Chapter Fourteen #2
Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. “And her response?”
“She read it immediately,” the Colonel said, and now a hint of admiration entered his tone.
“Did not hesitate for a moment. Simply folded the letter, placed it in her pocket, and informed her aunt she needed to leave for Kent at once. I have never seen anyone pack with such efficiency. She had a bag ready within twenty minutes.”
The image of Jane responding with immediate action made Elizabeth’s eyes burn with tears. Of course Jane would not hesitate. Would simply trust that her sister needed her.
“I hired a coach,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, “and escorted Miss Bennet to the parsonage myself. Delivered her safely to Mrs. Collins’s care a half-hour ago.”
Elizabeth’s legs gave out entirely, but the Colonel caught her elbow before she could collapse. She leaned against him for a moment, letting him bear her weight while relief flooded through her.
“She is here,” Elizabeth whispered, and her voice emerged broken with emotion. “Jane is actually here.”
“Indeed,” the Colonel said, and something in his tone made Elizabeth look up at his face.
He was watching her with an expression that mixed concern with growing confusion.
“Though I must confess, the reception was somewhat strange. Mrs. Collins seemed delighted but bewildered by Miss Bennet’s sudden arrival.
And Miss Elizabeth herself appeared quite surprised to see her sister, which struck me as odd given that you had written specifically to summon her. ”
Elizabeth’s mind raced, trying to construct some explanation.
Anne would have been surprised to see Jane arrive unexpectedly.
Would have had no knowledge of the letter Elizabeth had sent.
The recognition that Anne was currently at the parsonage, perhaps even now conversing with Jane while wearing Elizabeth’s face, made Elizabeth’s stomach turn.
Elizabeth forced herself to straighten, and respond to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “There are reasons for that surprise. Reasons I cannot easily explain.”
The Colonel’s expression shifted, concern giving way to something harder. “Cousin Anne, I hope you are not attempting to interfere between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Whatever your feelings about his interest in her, such interference would be unworthy of you.”
The accusation struck Elizabeth with unexpected force, followed immediately by understanding. Of course he would think that. Would assume Anne had summoned Jane in some scheme to disrupt Darcy’s courtship.
“No,” Elizabeth said, and she put every ounce of conviction she possessed into the single word. “I promise you that is not my intention.”
Or, she thought, not her primary intention. Nobody deserved what Anne de Bourgh was trying to do, ensnare him by deception.
And if Anne succeeded, what then? If Mr. Darcy married “Elizabeth Bennet”... then what? Even if Elizabeth were somehow able to effect a reversal of the body swap, she would be transferring back into the body not of Elizabeth Bennet, but of Mrs. Darcy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam studied her face, searching for truth or deception. She met his gaze directly, willing him to believe her.
“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” he asked, and his voice had gone gentle again. “Why this desperate need for Miss Jane Bennet’s presence?”
Elizabeth’s throat closed around any response. She could tell him the truth. Could explain about the body swap, about Anne’s theft of her identity. The words gathered behind her teeth, desperate to be spoken.
But the risk was too great. If he thought her mad, if he dismissed her claims as delusions, he would tell Lady Catherine. Would ensure Elizabeth was confined more securely, possibly sent away to some asylum. She could not risk losing what little freedom she still possessed.
“There is more happening than you realise,” Elizabeth said finally, choosing her words with desperate care.
“Things I cannot explain, not yet. But it was vital that Elizabeth have her dearest sister nearby. Someone who knows her well. Someone who can...” She paused, searching for words. “Someone who can see clearly.”
The Colonel’s brow furrowed. “That is remarkably cryptic, cousin.”
“I know,” Elizabeth agreed, and she could not prevent the exhaustion and desperation from bleeding into her voice. “I am sorry. But I cannot say more. Please, you must trust that my reasons are sound, even if I cannot share them.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by distant sounds of the house. Somewhere below, a door closed. A servant’s footsteps echoed through hidden passages.
“I think people do not listen to you enough,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said finally, and his voice carried unexpected kindness. “You are clever, Anne. Perceptive. Yet everyone treats you as though your physical weakness extends to your mind and judgement.”
The observation struck Elizabeth with complicated force.
He was not speaking to her, not really, but to the woman whose body she inhabited.
To Anne de Bourgh, overlooked and dismissed.
And perhaps he was right. Perhaps if people had listened to Anne, had valued her thoughts and needs, she might have chosen a different path than the desperate wickedness that had led to this moment.
“Miss Jane Bennet was quite a pleasure to spend the afternoon with,” the Colonel added, and something in his tone suggested more than mere politeness. A warmth that went beyond simple courtesy. “Remarkably composed and intelligent. The conversation during our journey was most agreeable.”
Despite everything, Elizabeth felt a smile tug at her lips. Of course Jane would have charmed him through simple kindness. Of course the Colonel would have found her delightful company.
“She is the best of women,” Elizabeth said, and this at least was truth she could speak without reservation. “The dearest sister anyone could wish for.” Quickly, she added, “Everything Elizabeth Bennet has told me, has convinced me of that.”
The Colonel nodded, his expression showing agreement. “You need not thank me for helping you reach her. It was a small thing.”
“Not small to me,” Elizabeth whispered, and tears threatened again. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you cannot know how much this means.”
“Anne,” he said, and his voice had gone very gentle.
“You have never asked me for anything in your life. In all our years as cousins, you have never requested my assistance. When you came to me this morning, desperate enough to fall to your knees and beg, I knew it must be for something of vital importance.”
He paused, reaching out to steady her as she swayed. His hand remained on her elbow.
“It was a small thing that I could do for you,” he continued. “And I hope you will not hesitate to ask if there is anything else I may do to assist you. Whatever trouble you find yourself in, I am at your disposal.”
The offer hung between them, sincere and absolute. Elizabeth stared up at him and felt the weight of choice pressing down. She could tell him now. Could risk everything on the hope that he would believe her. Could finally have an ally who knew what had been done to her.
But what if he did not believe her? What if his kindness transformed into horrified conviction that his cousin had lost her mind?
Elizabeth could not risk it. Not yet. Not when Jane had finally arrived, when she had the beginning of a plan that might work without requiring anyone to accept the impossible.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, and she poured all her genuine gratitude into the words. “Your help means more than I can express. But there is nothing else I need from you at present.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam studied her face for a long moment. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded and stepped back.
“Very well,” he said. “But remember, Anne. Whatever you need. Whatever assistance you require. You have only to ask.”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady. The Colonel executed a small bow, then turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps fading until she stood alone.
Elizabeth remained there for several minutes, leaning against the cool stone wall, letting her borrowed body rest while her mind raced.
Jane was here. Her dearest Jane, who knew her better than anyone else in the world, who would recognise immediately that something was desperately wrong with the woman claiming to be Elizabeth Bennet.
Jane would see through Anne’s imperfect performance.
Would understand without needing impossible explanations.
Would help Elizabeth find a way to reverse this nightmare.
Elizabeth pushed herself away from the wall and began the slow journey down the corridor toward Anne’s chamber. Her borrowed legs trembled with each step, exhaustion pulling at her consciousness. But beneath the weariness, beneath the pain and weakness, hope burned with steady determination.
Jane was here.