I have never read a story like this one, though other story's will have influenced. I hope you like it. Feed back would be great. I have an outline for this story. It will be a short story, D&E will be in it and have their HEA but for the first few chapters it will be Mrs. Gardiner's life story, if you like Dr. Who you will see shout outs to it in this story as well. This is a sci-fi fic with P&P. I hope you like it. The prolog is actually events that will take place about 1/2 thru the story. With that said I give you the prolog and chapter 1

Prolog

In just a month, my life will come to an end. The manner of my death remains uncertain, leaving me with a curious mix of anticipation and trepidation. Despite feeling perfectly well, the details about my existence are scant, given that being the wife of a country solicitor doesn't warrant much historical documentation. Only the fact that my great-great, or perhaps four-great-grandchild ascends to royalty, and that my granddaughter's love story is deemed the greatest ever told, ensures my presence in the records of death.

My life seems like a tale of two distinct chapters, and strangely, I bear no regrets about possessing knowledge of the future. I've attempted to shield myself from its influence, aware that the wibbly-wobbly time-y wimey nature of things allows for both predestined events and unexpected alterations. While some facets are fixed, I sense that others may have changed, though recalling such shifts remains elusive, manifesting only as an unsettling feeling.

Upon my arrival in Meryton, I endeavored to maintain a low profile, uncertain of how I even reached this place. Fortunately, my training as a midwife, coupled with the supplies in my bag, allowed me to find purpose in this society. Despite the need to conceal certain instruments to prevent misuse, it was these very tools that enabled me to save a mother and child within hours of my arrival. Grateful, the local family was that they extended food, shelter, and clothing, inadvertently integrating me into their lives.

Initially unaware that Mrs. Gardiner shared my first name, it took time for me to accept that I had fallen in love with Edward Gardiner. Becoming a stepmother to France and Rebecca posed challenges, and the unexpected joy of conceiving Edward Jr contradicted modern medical predictions. My father's identity as a golden child and a connection to the Bennet and Darcy families added complexity to my journey.

Reflecting on my past, I emerged from a peculiar upbringing. My father's lineage linked us distantly to the royal families of England and Denmark. Despite such ties, my parents' union defied societal expectations, uniting a man accustomed to privilege with a woman born into poverty. Raised amidst contrasts, I inherited a love for herbal medicine and midwifery from my maternal grandmother, while embracing the technological advancements of my father's side.

My journey to this time and place remains a mystery, transitioning from a modern life of technology to Meryton in 1765. Fifty years old, I find myself torn between two centuries, with a son graduating from Oxford and a future that diverges from legal pursuits. Influencing my husband's decision, I am content with the paths my children traverse, though Fanny's journey remains fraught with challenges.

As I ponder my past and future, the urgency of organizing my notes looms large. With only a month left, my impending demise takes a backseat to the unexpected arrival of a grand carriage with the unmistakable crest of the Darcy family. Why the Darcys seek me out is a mystery that adds another layer of complexity to my already enigmatic existence.

Chapter 1

I woke up disoriented, lying in a field that seemed to belong to a time long before mine. The rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of a quaint village surrounded me. Confusion clouded my mind as I tried to make sense of where I was.

A young boy with tousled hair and curious eyes appeared, sent away from his house. His name was Thomas. As I struggled to sit up, I noticed his gaze fixed on my unfamiliar clothing, a stark contrast to the attire of his time.

"Who are you? What's that strange clothing you're wearin'?" he asked, tilting his head in innocent curiosity.

I managed a weak smile, introducing myself as Rachel. As I scanned the unfamiliar landscape, I shared with him the bizarre tale of my sudden arrival from the 21st century. The urgency of my recent task to assist a woman in labor clashed with the pastoral scene before me.

"You don't look like you're from around here. What happened to you?" Thomas inquired, his young mind struggling to comprehend the odd circumstances.

I rubbed my temples, trying to piece together the puzzle. "Honestly, I'm not sure. One minute, I was rushing to help a lady have a baby in my time. The next, I'm here. Where is 'here,' exactly?"

With a gesture towards the surroundings, Thomas informed me that this was Longbourn land, close to a town named Meryton. That name struck a chord, a memory from my indulgence in the past. "What year is it?" I inquired of the boy.

"1765's, miss," Thomas replied. Too early, I whispered. I inquired why he was out in the fields, and he explained that his Papa sent him out to play because his mother was not feeling well. His father had sent a servant for the Midwife, as she was to have a sibling, but the local midwife was too sick to come. The servant had to go over to Albany, and although he was not supposed to know, his father was worried. Though his mother had given birth twice before, never without the assistance of a midwife, it might be too late for the servant to return with one.

