The vicar turned to Anne. “Elizabeth Bennet, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Anne said, and Jane heard triumph beneath the words. “Oh, I will.”
The vows continued, each word binding them more tightly together in law. Darcy repeated his own vows with conviction, his love for Elizabeth evident in every carefully pronounced word.
“I, Elizabeth Bennet, take thee, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to be my wedded husband,” Anne said, her voice clear and sweet. “To have and to hold from this day forwards, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.”
The ring came next, Darcy sliding it onto Anne’s finger with hands that trembled slightly. Gold gleamed against Elizabeth’s stolen flesh. Jane watched the metal circle settle into place and felt something in her chest crack. Even if they managed to reverse the body swap, to give Elizabeth back her own face and form, what then? She would be married to Mr. Darcy, a man she had never liked.
Better that than dying in a failing body, Jane told herself, looking down so she did not have to witness Anne’s smugly triumphant smile.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the vicar declared. “Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”
Done. It was done. The marriage was legal and binding, and as Jane looked across the aisle and met her sister’s eyes, she saw the shared awareness that a point of no return had been passed.
Darcy leaned down to kiss his bride, the gesture gentle and reverent. Anne returned the kiss with enthusiasm that made Darcy pull back slightly, surprise evident in his expression before he masked it with a smile.
The organ swelled again, marking their procession back down the aisle. Jane watched them pass, watched Anne nod graciouslyto guests who beamed at the happy couple. Watched Darcy’s confusion war with his joy, his instincts telling him something was wrong even as his heart celebrated.
The real Elizabeth remained in her pew, her frail body slumped with despair. Their eyes met again as Jane rose to follow the wedding party from the church, and Jane gave the smallest nod she could manage. Soon. This would be over soon.
Outside, carriages waited to convey the wedding party to Matlock House for the breakfast. Jane climbed into one with her mother and younger sisters, their excited chatter washing over her without penetrating the focus that had settled over her thoughts.
The streets of London rolled past outside the window. Jane’s exhaustion had transformed into something sharper, adrenaline cutting through the fog to leave her thoughts crystal clear despite her body’s desperate need for rest. She reviewed the plan she had come up with that morning as she helped Anne prepare for the wedding. It was simple enough. Approach Darcy with wine, suggest he share it with his bride. The impostor would drink it eagerly, never suspecting that her own magic had been turned against her. And across the room, Elizabeth would drink from her phial simultaneously, their essences trading back to their rightful bodies.
Simple. But terrifying. And very likely, the only chance they would ever have.
The carriage rolled to a stop before Matlock House. Jane moved with them, one hand pressed against her pocket where salvation or disaster waited in two small glass phials.
Matlock House’s drawing rooms had been transformed for the wedding breakfast, their usual restraint giving way to celebration that manifested in white roses and trailing ivy, in tables laden with delicacies, in French champagne flowing freely among guests.
Darcy and his new bride occupied the room’s centre, surrounded by well-wishers. Anne accepted their attentions with grace that looked almost genuine, her performance now so polished that Jane wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle wrongness.
Darcy remained close to his bride’s side, his hand resting at the small of her back in a gesture that spoke of possession and protection both. But Jane saw the confusion that kept flickering across his face when Anne laughed too loudly at someone’s jest, or leaned against him with familiarity that Elizabeth would never have displayed in public.
Jane set down her untouched champagne and moved towards the refreshment table, her heart hammering against her ribs. A footman stood ready with a decanter of wine, dark red that caught the afternoon light. Jane accepted a glass from him with a smile that felt like it might crack her face.
She turned away from the table and reached into her pocket, her movements slow and careful. She had already slipped one of the phials into Elizabeth’s hand, under cover of supposedly greeting Miss Anne de Bourgh as a new relative. The second phial came out in her hand, and she concealed it against her skirt while working the stopper free. The stopper came loose with resistance that made her breath catch.
Jane tilted the phial over the wine glass, watching amber liquid pour into dark red. The potion disappeared into the wine without trace, no colour change or unusual scent to betray its presence. She stoppered the empty phial and returned it to her pocket, her hands shaking badly enough now that wine sloshed against the inside of the glass.
Steady, she told herself.You must be steady for this final part.
She took a breath and moved towards where Darcy stood watching his new bride being embraced by Mrs. Bennet, weavingbetween clusters of guests with the glass held carefully in both hands.
“Mr. Darcy,” Jane said as she approached, and was relieved to hear her voice emerge steady. “Might I have a word?”
Darcy turned towards her with a warm smile. “Miss Bennet. Jane, my new sister. Of course.”
Jane extended the wine glass towards him. “This is Elizabeth’s favourite vintage. My uncle sourced a bottle especially for today. Perhaps you would give it to her. She has drunk little today, perhaps a touch of nerves.” She forced a fond smile.
Darcy took the glass from her hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly. “That is very kind of you, Jane. Thank you.”
Jane stepped back, watching as Darcy turned to his bride. Anne had been engaged in conversation with Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner but abandoned it readily when her new husband approached, her face lighting with pleasure.
“My dear,” Darcy said, offering her the wine glass. “Your favourite wine.”
Anne looked briefly confused, before obviously realising that it must beElizabeth’sfavourite wine. Reaching out, she accepted the glass with hands that did not hesitate. “Oh, how thoughtful, my love!”
