A/N: WARNING!
There is a depiction of a mother realizing her son is dead, resulting in a rash act of violence against another child, though nothing graphic in the description of it. If this is too upsetting to you to read, please feel free to skip the entry for 27 July 1798. Please take care of yourselves!

Chapter 1: Unus

15 April, 1789
Longbourn

"Alright, Fanny, easy now," Roberta fussed worthlessly, her hands fluttering by Fanny's head even as the midwife wrapped the new babe.

Ignoring her sister's effusions, Fanny tried to sit up, asking sharply, "Is it a boy? Are we saved from that wretched Mr. Collins?"

For a few moments, no one but the wailing babe made a sound. Fanny was opening her mouth, ready to demand an answer, when the midwife deposited the child in her arms. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the babe for the first time.

"Issa daughter," the midwife's heavily accented voice drifted over her shoulder.

Thoroughly enchanted by the beautiful child, blue eyes and blonde hair and ivory silk skin, Fanny cried, "Oh, but look at her! Such a daughter, such beauty! She cannot be so beautiful for nothing, I tell you."

Roberta stopped fluttering her hands, pressing them against her own slightly rounded stomach. "Oh, what a fearsome experience. How I dread the day it befalls me!"

Not looking up at her sister, Fanny said a little too sharply, "Roberta, don't be such a priss. Besides, you can hardly do anything about it now, and Mr. Phillips would be terribly disappointed."

Not that Fanny understood why anyone would ever want to carry a babe for Mr. Phillips, but Roberta did get so upset with her when she said such things.

Sighing dramatically, Roberta perched near Fanny on the bed, finally looking at the precious little girl as she handed the child to the wet nurse. "Oh, you're right, Fanny. And look at her, she is beautiful."

10 May, 1791
Longbourn

The birth the second time was supposed to be easier, Fanny recalled bitterly as she lay panting through the aftermath. Of course, it would have been easier if Roberta had attended, but ever since Roberta had lost her own child, she had been too self-absorbed (in Fanny's opinion) to help her sister through such a time of need like that of birth.

In all honesty, Fanny didn't understand why Roberta was so distraught. If Fanny had been married to a man as ugly and low in social standing (only a solicitor!) as Mr. Phillips, she would have been only too happy to have been declared unable to give him a child, and therefore excused from the bedchamber for the remainder of what Fanny could only imagine a miserable marriage.

As a woman of mean understanding and selfish, arrogant concern, Frances Bennet could not imagine what enjoyment could be in a marriage that wasn't a result of superior social standing in their community and an attractive, or at the very least a wealthy husband.

Too exhausted to lift her arms, Fanny simply lay back against the bed and tried to catch her breath, putting thoughts of her sister out of her mind. "Well?" She huffed, "Is it a boy?"

"No," the midwife declared, turning to show her the child, offering the babe to Mrs. Bennet. "A daughter. Very strong, this one. Look at those eyes, intelligent too."

"Intelligent?!" Fanny moaned, looking with distaste at the shock of dark and unruly hair peeking out from the blanket. This child was supposed to be a son, to be Fanny's next win against that wretched Maria Lucas, now Lady Lucas after her fool of a husband managed to become knighted for some small task in the army. "To the devil with intelligence, if she could not have been a son, she should have been beautiful like my dear Jane!"

The midwife's mouth thinned a little, but she remained silent. Less than a year after she had delivered dear Jane the last midwife, old Mrs. Colpepper, had passed away. Since then, the widowed cousin of Mrs. Long, Mrs. Galloway, had replaced the woman in Meryton's sphere. Mrs. Galloway was better spoken and younger than Mrs. Colpepper had been, but Fanny had made no secret of the fact that she disliked how opinionated the woman was.

For her own part, Mrs. Galloway did not care for Mrs. Bennet either. Mrs. Galloway had been raised by a gentleman in Brighton and taught by a governess who'd managed to impart the depth and grave importance of a genteel woman's behavior and propriety from a young age. Mrs. Galloway was also an intelligent woman who valued education and found all of these things lacking in Mrs. Bennet, and in particular, was displeased by the way Mrs. Bennet behaved to those she deemed even slightly 'below' her.

