Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Lord Matlock’s eyebrows rose slightly at this response, as though he had expected Anne to complain. He exchanged a glance with his wife before settling into a chair.
“We are glad to have you here,” Lady Matlock said. “Though I confess the circumstances are rather unusual. Such a hasty wedding. But I suppose when two people are in love, delay seems unnecessary.”
“Indeed,” Lady Catherine said, her tone making clear that she did not share this interpretation. “My nephew has made his choice, and we are here to demonstrate family unity regardless of personal opinions.”
The statement was flat. Lord Matlock shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Lady Matlock’s expression showed disappointment but not surprise.
“Well,” Lady Matlock said, rallying with determined cheerfulness, “we shall make the best of things. Anne, my dear, I thought perhaps tomorrow, if the weather permits, you might enjoy seeing our garden.”
Elizabeth felt her heart lift a little at the kindly suggestion. “I would like that very much,” Elizabeth said, then caught herself. “If I am feeling strong enough, of course.”
Mrs. Jenkinson, who had remained near the doorway, stepped forward quickly.
“Forgive me, Lady Matlock,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, “but Miss de Bourgh’s constitution is quite delicate.
Extended time outdoors often overtaxes her strength.
Perhaps it would be wiser to avoid activities that might compromise her health. ”
The words were delivered with perfect deference, but their effect was to remind everyone of Anne’s supposed fragility. Elizabeth felt the familiar cage closing around her.
Lady Matlock’s expression shifted, her gaze moving from Mrs. Jenkinson to Elizabeth with new attention. When she spoke, her voice carried gentle firmness.
“I believe Anne knows her own strength best, Mrs. Jenkinson,” Lady Matlock said, her smile remaining warm but her eyes showing steel.
“If she feels well enough to walk in the garden, then we shall walk. And if she tires, we shall return immediately. I am quite capable of monitoring my niece’s wellbeing during a simple stroll. ”
The statement hung in the air with quiet authority. Elizabeth watched Mrs. Jenkinson’s face cycle through emotions before the companion inclined her head with stiff acknowledgement.
“Of course, my lady,” she said, her tone suggesting she thought no such thing. “I merely wished to ensure Miss Anne’s comfort.”
“Which is admirable,” Lady Matlock replied. “But I assure you, we will take every care. Now, you must be tired from the journey as well. Perhaps you would like to see your room and rest before dinner?”
It was a dismissal delivered with such courtesy that refusing would have been openly rude. Mrs. Jenkinson recognised this, her jaw tightening before she executed a curtsy.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said. “If Miss Anne requires anything, she need only send for me.”
She left with measured steps, but Elizabeth caught the backward glance she cast before the door closed. That look contained warning and promise both.
After the door closed, Lady Matlock turned back to Elizabeth with an expression that mixed sympathy with understanding.
“Mrs. Jenkinson seems very devoted to your care, Anne. But I hope you will feel free to express your own wishes while you are our guest. You are not a child to be constantly supervised.”
The words struck Elizabeth with unexpected force. Lady Matlock saw Anne as a person rather than merely an invalid. Treated her as someone capable of making decisions. The contrast with Rosings was so stark that Elizabeth felt tears gather.
“Thank you, Aunt,” she managed, her voice emerging rough with emotion. “That is very kind of you.”
Lady Matlock’s expression softened further, and she reached across to pat Elizabeth’s hand. “Nonsense. It is simply treating you as you deserve. Now, shall I have tea brought? You must be parched after your journey.”
As Lady Matlock rang for refreshments, Elizabeth allowed herself a moment of cautious hope. Here, at Matlock House, she might find actual allies. Lady Matlock’s kindness felt genuine, her treatment of Anne suggesting she saw past the invalid status.
If only that person truly were Anne de Bourgh.
The parlour on Matlock House’s second floor caught the afternoon sun through windows that faced south. Elizabeth sat on a cushioned chair near one of those windows, a teacup balanced on her knee, while Lady Matlock occupied the seat opposite. The room smelled of lavender and fresh tea.
They had been sitting here for perhaps twenty minutes, engaged in conversation that felt remarkably normal. Lady Matlock had asked about her niece’s health with genuine concern, and had then moved on to other topics with ease.
“I confess I have always found London rather overwhelming during the Season,” Lady Matlock was saying. “The constant round of calls and entertainments becomes exhausting.”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “I have spent little time in London. Mama prefers the country.”
“Yes, Catherine has always been devoted to her estate,” Lady Matlock said, and something in her tone suggested she found her sister’s devotion excessive. “But I think a change of scene can be beneficial. You must tell me, Anne, are you enjoying your stay so far?”
The question carried genuine curiosity. Elizabeth chose her words with care. “The house is lovely,” Elizabeth offered. “More comfortable than I anticipated. And the garden looks charming.”
Lady Matlock’s face brightened. “You must allow me to show it to you this afternoon if you feel well enough. We have several varieties of roses that I am quite proud of. Nothing compared to Rosings’ grandeur, of course, but I find there is something to be said for a more intimate space.”
“I would like that very much, Aunt. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks,” Lady Matlock replied. “I am simply glad to have you here, Anne. I confess I have always wished we might know each other better.”
