Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression transformed, his smile brightening with such obvious pleasure that Jane felt answering warmth spread through her chest. “I am very glad to hear that, Miss Bennet. Very glad indeed.”
Their eyes held for a moment that stretched longer than propriety strictly allowed, and Jane became acutely aware of how close he stood, how his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. The air between them felt charged with possibility, with potential for something that Jane desperately wanted to explore but could not afford to consider while Elizabeth’s fate hung in such precarious balance.
She stepped back, breaking the moment with reluctance that must have shown on her face. “Forgive me, Colonel. I should not have spoken so freely. It was not appropriate.”
“On the contrary,” the Colonel replied, making no move to close the distance she had created. “I found your honesty refreshing. And I hope...” He paused, seeming to reconsider whatever he had been about to say. “I hope that once your current difficulties are resolved, whatever they may be, and your concerns for your sister’s happiness are resolved, we might have opportunity to continue this conversation in circumstances that permit more leisurely exploration of the topic.”
Jane felt her cheeks heat at the implication in his words, at the clear statement of interest that lay beneath his careful courtesy. Part of her wanted to tell him everything, to unburden herself of this terrible secret and let him help carry the weight of it. He was perceptive enough to believe her, she thought. Kind enough to want to help.
But what if he did not believe her? Even if he only prevented her from giving “Elizabeth” the potion to drink, fearing it might injure her, it would ruin everything.
And there was another consideration. If she told him the truth now, if she involved him in this desperate scheme to reverse dark magic through forbidden potions, she would be drawing him into something dangerous and potentially scandalous. She would be risking not just her own reputation but his as well, tainting any possibility of future connexion between them with the stain of association with witchcraft and deception.
Better to handle this herself. Better to save Elizabeth first and then, perhaps, when all was resolved and safe, she might tell him the truth. Might explain what his kindness had meant, how his willingness to help without demanding explanations had given her hope when she most needed it.
“I look forward to that conversation,” Jane said, meaning it with fierce sincerity. “And I thank you again, more than I can express, for your help in obtaining this.” She held up the wrapped bezoar shaving. “You have done more for me than you can possibly know.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam executed another bow, this one carrying warmth that went beyond mere courtesy. “It was my pleasure, Miss Bennet. Truly.”
“Wait.” Something else occurred to her. “Would you do me one other, very small favour? Nothing so strange as this, I promise you.”
He smiled. “Were it ten times so strange, I would not refuse, Miss Bennet. What is it you need of me?”
“Miss Anne de Bourgh is resident in your uncle’s house, is she not, with her mother?” Jane knew well that she was. Elizabeth had managed to bribe one of the maids at Matlock House to send Jane a note, folded around a cut lock of Anne’s short, thin hair.
“Indeed, she is.”
“If I write a note to her, would you pass it to her privately? I do not want anyone else to know that she has it. Today.”
“An easy matter, I am expected there for dinner. Of course, and not a soul shall suspect that I gave it to her, you have my word.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat, went to her aunt’s writing table and penned a swift note, folding it over and sealing it with a hastily melted blob of wax. She did not write anything on the outside, unable to bring herself to write Anne’s name on this critical message for Lizzy.
Their fingers brushed as she handed the note to the Colonel, and Jane’s breath caught. For a moment time seemed suspended as they looked at each other.
And then Lydia called something to Kitty loudly in the room just above their heads, and the spell was broken.
The Colonel withdrew his hand, tucking the note inside his jacket. “It will be in Anne’s hands this evening, I promise you,” he said. He moved towards the door, then paused at the threshold to look back at her. “I hope whatever difficulty you face resolves favourably. And I hope that when it does, you will allow me to call on you again. Not as my cousin’s connexion, but as...” He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished but its meaning clear.
“I would like that very much,” Jane replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled one final time and departed, leaving Jane alone in the parlour with the precious bezoar shaving clutched in her hand and her heart performing complicated acrobatics that had nothing to do with Elizabeth’s desperate situation and everything to do with the man who had just left.
She stood there for several minutes after his departure, staring at the closed door while her mind spun with thoughts that had no place in her current crisis. The Colonel’s interest was obvious, his intentions clear despite the careful courtesy with which he had expressed them. And her own feelings, which she had notallowed herself to examine closely during these desperate days, suddenly demanded acknowledgement.
She liked him. More than liked him. Found herself drawn to his kindness and perceptiveness, to the easy way he had offered help without demanding explanations, to the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Found herself imagining what might develop between them once this nightmare was over, once Elizabeth was safe and Jane could afford to think about her own future rather than solely her sister’s salvation.
But those were thoughts for later. Jane shook herself, forcing her mind back to the immediate crisis. She had the bezoar now. Had all the ingredients required for the reversal potion. Which meant she could begin brewing right now.
She moved towards the stairs, her exhaustion forgotten in renewed determination. The grimoire awaited, its instructions requiring careful study one final time. She needed to review the brewing process, needed to ensure she understood every step before beginning. Needed to calculate exact timing so the potion would be ready to administer at precisely the right moment. Hopefully, her mother, aunt and sisters would continue to keep Anne busy. Anne herself was doing her part by avoiding Jane, perhaps aware that Jane was the most likely person to expose her. All to the good. Jane could barely stand to be in the same room as the impostor wearing her dearest Lizzy’s face.
The clock in the hallway chimed three as she climbed towards her room. Twenty-four hours until the wedding.
Twenty-four hours to save her sister and prevent a marriage built on stolen identity and dark magic.
Jane clutched the wrapped bezoar shaving to her chest and felt grim determination settle over her like armour. She had what she needed now. Had the final ingredient that would make the reversal possible. The rest was simply a matter of careful execution and perhaps a small amount of luck.
She could do this. She would do this.
