She raised the glass to her lips and drank deeply, the wine disappearing in several swallows that left the glass half empty. Anne made an appreciative sound before looking back at Mrs. Gardiner, who had just asked her a question. “Why yes, indeed, we shall be leaving for Pemberley very soon,” she said.
Jane’s gaze cut across the crowded room to where the real Elizabeth sat in a chair near the wall, Lady Catherine hovering over her with continued concern. Elizabeth had been watching Jane, had seen the exchange with Darcy and understood what it meant. Their eyes met across the distance, and Jane gave the smallest nod she could manage.
Now. Take it now.
Elizabeth turned slightly away from Lady Catherine’s attention and raised her hand to her mouth, the motion quick and furtive but successful.
Done. Both potions administered. Both women had drunk simultaneously, or near enough.
There would be a few minutes, according to what Elizabeth had told her about the first time she drank the draught. A few more minutes before the potions took effect and the reversal began.
Jane remained where she stood, frozen in place while her heart counted off seconds. Around her, the wedding breakfast continued its cheerful progress. No one noticed Jane’s stillness, her white face, the way her hands had begun to shake.
Anne stood beside Darcy, accepting congratulations from Colonel Fitzwilliam with grace that would have fooled anyone. She laughed at something the Colonel said, her voice Elizabeth’s voice but carrying notes that were wrong.
Across the room, Elizabeth had slumped slightly in her chair, Lady Catherine’s exclamation of concern sounding above the crowd’s chatter.
Then Anne’s hand went to her forehead, confusion crossing her stolen features. She swayed slightly, her free hand reaching for Darcy’s arm to steady herself. Darcy caught her immediately, concern replacing the happiness on his face.
“Elizabeth?” His voice carried across the room with worry that silenced nearby conversations. “Elizabeth, what is wrong?”
Anne’s eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as she realised something was happening. Something she had not anticipated, could not control. Her mouth opened as though to speak, but only a small sound emerged.
Then her knees buckled, and she collapsed entirely. Darcy caught her before she struck the floor, his arms supporting herlimp weight while her head lolled against his shoulder. The wine glass she had been holding fell from nerveless fingers and shattered against the polished floor, red wine spreading across pale wood like blood.
Gasps erupted around them. Guests pressed forwards, concern and curiosity mixing on faces that had moments ago shown nothing but celebration. Lady Matlock appeared at Darcy’s side with remarkable speed, her hand going to Anne’s forehead while she issued commands for smelling salts and cold water.
But Jane’s attention had already moved to the other side of the room, where a louder commotion had erupted. Lady Catherine’s voice rose above the crowd’s murmur, sharp with alarm that bordered on panic.
“Anne! Anne, speak to me! Someone fetch a physician at once!”
Elizabeth had collapsed as well, slumping into Lady Catherine’s supporting arms. The older woman lowered her daughter to the floor with surprising gentleness, her face twisted with fear. Jane moved forwards without conscious decision, pushing through guests who blocked her path. She needed to see, needed to know if the reversal had worked or if she had just poisoned both women.
Darcy had lifted his wife in his arms, her head hanging back over his elbow in a way that made Jane’s stomach clench with fear. Darcy’s expression showed terror beneath his usual composure, his voice breaking as he spoke his wife’s name over and over without response.
“Take her upstairs,” Lady Matlock commanded. “The blue guest room. Quickly, before she wakes and finds herself surrounded by gawking crowds.”
Darcy moved towards the door with his burden held carefully against his chest, his long strides eating distance. The crowdparted before him, shocked faces watching the master of Pemberley carry his new bride from the room mere minutes after their wedding breakfast had begun.
Across the room, Lady Catherine had been joined by Lord Matlock. Lady Catherine’s face had gone white beneath her rouge, her usual commanding presence transformed into maternal terror.
“My daughter,” Lady Catherine kept repeating, her voice thick with tears. “My daughter, please. Someone help my daughter.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, speaking soothingly as he lifted his cousin’s frail form into his arms. Jane watched them disappear into the entrance hall, heard Lady Catherine’s voice fading as they too moved towards the stairs.
Then she was alone in a room that had erupted into chaos, guests clustering in groups to exclaim and speculate. Mrs. Bennet had dissolved into hysterics, her wailing carrying over all other sounds while Mary tried ineffectually to calm her.
Jane’s legs gave way beneath her, her exhaustion finally winning the battle. She caught herself against a nearby chair, her strength barely sufficient to keep her upright.
She had done it. Had actually done it. Had administered the reversal potion to both parties and watched them both collapse in the same instant, their essences presumably trading places just as Anne’s grimoire had promised.
But had it worked? Were Elizabeth and Anne now returned to their rightful bodies? Or had Jane simply poisoned both women, condemning them to death or permanent unconsciousness through dark magic she did not properly understand?
She would not know until they woke. All Jane could do now was wait, and hope, and pray that Anne’s magic had not betrayed them at the final moment.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Theceilingaboveherwas unfamiliar, cream plaster with elegant mouldings that caught shadows from firelight somewhere to her left. Elizabeth blinked at it, her vision swimming slightly as consciousness returned in slow waves. Her body felt strange, not in the way it had felt strange for days now, but in a way that was both foreign and deeply, profoundly right. She lifted one hand before her face and saw strong, capable fingers, a hand she recognised, skin that belonged to her and no one else.
