To all PPFF readers, welcome! I hope I offer a fun and good story for your reading pleasure. Of course, I am borrowing from Jane Austen. I have nothing better to offer than what she already gave us in her novels.

A little background: I used to write fanfiction years ago under a different name. I did write one P&P story called Ignorance & Indifference. Sad to say, I lost that story when my old computer crashed. I lost quite a few things actually. But I've moved on from that. I took a break for awhile. Recently, I've had an idea for this story, inspired by several YouTube video reviewers who do an in-depth analysis of Pride & Prejudice. They are very intriguing. I will give them mention in future updates so anybody can go check it out (if you haven't been there already). Highly recommend them.

So for this story, Lizzy and Mr. Darcy are side characters. Jane Austen has already told us their story. It's brilliant, no need to add to it. I'll be weaving through the events in the novel through the perspectives of the three younger sisters: Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. Some dialogue you'll find might be verbatim or very similar to the novel. That's intentional, and I don't own that. For the majority, the use of characters, plot development, and scenes are a creative interpretation. I'm also planning on going further after the events of the main novel.

But enough of that. I hope you'll enjoy!

Chapter One

Up until the day their mother announced the arrival of Mr. Bingley in the neighborhood, rich and unmarried, the subjects entered into Lydia's diary were not all that interesting. Not to say her sisters were driven by curiosity and envy to read these entries. For a book advertised as her most sacred possession, full of her secrets, ironically, there was nothing written in their pages that was not spoken aloud and known by all her family. Kitty could name her sister's most favourite dress or bonnet and ribbons. These very articles caused them both plenty quarrels after all. Whenever large outbursts occurred, the entry to follow in the diary proved to be rather exaggerated. It was also no secret how fondly she cultivated her education in all the modern dances, always with Mary's assistance at the piano. Since the tender age of twelve had Lydia been preparing for her coming of age, and detailed the momentous, prosaic journey in her diary pages. Nobody needed to read to know her mind.

"Netherfield Park has been let at last!" cried Mrs. Bennet. It caused no inconsiderable amount of excitement upstairs and in the drawing room. Everyone from Jane to Lydia made their share of inquiries. What else was more natural from the five silliest girls in the country, as Mr. Bennet so put it. Everyone had an interest to know the young man, but how it was expressed varied drastically. The elder sisters made inquiries about where the man had come from, his background, and family. And any feelings expressed were moderated. The younger sisters inquired of his tastes and preferences and studies, whether or not he had attended Cambridge or Oxford. The youngest inquired after the worthiness of his countenance and the size of his house. Regardless, no answers from Mr. Bennet could suit them, not until the young man was to be met.

"What a fine joke if he were to choose me!" laughed Lydia.

"Or me!" seconded by Kitty.

"I imagine he must be lonely, to come all this way from the north. Sure, he'll be readily welcome in the neighborhood. There are so many young ladies here in Meryton, too many. Pen will probably try to catch him. She's been desperate after Adam Sloper jilted her two years ago. He was such an awful, ugly fellow. He's the one I told him: I wouldn't dance with him if he were the last man in Meryton."

"Lydia, that's rude to say," Mary scolded. She lay half reposed in bed, open book in lap. Lydia stood before the mirror, down to her nightgown, still sporting the bonnet she'd fought Kitty for and won. There was a slight pout on the lips, attempting to conjure what to do to improve the bonnet. She took no heed of her older sister.

"It will be nice to have an eligible gentleman at the assembly this time. A great improvement from the general society of tradesmen and farmers."

"You still don't know much of society, Lydia," Kitty dispute. "This will be only your second ball."

"I've seen enough of this society. There's no point dressing your finest for four and twenty families you've seen all your life, everyday, between town, church, and tea in the parlour."

"True. I wish there were at least ten men like Mr. Bingley in the neighborhood. Then we could all have a selection to choose from," sighed Kitty, such sentiment almost parroting her mother's. "But what's the use if Papa will not call upon a single one? He will make no introductions for us."

"Depend upon it, we will not marry anybody unless we take matters in our own hands. Perhaps we might make inquiries with our Uncle Phillips. He could make our introductions to Mr. Bingley. And if not, what does it signify? Mama could certainly do it. Where's the indecorum? We must take matters in our own hands. Even you Mary. You might have had a beau by this time, if you put forth a little effort. Even Jane and Lizzy! They might have beaux if they wanted. Lord,they should have been married by now-"

"Lydia, it's late, and I've a headache now," Mary complained, with a slight growl in her tone. "Your sisters have the taste and good sense not to waste time on unworthy objects. And Kitty, you mustn't be so greedy. If neither of you can estimate a man's worth beyond the pocketbook, you are worth no man's time. Think about that at the next assembly."

Lydia, with a pitying simper on her lips, shrugged. " 'I've a headache', says the spinster. Wait until someone catches your eye, and then you'll be forced to take my advice."

