Elizabeth had never for a moment desired Darcy’s love. But he had given it to her nonetheless, she was coming to realise, and the thought of Anne stealing it as she had stolen Elizabeth’s body was a violation that must be prevented, if she possibly could.
Elizabeth pushed herself upright with effort and climbed off the bed, bending to tuck the journal back beneath the mattress. The leather binding slid into darkness, concealed once more from casual observation. No one must know she had found it, had read its contents, understood what Anne had done.
She lay back against the pillows again, arranging Anne’s weak body in a position that allowed easier breathing. The ceiling plasterwork swam slightly in her vision, exhaustion pulling at her consciousness despite the urgency of her situation. But sleep would not come easily tonight, Elizabeth knew. Her mind racedtoo quickly, turning over possibilities and obstacles, searching desperately for some path forward through the impossibility that surrounded her.
Jane is here.That thought anchored her, gave her something solid to cling to in the swirling chaos of her predicament. Jane would help. Would believe her when she explained what had happened, would assist in whatever way possible. Together, they would find a solution. Would obtain the ingredients somehow, would mix the potion, would reverse this nightmare and stop Anne from marrying Mr. Darcy in Elizabeth’s body.
Elizabeth simply had to hold on long enough. Had to survive in this failing body until they could execute the reversal. Had to endure Mrs. Jenkinson’s medicines and Lady Catherine’s domineering presence and the constant weakness that threatened to drag her down into darkness.
She had done difficult things before. Had walked three miles through mud to reach Jane’s sickbed at Netherfield. Had rejected Mr. Collins despite her mother’s fury and her family’s precarious situation. Had maintained her principles and independence in the face of pressure from every direction. This was simply another impossible situation to navigate, another challenge to overcome through determination and clever planning.
The candle flame steadied, burning straight and true in air that had gone still. Elizabeth watched it, letting the light anchor her thoughts, and began to plan.
Chapter Sixteen
Darcy’sbootsstruckthepath to Hunsford parsonage with the steady rhythm of a man attempting to convince himself he felt calm. The morning had dawned fine and clear, spring sunlight catching in droplets of dew that clung to new grass. His hand moved to his waistcoat pocket for perhaps the twentieth time that hour, fingers confirming the presence of his mother’s ring through layers of fabric. The small weight of it pressed against his ribs with each step.
He had rehearsed his proposal throughout a sleepless night, words arranging and rearranging themselves until they had lost all meaning. But Elizabeth deserved better than a memorised speech. She would expect honesty, sincerity, the genuine expression of feelings he had tried and failed to suppress for months. Darcy’s throat tightened at the thought of actually speaking those feelings aloud.
The parsonage came into view through the trees. Darcy straightened his shoulders and forced his hand away from his pocket. He would find a way to speak with Elizabeth alone this morning, would ask her to walk with him.
The servant who answered his knock showed him through to the dining room, and Darcy stepped through the doorway already searching for Elizabeth’s figure among the breakfast table’s occupants.
He found her at the far end of the table, but his gaze caught and held on the woman seated near Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
Miss Jane Bennet.
Darcy stopped so abruptly that the servant nearly collided with him from behind. His carefully maintained composure fractured as recognition crashed over him. Miss Bennet sat there in a pale blue morning dress, her fair hair caught up in a simple arrangement, and her presence felt like evidence of crimes Darcy had tried to convince himself were justified.
He had separated her from Bingley. Had argued that her affections were not engaged, that she showed no particular preference despite Bingley’s obvious attachment. Had convinced himself that protecting Bingley justified any collateral damage to Miss Bennet’s feelings. And now here she sat, composed and lovely, while guilt settled over Darcy like a physical weight.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Collins exclaimed, rising with his characteristic lack of grace. “What an unexpected honour!”
Darcy forced his attention away from Jane Bennet and executed a bow that felt wooden. “Mr. Collins. Mrs. Collins. I hope I do not intrude upon your breakfast.”
“Not at all,” Collins assured him with obsequious enthusiasm. “You are always welcome.”
Charlotte rose with more dignity than her husband. “Please, Mr. Darcy, do join us. There is plenty of food remaining.”
Darcy’s gaze moved inevitably back to Miss Bennet, who had risen as well and now stood with her hands folded before her. She looked exactly as he remembered from Netherfield.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, and his voice emerged more formal than he had intended. He executed another bow, this one deeper than strict necessity required. “I had not realised you were visiting Kent. I hope your journey was comfortable.”
“Quite comfortable, thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Jane replied. “I arrived only yesterday evening.”
“Indeed?” Darcy said, though the word came out stiff. “The journey from London is not inconsiderable.”
He was being ridiculous, he realised. Speaking to her as though she were some grand lady rather than simply his friend’s former interest and Elizabeth’s beloved sister. But guilt made him formal.
Jane inclined her head. “Colonel Fitzwilliam was kind enough to escort me from London. His company made the journey most agreeable.”
So that was where his cousin had been yesterday. But why? Darcy’s attention shifted to Elizabeth, who had not risen from her seat at the far end of the table. She sat with her hands wrapped around a teacup, her gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. The physical distance between the sisters struck him immediately. Elizabeth had positioned herself as far from Jane as the table’s dimensions allowed.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, moving toward her end of the table. “Good morning.”
Elizabeth looked up at him then, and her smile carried warmth that eased some of the tension in his chest. “Mr. Darcy. How lovely to see you this morning.”
“I hope I am not interrupting your breakfast,” Darcy said.
