizabeth Bennet”... then what? Even if Elizabeth were somehow able to effect a reversal of the body swap, she would be transferring back into the body not of Elizabeth Bennet, but ofMrs. Darcy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam studied her face, searching for truth or deception. She met his gaze directly, willing him to believe her.
“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” he asked, and his voice had gone gentle again. “Why this desperate need for Miss Jane Bennet’s presence?”
Elizabeth’s throat closed around any response. She could tell him the truth. Could explain about the body swap, about Anne’stheft of her identity. The words gathered behind her teeth, desperate to be spoken.
But the risk was too great. If he thought her mad, if he dismissed her claims as delusions, he would tell Lady Catherine. Would ensure Elizabeth was confined more securely, possibly sent away to some asylum. She could not risk losing what little freedom she still possessed.
“There is more happening than you realise,” Elizabeth said finally, choosing her words with desperate care. “Things I cannot explain, not yet. But it was vital that Elizabeth have her dearest sister nearby. Someone who knows her well. Someone who can...” She paused, searching for words. “Someone who can see clearly.”
The Colonel’s brow furrowed. “That is remarkably cryptic, cousin.”
“I know,” Elizabeth agreed, and she could not prevent the exhaustion and desperation from bleeding into her voice. “I am sorry. But I cannot say more. Please, you must trust that my reasons are sound, even if I cannot share them.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by distant sounds of the house. Somewhere below, a door closed. A servant’s footsteps echoed through hidden passages.
“I think people do not listen to you enough,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said finally, and his voice carried unexpected kindness. “You are clever, Anne. Perceptive. Yet everyone treats you as though your physical weakness extends to your mind and judgement.”
The observation struck Elizabeth with complicated force. He was not speaking to her, not really, but to the woman whose body she inhabited. To Anne de Bourgh, overlooked and dismissed. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps if people had listened to Anne, had valued her thoughts and needs, she mighthave chosen a different path than the desperate wickedness that had led to this moment.