By that point, Lizzy poked into the room to bid them all good night. As Mrs. Bennet had another nervous headache setting in, there was also a warning to put the lights out early. Mary was spared from further insult; though, once again, she was also denied the opportunity of a clever, or perhaps more spiteful, rejoinder. Even earlier in the day, when Mr. Bennet asked her opinion about the news, she'd come out of her current book caught off guard. Too lost in the moment, in a room with a moment's silence, that any and all expressions of wisdom or impudence failed her. It couldn't be said she wished to be impudent. Mary had both choices before her, and couldn't make the choice.

Lizzy, on the other hand, could blend wisdom and impudence without being disagreeable. Her mother might have disagreed on that point, but her father called it wit. Because of 'that something of wit,' she wasn't a silly, ignorant girl. It was a failing in both parents, to see too much the strengths of their favourite child.

If Mary had had her choice much earlier in life, she'd not have shared a bedchamber with her two youngest sisters. How it came about was beyond her control, or any of them. Their bedroom used to be a nursery. Jane, then Elizabeth, then Mary. As children, they did share rooms. Time moved Jane into another bedchamber, which used to be a guestroom, the best room for Mrs. Bennet to host visiting family at Longbourne. Lizzy and Mary had a year or so together in one room. Had they any brothers, of course, the brother would've been separate and the girls packed altogether. On the birth of another daughter, Katherine, the three younger girls were together and Jane to herself. It wasn't until Lydia's arrival, and the feverish teething stage, that all the girls suffered lack of sleep. And the reactions it incite in the house, Mr. Bennet laughed about it for years.

First, Lydia was teething, then she refused to be put to bed at the unreasonable hour of nine o'clock. Then, she discovered nightmares. Well, there were naturally a couple genuine events of occurrence, but such a fuss was made about them. Mrs. Bennet erred in the belief that it was a phase. For she was right, it was a phase and a farce. Lydia could fall asleep eventually and without the slightest unease in the night. But the majority of evenings started out with frantic protestations about putting the lights out and laying in bed for fear of the frightful dreams. Mrs. Bennet coaxed with a supply of tea and sweet things. One of the maids had been ordered to sit and read to her, until the child was asleep. Once the lights were out, she'd be sitting in bed, playing with her dolls under the sheets. And Mrs. Bennet bid all her daughters put up with this phase, for it would pass. Mary begged and cried for a few nights that it was so unfair. Kitty wanted to stay up with the same right of freedom as her younger sister. Lizzy…

One morning, Mr. Bennet saw what appeared to be a vagrant's tent in his copses. They'd used a bed sheet for a makeshift tent, and a poor one at that. But they'd come prepared with a pillow, an extra throw, and wool stockings. Lizzy declared she hadn't slept so well in a long time. Mrs. Bennet writhed over the foolishness of this child, the idiocy of laying outside exposed to chilled temperatures, bugs and dirt, as well as liable to be carried off by bad men. When Hill and all the servants saw this vagrant child reenter the house, hair static and tree leaves attached with a smile on her face, they couldn't withhold their laughter or tongues to save their lives. It was one of those rare occasions Mr. Bennet roared laughing, where he was normally a soft, droll chuckle. Lizzy loved the memory of it. She loved the sound of his laughter, so much she laughed. For up to the present day, his second daughter found much joy in laughing in the face of things ridiculous and inconsistencies of life deserving of it. Mr. Bennet took pity, and Jane begged her mother to let Lizzy sleep in her room. It was meant to be that Jane, the eldest child, would be raised and tended like an heiress, with her own bedchamber until she married. Then, the next youngest would take her place. This was Mrs. Bennet's argument, desiring deference to be shown for the position. Mr. Bennet scoffed it. Jane and Lizzy were put together.

As she did not possess her older sister's indifference to the climate, Mary learned a different lesson from this juvenile experience. Perseverance. Though perhaps a more apt word would be tolerance. As there was no winning an argument with her mother, and her father did not give his opinion about her situation, she remained where she was with Lydia and Kitty. And just as she learned to do, she also suffered their late night chatter. Two little girls, their curls half smothered by the bed sheets, talking of all the possibilities the next assembly in Meryton would bring. It put Mary to sleep, and woke her in the morning too.

The conversations continued on downstairs in the drawing room. Before setting off to Meryton, Kitty and Lydia gathered some intelligence from the Lucases. Sir William Lucas had already called upon the new gentleman of the neighborhood. By all accounts, Mr. Bingley was a man of good manners and good nature. He was positively to be attending the assembly, at Sir William's invitation.

"Save your breath to cool your porridge, Kitty," Lydia snapped. "You've got a cough this morning. He has at least forty servants! And a fine stable! How delightful for you, Jane."

"And he'll be coming next Saturday," declared Kitty, in spite of her. "And bring four ladies and seven gentleman."

"Nay, it was twelve ladies and seven gentleman."

"Too many ladies," Lizzy replied skeptically. "Lydia, at this time of year, you're bound to see more gentlemen than ladies on the country manor, or equal numbers."

"Lydia, I beg you stop!" decried their mother. "Stop talking of the assembly and Netherfield. For it pains me to hear of Mr. Bingley as we'll never meet him."

"Mama!"

"I'm sick of Mr. Bingley!"