Both women, despite their mutual dislike, remained unaware of the other's internal occupation of critical scrutiny. Mrs. Galloway once again tried to offer the child to Mrs. Bennet.

"No," Fanny refused sharply, "I am too exhausted to care for her right now. Take her directly to the wet nurse."

Mrs. Galloway turned and obeyed, staying silent as she left the room. Mrs. Bennet's flat refusal to take the child did not surprise her in the least. The little girl in her arms cried, and Mrs. Galloway held the babe closer as she started walking towards the nursery where the wet nurse was waiting.

Very quietly, Mrs. Galloway told the small bundle in her arms, "Pay her no mind, little one. She is jealous of what she cannot possess or control. You are destined for greater things than this, I know it. A force to be reckoned with, I'll wager."

With the child's cries quieted behind the door, Fanny's countenance darkened further. "A daughter," she moaned to herself, dreading that there was not yet an heir for Thomas. "Oh, if only she had been a son, or at least she could have been beautiful, and she and Jane together could save us from that wretched Mr. Collins."

09 September, 1792
Longbourn

It seemed the third time was the charm. This third child had been quiet and easy from the quickening through the uneventful birth, which Fanny was grateful for. She had far too much to do, too many places to visit, and people to gossip with to be bothered with such unimportant things as a troublesome pregnancy. In Fanny's opinion, a child existed only to please their parents, and thus far only Jane had truly managed to perform a modicum of that.

"Surely such a pleasant child should be a son," Fanny cried aloud now that the afterbirth was done, "to be so considerate of his mother."

As Mrs. Galloway was still bathing the child, she did not answer immediately and thus prompted a surge of irritation at the midwife from Mrs. Bennet. Ever since Elizabeth's birth, the two women had grown to dislike one another even more.

Fanny was equally baffled and infuriated to know that the 'mere midwife' could passably carry on a conversation about philosophy with her agoraphobic husband, and beyond that, the woman was actually fond of Fanny's second and most troublesome daughter.

Even though she was not aware of the full depth of the way Mrs. Bennet viewed and treated her daughters, Mrs. Galloway did not like how Mrs. Bennet constantly pitted Jane against Elizabeth, praising Jane for 'achieving such beauty' and berating Elizabeth for the unforgivable act of not being Jane or having been born a son.

Narrowing her eyes at Mrs. Galloway's back, which was still turned to Fanny as she tended to the babe, Fanny asked louder, "I have a son this time, have I not?"

"No, Mrs. Bennet," Mrs. Galloway said calmly, turning around to hand the child to her mother. "A daughter. She's quiet but her heart is strong and her eyes are sharp."

"Another daughter!" Fanny screeched, despairing when she looked upon the child's face for the first time. "Oh, we are doomed to the hedgerows forever, now. Look at that face! She is even plainer than Elizabeth. Oh, what is to become of us now, with such plain daughters. Thank the Lord for Jane, her beauty must be what is destined to save us."

Mrs. Galloway did not respond to any of this, simply offering the child to Fanny once again. Shaking her head, Fanny refused. "No, to the wet nurse with her. I am distraught, I cannot attend to her right now."

Like the last time, Mrs. Galloway turned and left without comment, leaving Fanny alone in her misery. Three daughters, and only one of them beautiful.

Like the last time, Mrs. Galloway waited until she was down the hall from Mrs. Bennet's room to hold the child close for a moment and say, very softly, "Do not let her trouble you, angel. Your beauty is in your eyes, and none will be able to look into them and not see you for how beautiful you truly are."

31 July, 1793
Longbourn

"Oh, what a dreadful experience," Fanny moaned, her limbs still shaking with the effort it had taken to expel this fourth babe from her body. "At least Mary's birth was simple as a reflection of such a girl."

Mrs. Galloway, now Mrs. Byrne, did not respond. Not that Fanny had wanted her to. She was certain whatever the woman was thinking would not be welcomed to say aloud, and was comforted in her self-assurance that should Mrs. Byrne, formerly Mrs. Galloway voice an unpleasant opinion, Fanny would make sure to put the horrid woman in her place.

