Page 54

Evening had fallen at last, soft and cool upon the walls of Longbourn.

Elizabeth, heart heavy with resolution, made her way to Jane’s chamber, feeling every step as though she waded through treacle.

A faint light glowed from beneath the door; within, she could hear the soft whisper of a brush through hair. She knocked lightly.

"Come in!" called Jane's gentle voice.

Elizabeth entered to find her sister seated before the looking-glass, her golden hair falling in waves down her back, her nightclothes lending her an air of ethereal sweetness. Jane turned, her countenance bright, her eyes alight with quiet joy.

"Lizzy," she said, smiling, "you are come to sit with me? How good you are. I was just thinking how very soon, you must help me plan—oh, but I weary you, I am sure, speaking so much of Mr. Bingley."

"Not at all," Elizabeth replied, sinking into the chair by the fire. "Speak of him all you like."

And she meant it. For a little while, she allowed herself to be drawn into Jane’s simple happiness, answering where she must, encouraging with a smile where she could not find the words.

Jane spoke of their hopes for the future, of the arrangement of rooms, of the pleasant country walks she and Bingley would enjoy once settled.

Elizabeth listened, willing her own heart to steady, to gather the strength she needed.

At length, Jane paused, her brow furrowing in tender concern.

"But you are very quiet tonight, Lizzy. I cannot pretend not to notice it. Pray, what is it?" Jane set her brush aside and turned fully to her, her expression soft with sisterly affection. "Something presses upon your mind, dearest. I can see it."

Elizabeth drew in a shallow breath, folding her hands tightly in her lap.

"I—" she began, then faltered. "I scarcely know how to speak of it."

Jane reached across and took her hand gently. "Whatever it is, you may tell me. You know I am entirely yours in confidence and affection."

Elizabeth managed a smile, faint but grateful. "You are too good."

"Nonsense," said Jane warmly. "Now, come, Lizzy. What troubles you? "

Elizabeth stared into the fire for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was low and uncertain.

"Jane… what I must tell you is so strange, so far beyond all common sense, that I can scarcely expect you to believe me. I hardly believe it myself, though I—I live it every day."

Jane squeezed her hand encouragingly. "I will believe whatever you tell me."

Elizabeth gave a small, choked laugh. "You say so now. But I must beg your patience. Let me tell it in my own way, and do not interrupt, for if I am diverted, I fear I shall lose all courage."

Jane nodded solemnly.

"You will think me mad," Elizabeth said at last, the words faltering on her tongue. "Indeed, I would think so myself, were I not living it."

Jane rose from her chair and came to stand beside her, taking her hands in a quiet clasp. "Lizzy, whatever it is, you need not fear. Nothing you could say would make me love you any less."

It was almost too much—the memory of waking to Jane’s voice, to her face so unchanged, so heartbreakingly familiar. The day Elizabeth had opened her eyes and known at once that something was wrong, that she did not belong here. That her world—her marriage, her son—had vanished like mist.

She drew a shaky breath. "When I woke... that day you sat by my bedside..." Her voice broke, and Jane squeezed her hands encouragingly. "Jane, I had memories of a life not yet lived. A life... beyond anything you could imagine."

Jane’s brow furrowed slightly, her serene features drawn in puzzled compassion, but she said nothing.

"I was married, Jane," Elizabeth said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I was Mrs. Darcy."

Jane gasped softly, but true to her word, she did not speak.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy," Elizabeth continued, the name reverent on her tongue. "Pemberley was my home. We were happy—so very happy. We had…" Her voice broke, and she turned away for a moment, blinking fiercely against sudden tears. "We had a son. James."

Jane’s hand tightened on hers .

"And then," Elizabeth said, her voice growing steadier by sheer force of will, "something happened. I know not what. Only that one moment I was there, and the next… I awoke here. Unmarried. All my happiness gone as though it had never been."

Jane’s eyes were wide, her face pale with shock and compassion.

"I remember it all," Elizabeth said, her voice raw. "The years, the places, the people. Him. And I have tried—oh, how I have tried—to accept it, to believe it a dream. But it will not leave me."

She pressed a trembling hand to her heart. "It is here. It is real."

For a long moment, Jane said nothing. She merely looked at her sister, as though trying to fathom this impossible confession.

At last, Jane spoke, her voice trembling. "Lizzy… my dear Lizzy…"

Elizabeth steeled herself. "You think me mad."

"No!" Jane cried, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "No, never. Only… only I do not understand."

Elizabeth let out a long breath, half laughter, half despair. "Neither do I, dearest. Neither do I."