"I'm sorry to hear that. If I'd known as much this morning, I should never have called on him." Mr. Bennet left all his daughters bewildered. Such variety of facial expression, he could scarcely refrain from smiling. Then, as his wife rose from her chair in a burst of good spirits, the impassive facade was slipping. Now, she loved the thought of Mr. Bingley. She loved the thought of Netherfield, and all its fine walks and many rooms. Mr. Bingley was already, to her own mind, the property of one of her daughters. This news had her off and ringing for the coach. A trip to the dressmaker was in order.

"Mama, we can't possibly go today," Jane reminded her. "Mrs. Robinson already has appointments. She won't be available for another three days."

"Oh dear, that's unfortunate! That means we're not going get all of you new gowns in time."

"Should be enough time for three. Why don't you take Lizzy and the girls?"

"Jane, you've taken a pass on a new gown for nearly two years now," protested Lizzy. "It's time you have a new dress."

"I need a new gown! I must go!" begged Lydia.

"As do I! I've outgrown my best frock, the pink one," added Kitty.

"It's about time you have another. And that colour was absolutely horrid."

"It is not horrid! Was good enough for your first assembly ball!"

"And what an improvement."

"Girls enough! Don't try my nerves this early in the morning. Oh dear, well, I'm still going to stop at Mrs. Robinson's. Best we choose our material and colours now."

"Mary, you ought to go with Mama." Of course, it would have to be Lizzy's voice. Mary looked up from her volume rather disconcerted. "It's been a long time since you've had any new dress. If any of us should have something new, you should be one of them."

"I thank you, Lizzy. But I'm rather indifferent as to my choice of frock."

"Don't waste a new frock on her," Lydia groaned. "She wouldn't appreciate it."

"Hush, Lydia!"

"No, Lizzy. I do not always agree with Lydia, but on this matter, I do concur. A new dress would be wasted. For I don't dance. And I'm not all about finery and trimming. You know how I am."

"Really Mary," sighed Mrs. Bennet. "Next time we have gowns made, you're not getting out of it by such apathy." The woman was placing her bonnet and wrapping the shawl brought by the maid. "I won't see you looking shabby and being disgraced for having my daughters going to parties dressed old-fashioned. Come along girls! Kitty, Lydia, your bonnets now!"

Jane persisted in attempts to move Mary from the settee. There were even promises to stop at Clarke's library offered, to no avail. Both sisters tried their best. When the answers back began to turn shorter, more clipped, Jane resigned and left for her things upstairs. Lizzy sat a moment, staring, torn between pity and frustration. Mary still observed her presence; her eyes did not move from the pages.

"Mary, please tell me," whispered Lizzy.

"There's nothing to tell, sister."

"Did you hear any word from London?"

The length of pause contained no denial, but a wish to conceal. "I did hear back from the Grandison Press Printing. And same as the last two, not favourable."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"I have thought…"

"Thought what?"

"I have had thoughts about using a pseudonym. Perhaps, the printers are of the same opinion, when it comes to authors or composers. A woman cannot be an accomplished composer. She should merely learn to play and write her own name. Shame on her if she could do both."

"Don't talk like that. It's a common practice, but that doesn't mean you should give up. If I were you, I'd try and exhaust all options in my own name. It would be a great honour to get published, get formal engagements, the credit as the composer and musician."

"Perhaps."

"Mary, it's a fine day out. Why don't you take a walk with me? Give your eyes and mind a rest. It will do you a world of good."

"I have my reading to do this morning, and then my practice in the afternoon. If I can be uninterrupted the whole day, I should be finished in time for dinner. Besides, I like to take advantage of this time with Mama and the others out of the house. I can try and compose during my practice."

"But you're not composing new pieces. You're merely rewriting, and rewriting, and Mary, it's irritating you to no end, irritating you as much as Kitty and Lydia's box of ribbons."

"Lizzy, you mustn't pity me and my solaces. Familiar things are a real comfort. My books, my music, they are all my best domestic comforts."

Though she continued to try a few more minutes, the fight was already lost. Lizzy left Mary to these domestic comforts. She felt shame for having delivered Mary the letter yesterday. It was, at times, one of Lizzy's regrets. For the three elder sisters shared an understanding for the last year. When Mary began to read of the musical reviews from town, hearing critique of great, world-renowned musicians on exhibition in London, Lizzy began to hear her play new music. They started out as awkward scales and rather more repetitious than merely learning to play a new song. They'd been slowly developing as time went by. Of course, Jane soon came to be in the know, and all three girls kept this growing talent in confidence from all the rest of the family. The mail proved a tricky thing. Jane was normally first to attend and receive mail in the house; for their mother did not bother about it so early in the day unless post was expected. If Jane could not manage, then Lizzy kept a lookout for its arrival. Any letters from London, companies that Mary specified to have submitted her drafts, were rapidly snatched and concealed from the rest.

While correspondence caused grief, it was no use wishing these dreams had never begun. For her sisters still longed for good news for her, even if her submissions were rather mournful and her singing abilities wanting. They were the only two in the family that wished her to have a new frock.