After Mary's birth, Mrs. Galloway had attracted the eye of Mr. Phillips' business partner whose wife had passed from sickness two years previously. While it was perfectly acceptable for a widow of four years and a widower of two years to marry, Fanny was no fan of the match.

Due to her new proximity to Longbourn and her expertise with children, Mrs. Byrne often had been tasked by Mr. Bennet with looking after the older girls while the wet nurse was with Mary. The only reason Fanny hadn't put a stop to it was because the wench had somehow managed to ingratiate Jane and Elizabeth with that bitter old hag up at Netherfield, the dowager Lady Pembroke.

Phoebe Archer, Lady of Pembroke was a cold fish, but she had two sons, one in his twenties with the title and the other a few days older than Jane who lived with the Lady at Netherfield. Both were wealthy, and both were unmarried. In Fanny's eyes, nothing could have been more of a prospect for her girls.

The Bennet daughters, even Mary on occasion, spent an inordinate amount of time with the Lady at her own request. Too busy with her social schedule and gossipy friends, Fanny never felt inclined to make the trip to Netherfield and bear the boredom of Lady Pembroke's lectures on deportment. Still, Fanny was hoping that her coaching with Jane would come through, and she could snag herself that prize of little Noah Archer before either of them left Meryton. Mistress of Netherfield, oh how well that sounded!

Still waiting in silence for the announcement of the child's sex, Fanny finally snapped, "Out with it, is it the son I want or another dratted daughter?"

Mrs. Byrne finally turned, holding out the child. "A daughter, Mrs. Bennet."

A loud cry of despair was poised on the tip of Fanny's tongue as she looked at the child, dreading seeing a babe plainer than plain Mary, but she was silenced as she took the child in. Relief swept through her as she studied the babe. This new daughter's coloring was similar both to Jane and Fanny's own, if a few shades darker.

"Oh, such beauty!" Fanny cried out with joy, startling the new babe. "What a good daughter, to achieve such beauty. What a blessing for a fourth child."

The beginnings of a reformation to the long-term plan where Jane married Noah Archer began to form in Fanny's head. This child would need to be put before Mary or Elizabeth's future. After all, what man would want them when he could have a beauty like this child would surely become? Fanny resolved to make sure to send her along with her sisters as soon as she was able on their visits to Lady Pembroke.

It would not hurt Jane and this child's chances to put them in the path of rich men from an early age onward!

Mrs. Byrne, only too aware of the direction Mrs. Bennet's thoughts had taken due to the woman's less than subtle mutterings, kept silent. Once again, she tried to give the child over to her mother's arms.

"No, no," Fanny snapped at Mrs. Byrne. "This birth was almost as terrible as Elizabeth's. I must rest. Take my lovely little girl to the wet nurse."

Still staying silent, Mrs. Byrne did as instructed. As both times before, she waited until she was outside of the nursery to address the slightly fussy child. "Don't be intimidated by her demands, sweetling. There is a hidden strength, a kindness in you. You will not be pitted against your sisters, nor let them be pitted against you."

01 August, 1796
Longbourn

To Fanny's great relief, not even the three years between Kitty's birth and this fifth child's birth had meant a difficult labor. In fact, this had been her easiest one yet, which she was exceptionally grateful for. She feared another birth like Elizabeth's, certain that such a birth would mean a similar child.

Lounging back against the cushions, Fanny adjusted the blankets over her lap and asked Mrs. Byrne, "Well, what is this one? Surely I have suffered enough with four daughters that I should have earned a son by now. A proper heir for Thomas."

Mrs. Byrne turned and Fanny gasped with delight at the curl of palest gold, nearly silver in coloring, that poked out from the blanket the babe was wrapped in. "Oh, what fair hair he has! What a handsome-"

Fanny's voice was halted when Mrs. Byrne firmly interrupted her, "What a strong and beautiful daughter you have, Mrs. Bennet."

For a moment, disappointment threatened to overcome her, even as she accepted this fifth daughter into her arms. But then she looked closer at the babe, and put the disappointment aside. Fanny was certain there was no hope for Elizabeth or Mary to become beautiful like Jane, and Kitty was pretty, but even she was not as beautiful. This little girl though…

"Oh, how beautiful you will be," Fanny crooned, ignoring that wretched Mrs. Byrne. "You will rival Jane for beauty, my dearest, and after she marries little Noah Archer I shall have her put you in the path of more rich men than you could ever dream!"

