Chapter Twenty-Six #3
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, weaving between 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 be Elizabeth’s favourite wine. Reaching out, she accepted the glass with hands that did not hesitate. “Oh, how thoughtful, my love!”
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 her limp 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 crowd parted 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.