This prequel explains everything that set the stage for Mr. Bennet marrying Francis "Fanny" Gardiner, why their marriage is the way it is, and what caused the Miss Bennets to find themselves without dowries and, along with their mother, liable to be turned out from Longbourn upon Mr. Bennet's death. Thus we will delve deeply into key precursor events as viewed through the first person viewpoints (one per chapter) of Miss Gardiner (Mrs. Bennet), Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner, Miss Mary-Ann Gardiner (Mrs. Phillips) and Mr. Phillips. Later Edward Gardiner and Jane Bennet will substitute in for Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.

We will learn about the tragic events which necessitated Fanny's marriage to Mr. Bennet, how Mr. Bennet was entrapped for her by Mr. Gardiner's plotting, and why Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have long been working at cross purposes from one another. You will also learn why the Phillips do not have children, why Edward Gardiner did not become an attorney, why Longbourn is under an entail, get glimpses of the Bennet daughters from infancy, and learn why there was no money for the Bennet daughters to have proper dowries. There are plenty of secrets to discover including how each character is trapped in his/her circumstances.

As those who have read the first 27 chapters know, who is in the right and who is in the wrong is not nearly as easy to distinguish as it seems at first, and seemingly inexcusable conduct isn't the same when viewed from someone else's POV. You will decide for yourself who is really to blame for the Bennets' marital woes, given the full story.

This story is rated M for a rape scene and other fairly explicit and dark content. There will be death, tragedy and an at least partially unhappy ending.

Part One

Miss Gardiner's POV

Chapter One: He Took my Virtue!

I entered the Netherfield library uncertain of what I expected to happen there. The set before last I had danced with Mr. Bragg. He was a skilled dancer, and his voice was pleasant as he told amusing stories a bit at a time as we danced. After we finished out set, he offered to fetch me punch, which pleased me. When he came back with my punch he whispered to me, "Meet me in the library after your next set."

At the time I said nothing, though I pondered his words all during the set I danced with Mr. Wynn, a widower who might be looking to find a new bride. Mr. Wynn was a lenten jawed, crump-backed man with a Friday-face and had nothing interesting to say. Perhaps if I had danced with someone more pleasant, I would not have decided to meet Mr. Bragg.

I barely knew Mr. Bragg, but I knew he was gentleman as his clothes were of fine quality and because he was staying with Mr. Hosmer. I also knew I liked Mr. Bragg's appearance and the way his blue eyes were focused on me when we danced together. He was tall and nearing his fourth decade but still appeared fit without any of the middle-aged thickening that my own father had. I knew his wig concealed wavy light blonde hair as I had seen him on horseback without his wig as he and some of the other gentlemen rode through Meryton.

When we first received our invitations to the Netherfield Ball, a distinction that we shared with all the other landed and respectable merchant families near Meryton, my mother, sister and I were delighted. My mother had advised me that the ball would be an excellent time to attract the interest of one of the single gentlemen staying with Mr. Hosmer for the occasion.

Mr. Hosmer had opened up Netherfield a few weeks earlier and then his guests had begun to arrive. Mr. Hosmer only hosted a ball at Netherfield every few years and I had been too young to attend the last ball he hosted. A half a dozen gentlemen, only one of which was accompanied by a wife, were now staying at Netherfield. Mr. Hosmer's spinster aunt who served as his hostess and his three unmarried sisters were also in residence. Rumor had it that Mr. Hosmer was hoping to match up his sisters with one of his friends. My mother had seen it as a wonderful opportunity, that there was a virtual buffet of single gentlemen.

She told me, "Surely Fanny, you can catch the eye of one of them. Make sure you smile and encourage any who should ask you to dance, but do not be overly forward."

My father, though he was not the one being addressed, had commented, "Mr. Hosmer is surely trying to match those men of consequence to his single sisters. What interest will they have in our daughter?"

My mother answered, "Fanny is quite beautiful and lively; I am sure Mr. Hosmer's sisters are not half so fair. I know that two of them are cribbage-faced from the pox."

My father addressed me then, saying, "While it is true, Fanny, that you are quite lovely, it may not be enough. Even if they do not select one of the Miss Hosmers because they are frosty faces, there are surely many others with better connections than we have in town."

He then looked at my mother and added, "Mrs. Gardiner, it does not do to encourage Fanny so. Men of that caliber want women with large dowries and connections to nobility. I would rather she be matched with perhaps Mr. Harrington; his drapery business does well enough. Then she would remain near us, rather then days away at some gentleman's country estate."

I said nothing, though I had no wish to be matched with that ginger-pated, spider-shanked, jingle brains. My parents had many of these types of conversations and nothing ever came of them.

My parents continued to debate back and forth, while I considered what I knew about the men staying at Netherfield. Besides Mr. Hosmer who spent a portion of every year at Netherfield with the rest of his family, it was precious little. Mr. Hosmer was perhaps the best prize as we knew what he had and it would keep me close to my parents (at least part of the year) as my father desired, but he had rather a thick belly, was hopper-arsed and I knew his hair was thinning, though he usually wore a wig.

Of the men visiting him, I knew barely anything, save for they did not wear their wigs when riding the estate's horses. Most of them were rather ordinary looking, all with dark hair but for the one. It was only when I was at the ball that I was formally introduced to Mr. Bragg. I did not even know his first name.