Staring up at her mother, the babe quieted like she was considering Fanny's words. For a moment, she merely blinked her wide, powder blue eyes up at Fanny, and then she opened her mouth and wailed. Fanny grit her teeth against the screeching sound, resisting the urge to hold the babe as far away from her body as she could. Lord in Heaven, not even Elizabeth had wailed this loud!

"Oh, heavens!" Fanny finally cried when rocking her did nothing to soothe the child. She would not even close her mouth long enough to nurse. "Oh, take her, take her!" Fanny called shrilly, foisting her at Mrs. Byrne, her hands fluttering over herself. "Give her to the wet nurse, she must be hungry to cry so."

Mrs. Byrne did not answer her, but she took the child without comment or protest, and she did...something that immediately quieted the child. That wretched woman delighted in embarrassing her, Fanny thought bitterly. Still, Fanny comforted herself with the assurance that Mrs. Byrne and that dour Lady Pembroke would receive none of her affection or blessings after she managed to attach Jane to the little Master Archer.

Moreover, that dreadful Mrs. Byrne must have done something to the child that Fanny could not see to make her cry so in her mother's arms. Fanny did not even entertain the idea that any child would prefer such a wretched woman over her own mother. Huffing in frustration, Fanny laid down on the bed. "Take her away, I'm tired."

In her usual silence, Mrs. Byrne complied. As with the three sisters she had helped deliver before this daughter, Mrs. Byrne waited until distance had been gained between herself and Mrs. Bennet. Pausing outside of the nursery, she looked down and assessed the pint-sized bundle in her arms.

"You certainly have a voice on you, little one," she chuckled, "and that is a good thing. With sisters like the ones you have, I hope you choose to follow their example instead of your mother's. Such a voice can be used for good or ill." Taking an extra moment, gazing deeply into those light blue eyes, Mrs. Byrne's voice softened. "No, I can see it now. You have Jane's kindness hidden in there, well-matched with Lizzy's strength. There's Mary's intelligence and Kitty's determination there. You are all of your sisters and more. Stay by them, love, and you'll be just fine."

05 September, 1797
Longbourn

Fanny no longer cared if this child was yet another daughter, or if it was the son she longed for, to save them all from the dreaded, wretched Mr. Collins. The heir presumptive had the audacity to show up at Longbourn last month with his entirely unpleasant son when he'd heard that Scarlet Fever had come to Longbourn, hoping to be there when his inheritance came in. It gave Fanny no end of satisfaction to know that Mr. Collins had found Mr. Bennet healthy and hale in London with her useless brother Edward, well away from any danger of infection.

That was not to say that Fanny was entirely happy with how the event had unfolded. She'd certainly never dreamed that she would wind up sick herself, much less in her delicate condition. But she had survived the fever, not that she had harbored any doubt that she would, and now all that was left was to deliver this last babe, and then never share a bed with Thomas Bennet again.

Mr. Jones, the apothecary, had told her that her heart couldn't take the strain any longer, and she was grateful for the excuse.

Thankfully, though the birth had been painful, it had been short. Now, it was just Mrs. Byrne, Mr. Jones, the babe, and Fanny in the room.

Too tired and uninterested in hearing from the wretched Mrs. Byrne how she'd brought another dreaded daughter to the Bennet family, Fanny closed her eyes, intent on simply going to sleep while Mr. Jones assured himself that her newly weakened heart would not suddenly fail her.

Then, Mrs. Byrne asked, "What would you like me to do with him, Mrs. Bennet?"

Irritated at being denied rest even in her tremulous condition, Fanny's voice was waspish as she started, "Can you not see how exhausted I am, Mrs. Byrne? Take the child to the wet nurse before…"

The realization of the pronoun Mrs. Byrne had used came over her entirely too slowly. Fanny bolted upright, ignoring Mr. Jones' protestations, and reached for the child. "Give me the child."