Jane rose and knelt before her, clasping both her hands. "But you are suffering… and I believe that. And I believe you would not say such things lightly."

Elizabeth’s lips quivered. "I feared—oh, Jane, I feared to tell you. You, who see the good and reasonable in all things. How could I ask you to believe such unreason?"

Jane shook her head. "Love believes all things, Lizzy. And I love you."

Elizabeth could no longer hold back her tears. They fell, silent and slow, as Jane embraced her.

For a long time they remained thus, sister pressed to sister, the past and present and future blurring together in shared sorrow and love.

When Elizabeth could speak again, she said, "I have told you now… and I feel… lighter. Somehow."

Jane smiled through her tears. "That is what sisters are for."

Elizabeth gave a watery laugh. “I have not yet told you the worst.”

Jane, ever gentle, turned fully toward her. “Then tell me, Lizzy. Whatever it is, we shall face it together. ”

Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I would not have burdened you with this knowledge, but… I am afraid I used what I remembered to change our lives.”

Jane blinked. “Change them—how?”

“When I awoke last autumn, I remembered that Mr. Darcy had once convinced Mr. Bingley to leave Hertfordshire. I couldn’t bear to watch it happen again. So I went to him and begged him not to interfere a second time. He agreed.”

She swallowed hard. “His sisters still tried, of course, but he offered me a clue—something about the ducks—and it was enough. Mr. Bingley came back. You were engaged. Your heart was spared.”

Jane listened without interruption, her expression open and serene, offering Elizabeth the inestimable comfort of her gentle understanding.

Emboldened, yet trembling still, Elizabeth continued. "It is that interference which now gives me fear," she said softly. "You see, if you and Mr. Bingley are married sooner than you would have been..."

She faltered, watching as Jane, following the course of her thoughts, coloured modestly. Elizabeth herself blushed, momentarily chagrined at her own boldness, though she pressed on.

"A marriage may indeed be sooner blessed, but a child must yet have its nine months’ course. A difference of even a few weeks may alter all. In my other life, Jane, you had a daughter—a goddaughter to me, whom I loved most dearly—and now... now I do not know if she shall ever be."

Jane’s sweet expression only softened further. She rose and, with infinite tenderness, took Elizabeth’s trembling hands in hers.

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane said, her smile trembling through a sudden mist in her eyes, "you have not harmed anything.

If our love is true—and I do believe, with all my heart, that it is—then every blessing meant for us will come in God's good time.

If we are to be parents, it shall be as He ordains, whether sooner or later.

And if there is a dear little girl destined to be ours, she will find her way to us, whenever and however she is meant to come. "

Elizabeth made an effort to speak, to protest, but her voice faltered under the gentle earnestness of her sister’s gaze. Jane, seeing her struggle, only clasped her hand more firmly .

"You have always acted out of love, Lizzy," she said tenderly. "Such efforts cannot displease Heaven. I cannot believe that any sincere wish for the happiness of others could ever lead to lasting sorrow."

Tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes, and she blinked them away with difficulty. "I pray you are right," she whispered.

Jane smiled again—bright, serene, and sure. "I know I am."

Jane pressed Elizabeth’s hand between both of her own and looked at her with such earnest affection that Elizabeth could scarcely bear it.

"But what of your own sorrows, dearest?" Jane said softly.

"To carry such knowledge alone—it must have been a heavy burden indeed.

How much you must have borne in silence.

I cannot think of the long months you carried this secret without my heart aching for you.

I only wish you had felt you could confide in me sooner—but I know it was not from want of love.

You have ever sought to spare those you hold dear from sorrow. "

Elizabeth shook her head, blinking back a fresh rush of tears. "I bore it gladly, for your sake," she said. "And if there was pain, it was only what I deserved, for meddling with what ought to have been left to Providence."

But Jane would not be persuaded. "No, Lizzy," she said firmly. "You acted from love, and love can never be a fault. But I cannot have you thinking only of me. You must allow me to think of you, as well."

Without waiting for further protest, Jane rose and, with quiet efficiency, set about tending to Elizabeth’s comfort—rearranging the pillows, fetching a shawl, stirring the fire to a more cheerful blaze.

She moved with the tender authority of one who had spent many hours in nursing and small cares, and Elizabeth, who had so often borne her own troubles in silence, found herself surrendering to the unfamiliar relief of being looked after.

"Come, dearest," Jane said gently, smoothing the hair back from Elizabeth’s brow with a sister’s fondness. "You are far too tired for more talk tonight. We shall sleep together, as we did when we were girls, and I shall watch over you. All will be well, dearest. You are not alone."