I knew mother would not approve me going to the library to meet Mr. Bragg, but I found him quite handsome and there was something about the way he held my hand during the dance that made me think he was not indifferent to me. I anticipated that perhaps he wanted to kiss me.

I had been kissed once before, the previous year by a handsome soldier, Ensign Green in Colonel Millar's regiment. That kiss had not felt how I expected it to, and it was bittersweet to have kissed him at all as I knew the regiment was leaving on the following morning.

I was not the only young lady who kissed a soldier in the days before they departed. Many of us kissed them. You would have thought they were leaving for war rather than just being stationed elsewhere. Miss King, who was chicken-breasted, told me afterwards that she let Lieutenant Webb touch her bubbies and touched his thingamabobs through his breeches, but it had not been enough to prompt him to propose before he left and she had no word of him since.

When I reached the library Mr. Bragg was waiting just inside the open door. He quickly ushered me inside and I saw him lock the library door with a key that remained in the latch. I thought it a bit odd that the key was on the inside of the door instead of the outside, but I had very little time to consider what it meant before his lips were on me.

I let him kiss me, tasting what could only be some kind of strong spirits upon his tongue. The flavor was unlike anything I had tasted before and I suppose that and the fact that he was kissing me deeply and using his tongue (I rather liked it more than the kiss I had from Ensign Green), distracted me from the fact that he was raising my skirts.

It was only when his ungloved fingers were against my thigh that I realized what he was doing. I tried to pull back, but he was much stronger than me and his other arm still grasped me tight around my waist even as his mouth was pressed against mine. While I did manage to back up a bit, he came with me and I felt my back and head through my wig press up against a bookcase. It was dark, but there was enough of a glow from the fireplace that I could see the fabric of my skirts hitched over his middle.

I did not know what to do. I was trapped between the bookcase and his body, no one knew where I was, and I certainly was not supposed to be alone in the library with anyone. It came to me that my mother would be very angry at me if she knew what was occurring.

I managed to free my mouth from his for a moment and said, "I need to get back, my mother will be looking for me."

He stared at me coldly and said, "Shut your bone box, you cockish wench. It is too late for you to worry about that now." His mouth was then on mine hard, effectively blocking me from saying anything further, with his tongue (which before had seemed to be caressing mine) now almost choking me.

Then I felt his other hand, which had been around the back of my waist, move down past my panniers and further down my backside to grip my bottom, tilting me a bit, and then felt something against my most private of places. It must have been that thing that all male creatures have. It pressed into me, like a key in a lock. It felt strange and then hurt me. When I felt him beginning to pull it out, I felt a slight measure of relief, but only for an instant as then he was pressing it back into me deeper than before in a sort of rocking motion.

It came to me then that he was taking my virtue, the thing I was supposed to most carefully guard. I felt the fool but also a measure of hope.

Surely a gentleman would not do such a thing unless he intended to marry me? Even as I tried to tell myself that I must have caught his eye, just as mother hoped, I knew that was not what this was. I doubted he even remembered my name.

At least it was over quickly. As he pulled himself free, I got only a glimpse of his sword before he closed his fall. I felt an aching inside and something both wet and sticky running down my legs. Without much thought, I tried to smooth my skirts down as they were caught up over my panniers. They were quite wrinkled, but the wrinkles were not too different from the ones I got from sitting.

He said not a word as he took me by the hand, led me to the door, unlocked it, looked quickly in each direction and then gave me a rough push out into the hall. Suddenly, I was on the other side of the door, hearing the key lock from the inside.

I was quite flummoxed about what had happened and wished I had never come to the library. Trembling slightly, I made my way back to the ballroom. I tried my best to make my face bland. Smiling would have been better but I could not manage it.

I saw my sister Mary-Ann still dancing with Mr. Phillips. He often asked her for the supper set as he fancied her, though as merely my father's clerk, my father had refused as of yet to grant him my sister's hand. Not much time had passed, then.

I had not promised my supper set to anyone, but did have other dances lined up, but that did not seem important now. I made my way to my mother, who was talking with Mrs. Goulding. I do not think I said anything, but she took one look at me and said, "Fanny, you look a bit peaked. Are you well?"

I shook my head "no." I was betwattled and also afraid if I said anything I would tell all right then and there and burst into tears. As Mrs. Goulding was known to be long-tongued, I dared not say anything. I knew I would never marry if any knew I was ruined.

My mother stood up and ushered me into her seat. This small kindness made my eyes tear up. I faintly heard her say, as if from a great distance, "Mrs. Goulding, please stay with her as I look for Mr. Gardiner."

We left the ball early. Mary-Ann was quite annoyed to be leaving without having supper, but when she saw me her complaining quieted. We used the carriage that our wealthiest neighbor lent to convey half the neighborhood to the ball in, with the carriage returning back many times to bring us in groups of six, the most the carriage would hold. I remembered when it was our turn to ride in it to the assembly, the horses were gleaming with sweat and we had the most merry of conversations with the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Long as we anticipated what was to come.

To ride home, we did not have to wait for the carriage above the time it took for it to be drawn near the walkway. No one else had a desire to leave so early.

We rode in the carriage in silence. As I carriage bounced I was aware of how my private place was aching from ill usage. It made all too real what had occurred.

I did not realize it then, but I left the assembly a different person than the one who had ridden in that carriage earlier. She was a carefree girl, who had only had her come out a year and a half earlier. Who I was now, I hardly knew.