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Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried through the hall, bright and overwhelming—exclaiming over the length of the journey, the state of the roads, and how the guest room had been prepared since Monday.

Kitty peeked from the drawing room with an eager wave. Lydia called down from the upper landing, declaring that someone had misplaced a bonnet ribbon—but it was found again, so all was well.

The younger maids darted between guests and trunks, their arms full of wraps and travel dust, caught in cheerful disarray .

Elizabeth saw it all, but not quite as if she were part of it. The motion seemed to pass around her, a bright blur of welcome and warmth that never quite reached the quiet ache still lodged beneath her ribs.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner entered with their usual air of practical cheer, travel-worn but smiling.

Mr. Gardiner handed off hats and gloves with habitual ease.

Mrs. Gardiner embraced each of the Bennet girls in turn, her eyes lingering on Elizabeth last—not with question, not yet, but with understanding.

Then came the children—two girls and two boys, aged eight, six, four, and two—tumbling in behind them like birds in springtime.

The littlest clung to her mother’s skirts while the eldest launched immediately into a breathless tale involving a lost shoe, a sheep in the lane, and a heroic leap that had not gone as planned.

Lydia, still young enough to delight in their noise, clapped her hands in laughter. “Come now, who wants to play fox-and-geese in the garden? I’ll be the fox!”

The children shrieked and flew after her, their footsteps echoing down the corridor and out toward the lawn, the house suddenly alive with cheerful din.

Mrs. Gardiner laughed, brushing a curl from her temple. “It is good to see them welcomed so warmly. I confess I worried they might be a burden.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet said at once, bustling toward her. “We shall all be here to mind them, and they are no trouble at all—why, Lydia’s the best nursemaid of the lot when she’s in the mood.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on the retreating figures. “They’ll be happy here.”

“And we shall set off in the morning,” Mr. Gardiner added. “A full day of travel lies ahead, but for tonight, rest and good company.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Bennet cried, bustling forward. “But before you leave, you must hear all the details of Jane and Mr. Bingley’s engagement—and what I have planned for the wedding!”

At that, Mr. Bennet gave his brother-in-law a look of long-suffering amusement. “Gardiner, I believe my book room still has two chairs and a door that closes. Shall we?”

Mr. Gardiner chuckled and gladly accepted the escape.

Mrs. Gardiner, however, lingered in the drawing room, her gaze often drifting toward Elizabeth. Something in her niece’s composure seemed too tightly drawn. She had suspected for some time that all was not as it should be—but tonight, the unease sat closer to the surface.

As the evening wore on and the household began to shift toward rest, she crossed the room and laid a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s arm.

“My dear Lizzy,” she said softly, “how very good it is to see you. When the house is quiet, will you come sit with me a while?”

Elizabeth met her gaze and managed a small, grateful nod. “Yes,” she murmured. “I would like that very much.”

It was late when the house finally settled. Lamps had been dimmed, slippers exchanged for hushed steps on creaking floorboards, and the Gardiner children tucked into their beds with kisses and whispered stories.

Elizabeth found her aunt waiting in the small sitting room adjoining the guest chamber, her hands resting calmly in her lap, the fire casting long shadows behind her.

“Come in, dearest,” Mrs. Gardiner said gently. “You look as though your thoughts might burst for want of saying.”

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before settling into the chair opposite. For a time, neither spoke. The fire snapped softly.

Then, quietly, Elizabeth began.

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. Memories of things that will happen. I woke thinking it was the year 1815—that I was married and had a child. I remembered everything that led to that life. That is what I mean when I say I have tested the memories. I remembered what was coming before it occurred, and I have seen it unfold just as I recalled.”

Mrs. Gardiner was quiet, her expression unreadable.

Elizabeth gave a faint, rueful smile. “It is always thus. Whenever I speak of it, the first response is disbelief. But I can prove it to you.”

She paused, then said gently, “You and Uncle have four beautiful children. But it took time before you became pregnant, did it not?”