Mrs. Byrne compiled without comment. Quickly Fanny unwrapped the babe, rejoicing when she confirmed with her own eyes that the child was, in fact, her long-awaited son. "Oh, joyous day!" She cried, holding her beloved son close to her heart. "We are saved, we are saved! Throw that wretched Mr. Collins and his son out this very minute after you give them the news. They shall not inherit Longbourn while my beloved son lives. Oh, what a blessing! How I have suffered with five daughters, but now, finally, a son! We are saved!"

Done with their other duties and now rendered functionless, Mr. Jones and Mrs. Byrne waited a moment for Mrs. Bennet to have a chance to ask anything else she might feel inclined to ask of them, and when Mrs. Bennet did nothing but continue to unveil praise upon her new son, they gave their quiet goodbyes and left.

Following Mrs. Bennet's directive, Mr. Jones went to give the news to Mr. Collins and then sit and write an express to Mr. Bennet, quietly worrying about the slight tinge of jaundice that had colored the child and the slightly too rapid breathing with the barest hint of a whistle. It was a miracle that the baby had survived Mrs. Bennet's illness from Scarlet Fever, that was certain. Unlike the other Bennet children, all of whom Mr. Jones had cared for since their birth, the Bennet son was not born healthy.

Outside of the hallway, Mrs. Byrne paused and allowed Mr. Jones to outpace her. Looking at the door, Mrs. Byrne risked pressing her palm to the wood. Softly, quite softly, she whispered, "God be with you, little Master. May you have your sister's goodness and their heart to match the eyes of your father I see in you."

Another moment passed, a silent prayer following. Mrs. Byrne had also seen the tinges of sickness clinging to the child, and she prayed that they would pass.

27 July, 1798
Longbourn

The words of the doctor rang in Fanny's ears, echoing and tangling together incomprehensibly. Mr. Bennet was silent, as always. He had always proven himself a useless excuse of a husband. And that wretched Doctor White was just standing there with that stupid look on his face, trying to tell her that her Henry, her beautiful, strong, perfect little boy, was dead.

It was implausible, and Fanny did not even pause. Drawing herself up, she spat, "My Henry may be a trifle sickly, Doctor White, but he is a strong, sensible lad. He would never abandon his mother to a doom of dying in the hedgerows."

Doctor White's frown intensified. "I've spoken with the apothecary Mr. Jones, Mrs. Bennet. I would not call a child who has required medical treatment for a good half of his time on this earth as a 'trifle' sickly."

What a beastly man, though Mrs. Bennet, insulting her Henry's constitution. Huffing, she said, "He's been just as sick as Kitty, not to mention the fuss Lizzy has been making recently, that girl will hardly stay in bed. I've scolded her far too many times about not making a nuisance of herself while her brother is sick."

The doctor's eyes narrowed, and he was staring at Fanny in a calculating, assessing manner that she did not appreciate. "That is because she was delirious in her fever, Mrs. Bennet, and her fever only broke last night, thank God. This was a horrible strain of influenza ripping through Meryton, and I'm sorry to be the one to inform you and your family, but…" he paused, his eyes darting over to Mr. Bennet, who was just as silent and still as before. "Your son's fever did not break. He's been sick for far longer than anyone in the house, and I'm afraid his frail state before he caught this outbreak did not help him."

"Frail?!" Fanny screeched, leaping up from her chair. "My son is the strongest person in this house! He is the best of my children and he would never dare leave me! How dare you call him frail, you awful wretched man!"

Mrs. Hill appeared at Fanny's elbow, trying to speak softly to her, the muttered concerns about Mrs. Bennet's heart only managing to enrage her further.

"Get out of my house, you...you beast of a man! I'd no sooner trust you with the powder mildew on my prize roses than I would with the life of my precious son!" she cried.

Mr. Bennet rose from his hiding spot near the window, grave and somber. "Come, Doctor White," he said slowly. "Let us leave my wife to her grief."

Fanny was too furious and shocked that Mr. Bennet would believe this quack over her own superior knowledge of their son that she did not manage to speak before the two men had left. Their footsteps were slow and somber on the stairs, the entire rest of the house was quiet in their wake.