The statement hung between them. Elizabeth sensed that Lady Matlock was offering something genuine.
“That would please me greatly,” Elizabeth said, meaning it despite the layers of deception.
Lady Matlock’s expression softened. “You are not what I expected, Anne. The few times we have met previously, you seemed so reserved, so withdrawn. But today you appear more present somehow. More engaged.”
The observation sent alarm shooting through Elizabeth. Had she been too free in her responses? She forced herself to maintain a calm expression.
“Perhaps the change of scene has done me good,” Elizabeth managed. “Or perhaps I simply feel more comfortable with you.”
Lady Matlock smiled with visible pleasure. “I am glad to hear it. And I hope you will continue to feel comfortable enough to speak freely. You need not be so reserved with me, my dear.”
A knock at the door interrupted. Lord Matlock entered, his expression suggesting that he bore news, and indeed so it proved.
“Forgive the interruption, my dear,” Lord Matlock said. “But I thought you should know that I have secured the arrangements for Darcy’s wedding. St George’s, Hanover Square has been booked for Friday afternoon at three o’clock. The special licence has been obtained, and all is in order.”
The teacup rattled against its saucer with a sharp, discordant sound.
Elizabeth’s hands shook with a violence she could not control, the delicate china threatening to slip entirely.
Friday. The word echoed in her mind with the finality of a judge pronouncing sentence.
Friday was just three days away. Only three days to obtain the ingredients, prepare the reversal potion, force Anne to drink it.
Three days. It was impossible. Completely impossible.
“Anne?” Lady Matlock’s concerned voice penetrated the roaring in Elizabeth’s ears. “My dear, are you quite well? You have gone very pale.”
Elizabeth forced herself to set down the teacup before she dropped it. She looked up to find both Matlocks watching her with concern.
“I am well,” Elizabeth managed, though her voice emerged thin and unconvincing. “I simply... Friday seems very soon.”
Lady Matlock’s expression transformed, concern giving way to what looked remarkably like sympathy. She settled back and reached across to pat Elizabeth’s hand.
“Of course it seems soon, dear child,” Lady Matlock said. “You are thinking of your cousin, of the expectations everyone had about your future. And now you must watch him marry another woman. It must be very difficult.”
The compassion in Lady Matlock’s voice struck Elizabeth like a physical blow. She was so kind, so genuinely concerned for what she believed was Anne’s heartbreak.
“Such a short engagement,” Lady Matlock continued. “But I suppose when two people are in love, delay seems unnecessary. Still, it leaves very little time for proper preparations.”
Lord Matlock cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, well. I simply wanted to inform you of the arrangements. Darcy will be calling tomorrow morning to discuss some final details, and I believe he mentioned wanting to see Anne as well.”
Elizabeth’s throat closed around words she could not speak. Darcy would be here tomorrow. Would see her wearing Anne’s face and body. The wrongness of it made her stomach turn.
“How thoughtful,” Elizabeth forced herself to say. “I look forward to seeing my cousin.”
Lord Matlock nodded with visible relief, clearly pleased to escape. “Excellent. I will leave you ladies to your tea, then.”
He left swiftly, the door closing with a soft click.
Lady Matlock watched Elizabeth with continued concern. “You really do look unwell, Anne. Perhaps you should rest.”
“I am well enough,” Elizabeth protested feebly.
A soft knock interrupted. The door opened to reveal Mrs. Jenkinson, her timing so precise that Elizabeth suspected she had been hovering in the corridor. The companion’s expression carried that familiar mixture of concern and determination.
“Forgive me, Lady Matlock,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, “but Miss Anne requires her afternoon rest. She becomes overtaxed quite easily, and I fear this extended conversation may have been too stimulating.”
Elizabeth wanted to protest, but Anne’s borrowed body betrayed her, trembling with exhaustion.
Lady Matlock looked between Elizabeth and Mrs. Jenkinson with an expression that suggested she recognised the power dynamic at play. But she also saw Elizabeth’s obvious exhaustion.
“Of course,” Lady Matlock said, rising. “Anne, dear, you must rest. We will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow, and perhaps see the garden.”
Elizabeth pushed herself upright with effort, accepting Mrs. Jenkinson’s offered arm with reluctance. “Thank you, Aunt. For the tea, and for your kindness.”
“No thanks needed,” Lady Matlock replied, warmth evident despite her concern. “You are family, Anne. Rest well.”
Mrs. Jenkinson guided Elizabeth from the parlour, her hand on Elizabeth’s elbow directing their movement. They walked in silence until they reached the privacy of Anne’s assigned room.
“You must be more careful,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, her voice low but weighted.
“Lady Matlock is observant. Too observant. She has already commented that you seem different, more animated than she remembers. You must remember to be more reserved, more withdrawn. The Anne de Bourgh she knows would never speak so freely.”
Elizabeth sank onto the edge of the bed. “I will be more careful,” Elizabeth managed, though the words felt like surrender.
Three days. She had three days to save herself, and Mrs. Jenkinson’s watchfulness had just become even more suffocating.
Three days until Friday, when Anne would marry Darcy. Three days until Elizabeth would be trapped forever in this failing body, dying slowly while her own life was stolen completely.
Three days to accomplish the impossible, or lose everything.