"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."