Shoving past Mrs. Hill who was still trying to direct her towards a chair and still muttering about the Mistress of Longbourn's heart, Fanny immediately went towards the nursery. "Fool of a man, what a pathetic excuse for a doctor. My Henry is safe and sound here in his crib in the nursery, just where he belongs."

There was no greater shame to Mrs. Bennet than that Henry was forced to share the room with Elizabeth, but that would only be until she could convince Mr. Bennet that his precious favorite daughter was well enough to go back to her shared bedroom with Mary and Jane.

Upon entering the room, Fanny was pleased to see that Elizabeth was sleeping in her bed, for once, rather than being up and making a nuisance of herself.

Henry's dark head of hair was visible from the threshold, and Fanny didn't even try to stop the adoring smile on her face. Without so much as another thought or glance towards Elizabeth, she flew to his side and cooed down at him, "Hello, my love. I'm sure you're feeling much better now that the awful man is gone."

The smile on her face froze as she reached out to pick Henry up, and her precious boy did not respond. Putting one hand gently on his little chest, she waited for the rise and fall, for the assurance of his breath and life. She waited, horror growing as the wait increased and no breath came from the child. With new eyes, she looked down at her son. Her dear, sweet, darling little Henry was...was…

"No!" She screamed, throwing herself down on the floor next to Henry's crib, letting her despair overwhelm her. Her son, her beautiful and perfect son, the one who was going to save them all from destitution, was gone.

There was a thundering of feet coming into the room, and a cacophony of voices all talking over one another, but in her grief, Fanny ignored them all. What was their grief, their suffering, when compared to her own? What were they to her troubles and worries? Such an awful thing had never happened to someone so undeserving before.

A pair of hands helped her into a standing position. Through her tears, Fanny recognized Elizabeth as the one who'd helped her stand.

Rage overtook her grief, and with a wild cry, she lashed out, slapping the wicked girl. "It's your fault!" Fanny cried, struggling against Mrs. Hill as the woman wrapped her arms around her mistress to keep Mrs. Bennet from striking the child again. "Why couldn't you have died instead? Oh, my beautiful boy, my beautiful boy."

Looking up at the ceiling, Fanny sobbed, "Hill, Hill, fetch me some smelling salts, my poor nerves! We are doomed, now, wretchedly doomed!"

A/N: So, this is the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. This story will be a long one, to be sure, and will follow the Bennet girls throughout their childhoods into the beginnings of their married lives. There will be some liberties taken with historical accuracy, especially considering one major plot point later on, but I am determined to write the story the way it wants to be written, while still maintaining respect for the history to which influenced its source material. Hence there will be lots of little descriptions for any particular medical/historical aspect I spoke about, whether or not I followed it accurately according to my research, and why or why not I did or didn't. I'll also include some fun facts if I just think they're neat, haha! This story is still being written, but I am far enough along I am comfortable with beginning to publish. Updates will come every Friday. Thank you for reading!

Scarlet Fever: I state in this chapter that Fanny's heart was 'weakened' after she survived her brush with Scarlet Fever. This is a real thing. The disease ravages a person's heart and creates great strain on it that will follow them through the rest of their life, even if they survive the initial sickness. In this universe, this is how I imagine Fanny got started with the whole 'nervous' thing.
Postpartum Depression: Though it's undiagnosed, Mrs. Bennet is suffering from a severe case of postpartum depression. A milder form of postpartum, or 'baby blues', will last a week to a month after the birth with symptoms like: mood swings, anxiety, sadness, irritability, feeling overwhelmed, crying, reduced concentration, appetite problems, and/or trouble sleeping. True postpartum lasts much longer with much more severe symptoms like: depression, severe mood swings, excessive crying, difficulty bonding with your baby, diminished ability to think clearly/concentrate or make decisions, severe anxiety, panic attacks, and thoughts of harming yourself or your baby. I consulted with a medical professional about Mrs. Bennet's mindset and emotional state with the lack of care or support she would have experienced, and based her depiction on the information they gave me. Untreated mental health issues get worse over time, so please don't hesitate to reach out to a mental health medical professional if something doesn't feel right with you.

Recap: If you skipped the 27 July 1798 entry, all you need to know is that Henry Bennet died from influenza and Mrs. Bennet blames Elizabeth for not dying in his stead.