“I should cancel my engagement,” Lady Catherine said, though reluctance coloured her tone. “Mrs. Drummond will understand if I send word that Anne requires my attendance.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Matlock replied with gentle firmness. “I will stay with Anne myself. You go to your friend’s soirée; you have so few opportunities to socialise with your London friends, do not miss this one. There is no need for both of us to hover over the poor girl. I promise you, I will take excellent care of her.”
Lady Catherine hesitated, clearly torn between social obligation and maternal concern. Finally, she nodded with visible reluctance. “Very well. But send for me immediately if her condition worsens. I can be back within the half hour.”
“Of course,” Lady Matlock agreed, already gesturing to the footman hovering near the door. “Have Miss de Bourgh’s chamber prepared immediately. Extra pillows, fresh water, and a good fire. She is to have complete quiet and rest.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be helped upstairs, Lady Matlock supporting her weight while Mrs. Jenkinson appeared fromsomewhere to flutter anxiously on the other side. They settled her into the bed, pillows propped behind Anne’s back and blankets tucked around her legs.
Lady Catherine appeared in the doorway. She crossed to the bed and placed a cool hand against Elizabeth’s forehead, her expression softening.
“Rest, my dear,” Lady Catherine said, her voice carrying genuine tenderness beneath its usual commanding tone. “All will be well. You will see Darcy married tomorrow, and then we shall return to Kent where the air is better for your health.”
She departed with rustling silk and fading perfume, leaving Elizabeth alone with Lady Matlock and Mrs. Jenkinson. Elizabeth closed her eyes and felt despair settle over her like a suffocating blanket.
Tomorrow. The wedding was tomorrow, and she still had no idea how to save herself.
Mrs. Jenkinson moved about the chamber, adjusting pillows that needed no adjustment and checking the fire that burned perfectly well on its own. Elizabeth watched through half-closed eyes, aware that the companion’s fussing had nothing to do with genuine concern and everything to do with surveillance. Mrs. Jenkinson was watching her, had been watching her all evening with that sharp, assessing gaze that suggested she suspected something.
Lady Matlock sat in a chair near the window, embroidery ignored in her lap while she studied Elizabeth with maternal concern that felt genuine and therefore painful. She had been nothing but kind since Elizabeth arrived at Matlock House.Had treated Anne with respect and affection, had intervened to reduce Mrs. Jenkinson’s overprotective hovering, had created space for Elizabeth to breathe.
“Miss Anne should take her evening tonic,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, moving to the dressing table where several bottles stood in neat array. “It will help her sleep and restore her strength for tomorrow’s exertions.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched with alarm. The tonic. The same draught Mrs. Jenkinson had been administering ever since Elizabeth woke up in Anne’s body, the one that sent her straight to sleep and left Elizabeth fuzzy and compliant when she woke. She could not afford that tomorrow, not when she needed all her wits about her.
“I do not think I require it tonight,” Elizabeth said carefully, keeping Anne’s voice soft but adding firmness she hoped would not seem out of character. “I feel quite settled already. I will sleep well enough without it.”
Mrs. Jenkinson’s expression tightened fractionally, her hand remaining on the bottle. “Forgive me, Miss Anne, but you know the tonic is essential for managing your delicate nerves. Your collapse at dinner demonstrates how overwrought you have become. The tonic will calm you and ensure proper rest.”
“Anne said she does not want it,” Lady Matlock interjected, her tone carrying gentle reproach. “Surely if Anne feels well enough without it, there is no need to force medicine upon her.”
Mrs. Jenkinson’s jaw tightened further, but she inclined her head with stiff acknowledgement. “Of course, my lady. I merely wish to ensure Miss Anne’s comfort and wellbeing. That has always been my sole concern.”
She set down the bottle but remained near the dressing table, her posture suggesting she had not given up the battle entirely. Elizabeth watched her through lowered lashes, saw the calculation in the companion’s eyes, the weighing of optionsand strategies. Mrs. Jenkinson knew something was wrong. And Mrs. Jenkinson was loyal to Anne above all else, devoted to protecting her charge even when that meant enabling her worst impulses.
If Mrs. Jenkinson realised Elizabeth was planning something, if she suspected any threat to Anne’s stolen happiness, she would act. Would simply drug Elizabeth thoroughly enough that she could not possibly interfere with tomorrow’s wedding. Or perhaps tell Anne, who would carry out her threat to poison Elizabeth to ensure she could never be a threat again.
Elizabeth could not afford to have Mrs. Jenkinson free to sabotage their plans.
Which left only one option, risky though it might be. Much as she despised the notion, she was going to have to repay Lady Matlock’s kindness with manipulation and half-truths.
But she had no choice. Mrs. Jenkinson represented a threat that Elizabeth could not afford to ignore, not when Jane was brewing the reversal potion and tomorrow’s wedding loomed like an execution date.
“Aunt,” Elizabeth said, giving Lady Matlock a pleading look. “I wonder if I might speak with you privately. There is something I need to tell you.”
Lady Matlock’s expression shifted to one of immediate concern mixed with curiosity. “Of course, dear. Mrs. Jenkinson, would you give us a moment?”
Mrs. Jenkinson’s face went rigid with affront. “Surely anything Miss Anne needs to discuss can be said in my presence. I am her companion. Her confidante. There should be no secrets between us.”
“Nevertheless,” Lady Matlock said, her voice taking on steel beneath its courtesy, “Anne has requested privacy. Please leave us.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought Mrs. Jenkinson might refuse outright. The companion’s hands clenched at her sides, her expression cycling through emotions that ranged from outrage to calculation. Finally, she executed a stiff curtsy and moved towards the door, but her backward glance carried warning.
The door closed behind Mrs. Jenkinson with more force than strictly necessary. Lady Matlock waited until the companion’s footsteps faded down the corridor before turning her full attention to Elizabeth.
“What is it, dear? You look quite serious.”
Elizabeth took a breath, steeling her nerves for what came next. This was a gamble. If Lady Matlock did not believe her, if she dismissed the accusation as the delusions of an overwrought invalid, the consequences could be disastrous. But Elizabeth had watched Lady Matlock these past days, had seen her kindness and intelligence. If anyone would believe the truth, it was this woman.