A shadow flickered in Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes, and she nodded slowly. “Yes. It did.”

“In my memories, after I was married, it was nearly a year before I conceived my son. But early on… I believed, for a time, that I might be with child. I was mistaken. And I was… heartbroken.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s gaze sharpened with understanding .

“You comforted me,” Elizabeth continued, her voice trembling slightly. “You told me that something similar had happened to you. That you were far enough along to know for certain—but not yet quickening, so you had not announced it.”

Mrs. Gardiner blinked, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her hand lifted to her mouth. “No one… I never told anyone. Not even Edward.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I know.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was reverent.

Mrs. Gardiner reached across and took her niece’s hand, her own trembling now. “Every time you’ve spoken,” she said softly, “I heard something in your voice—a grief too quiet to name. But I never guessed…”

Elizabeth whispered, “Fitzwilliam,” and the name lingered in the stillness like a benediction.

Then, with more strength: “I was married to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”

Mrs. Gardiner inhaled softly, but said nothing.

“You know I saw him again at Hunsford,” Elizabeth continued. “Well, my familiarity with him—how easily it slipped into our conversation—forced my hand. I had to confess something of the truth. I told him… something only a wife could know.”

Her voice faltered, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “He seemed confused—bewildered. But he did not dismiss me. He listened.”

She looked up again, eyes shining. “You saw. He came. He followed me.”

Her voice wavered. “And I thought… I thought that meant something. I hoped—”

Her composure broke. She turned away, tears brimming too quickly to blink back.

She drew a trembling breath, each word growing heavier. “He made no promises. Nothing certain. Only… Mr. Bingley said he had word from him—that Fitzwilliam was coming too, only delayed by business. But it has been three weeks. And there has been no word.”

Mrs. Gardiner rose and crossed to her niece, wrapping her in a quiet, steady embrace.

“Oh, my dearest girl,” she whispered, overcome herself. “My brave Lizzy.”

Elizabeth sobbed softly against her shoulder, the pain she had been holding back now spilling over. “What if… what if it was too much? What if he has chosen to walk away? ”

Mrs. Gardiner smoothed her hand gently through Elizabeth’s hair, her own eyes wet. “Then he is not the man you believed him to be. But I do not think that is so. I do not. We will face this together, my love. You are not alone.”

Elizabeth drew back slightly, searching her aunt’s eyes. “But that begs the question—should I go with you? Should I wait here? He knows I was meant to travel with you. That in our travels we would pass near Pemberley. That is what happened last time.”

She hesitated, her voice softening. “I suppose I must tell you the rest—the part I’ve shared with no one. Not even Jane.”

And there, in the hush of the dim firelit room, Elizabeth told her everything. Of the life she had lived once before. Of how it had gone wrong, and then right. Of second chances granted only when she had learned how to take them. Of Pemberley—of the moment that had changed everything.

When she finished, her voice was thick with memory and longing. “So you see… it was with you that I found him before. And now I do not know what to do. Aunt, please—tell me what I ought to do.”

Mrs. Gardiner sat back, her gaze full of quiet wonder and compassion. “You have made good points, Lizzy. But perhaps if, the first time, you found your happiness with us—when all seemed lost—then you may yet find it again. Not by waiting, but by continuing forward.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “I am afraid. What if I go, and he has decided against me? I do not know if I can bear to see my home and know it will never be.”

Mrs. Gardiner brushed a stray curl from her cheek.

“I do not think that will happen. He knows you are to travel with us. Perhaps he is already there—waiting. Or perhaps something has delayed him, something we cannot yet guess. But I believe you should come, even if we do not go directly to Pemberley. You should still come north with us.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not know, Aunt.”

“Then sleep on it,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Mr. Gardiner stood there, half in shadow, arms crossed lightly over his chest. “The best decisions are never made after midnight. Come morning, the road will still be there.”

Elizabeth gave a soft nod, unable to speak.

Mrs. Gardiner squeezed her hand once more. “We will talk again after breakfast.”