I offered my services, saying I was a midwife in my hometown. Thomas, excited by my revelation, led me to his house.

As Thomas and I approached the modest Estate, about the size of the home I grew up in but it looked so old, like a house out of a book, the cries of a woman in labor echoed through the stillness, amplifying the urgency of the situation. We hurriedly entered the dwelling. Thomas' father looked distraught, but upon seeing his son, was about to scold him when Thomas spoke, "Papa, this lady claims to be a midwife; she can help mother."

Thomas's father looked at me skeptically, but then the cries of his wife quickly transformed his face into the fear that he was trying to hide. With as much grace as I could muster, I tried to reassure Thomas's father that I could help. Another scream from his wife that traveled through the walls, and the knowledge that a midwife he might trust more was too far away, led him to his decision.

Mr. Bennet pulled a cord, and a very young maid, perhaps 16, appeared, and I was ushered upstairs. Upon entering the bed chamber, I found a woman lying upon the bed, a mix of pain and desperation on her face.

"This does not feel the same," she moaned in pain.

"It's going to be alright. I'm here to help," I reassured her, attempting to project calmness despite my own disorientation.

The woman's pleas for relief were heartbreaking, and I did my best to offer comfort in a time when my modern knowledge clashed with the limitations of this bygone era.

"Ma'am, my name is Rachel. I'm not from this time, but I have experience helping with births. We'll manage, alright?" I said, attempting to soothe her anxiety.

With a nod from the woman, I began to assess the situation. The room, dimly lit by flickering candles, revealed the simplicity of 18th-century life. Her face contorted with pain as another contraction hit, and I quickly set up my supplies at the foot of her bed, relieved that I had my medical bag with me.

As I arranged my supplies, the woman clutched the maid's hand, fortunately, an older woman as the maid that showed me to the room had quickly left. Mrs. Bennet sought reassurance. "Please, help me. I can't bear it much longer."

I took a deep breath, drawing on my knowledge of midwifery and the comforting techniques I had learned in my own time.

The situation was more dire than I expected. I had never personally assisted with the type of birth Mrs. Bennet was in—her baby was breeched. I had read of techniques on how to turn a breeched child, but it was a dangerous and painful process. In the 21st century, I would have been driving her to a hospital for a c-section, but that was not an option here. I needed to act swiftly and decisively.

"Mrs. Bennet, I need you to trust me," I said, my voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "This might seem strange, but it's our only hope for the baby to turn. Can you tell me your name? I want to make sure you're as comfortable as possible."

Mrs. Bennet, still in pain but with a determined nod, whispered her name, Elizabeth. With that, I explained the procedure, and she bravely followed my directions, and I used an instrument that I know had not been invented in the 1700s, happy that I had it. Success! The baby had turned, and relief washed over the room. However, even with the success of turning the child, the labor persisted for another six hours.

Exhausted but filled with a sense of accomplishment, we finally welcomed Bennet's new daughter into the world. The cries of the newborn filled the room, creating a symphony of life amid the flickering candlelight. Exhausted, I sent for Mr. Bennet to meet his new daughter and for him to see that his wife was well.

Mrs. Bennet told her husband if it was not for me, she knew she would have died. Gratitude for what I had done had caused them to inquire if I had a home to go to. When it came out that I had no place to go, I was invited to use the guest room for now, and a change of clothes and a maid would assist me.

As I lay in bed, I reflected on how I came to this strange situation. Was I in a coma? Was this some strange dream? I knew the history of the Bennet's; after all, they were my favorite. I had loved this time period, but to be trapped here. Also, did I change history? I recalled reading that Thomas's mother died in childbirth with his sister. He also had an older brother. Where is his older brother? I did not inquire. With startling thought I jerked up from bed. Oh God, what did I do? Could my saving Mrs. Bennet change the future? Will I be here long enough to hope it does not? Thomas, that adorable little boy, grows up to be the father to Elizabeth. I now understand Mr. Darcy's comment about the eye's, knowing Elizabeth has her father's eyes, the intelligence even at such a young age, with fine long lashes and a sparkle. Exhausted, I could not think any longer. I laid back down and thought, tomorrow I will look at my book again and see if I changed the future. That is if there is a tomorrow. Will I start to fade like Marty McFly? Only fate will know.