A/N: Ya'll this was originally for a class (my uni has a P class). But I didn't read the instructions-it had to be a canon story, so I didn't finish it. I recently picked it up again & wrote 1,000 words during class. I really should not be indulging right now because of my million obligations. Idc writing is fun. Clearly, I am not an English or History major.

Please let me know what aspects are inaccurate because I enjoy learning about the past. I read this book when I was 10 and have read it 5 times since. Whatever characterizations or chronology of events I get wrong, I apologize in advance. This may be blasphemous, but I like 2005 over 1995. So, I'm imagining Keira and Matthew. Sorry!

Anyway, enjoy my 1st fic!


Chapter 1

A disquiet reigned over the April morning at Longbourn. Not even rain fell on the land to interrupt the oppressive air that prevailed for two weeks into Elizabeth's abrupt return from Kent. The Bennet household held their breath for any sign of improvement. To add to the eerie stillness at Longbourn, Lydia took to remaining in her room of her own volition. Too shocked was she following her father's critical injury.

Dr. Smith emerged from Mr. Bennet's room. Mr. Hill walked with him to the drawing room where Elizabeth had been waiting. He placed a regretful hand on her shoulder. Nothing. The Master of Longbourn's condition persisted. Dr. Smith advised her to surrender to the staff more of the duty she had commanded in devoted care and attention to her father. She reluctantly agreed but promised she would be the one to feed her father each moment he awakened—if it could be described in such a way, as Mr. Bennet's meager signs of life often suggested he was not aware of the room, of himself, or of his daughter's presence. She lamented that she could not decide whether she desired Papa's improvement through a miraculous recovery of his consciousness, for it would also mean he would be waking to the full extent of his pain.

The clock struck eleven. She brought food to her mother and relayed the doctor's observations. The Bennet ladies spent the rest of the day listening to their mother's ramblings.

"Your poor father!" Mrs. Bennet cried, her face blotched red in tears and weary creases. "Oh, how I had known! How I had known such a cursed event would come. I felt it in the very depth of my soul. My nerves are overrun. Oh, Kitty, take my hand. Come comfort your poor Mama. She may depart from grief very soon."

Elizabeth suddenly sprang from where she leaned at the window of the bedroom, in which all the ladies had gathered during daytime since that fateful afternoon.

"Cease this!" she demanded. "Mama, how could you speak of Papa as if he has left us?"

"My dear husband so far gone. He has abandoned us to destitution! Now Mr. Collins comes with glee to nail the coffin for us all."

Her shoulders tensed. Elizabeth moved towards her mother. Jane stopped her with a firm hand Elizabeth had never known her sister possessed. Not now, Jane mouthed. Elizabeth's glossy eyes met her older sister in frustration before she retreated to a corner.

"How hopeless! These terrors all over me. I should faint again."

Elizabeth erupted, "If you had reigned in your silliest daughters! If only! You have condemned dear Papa to this fate. And in turn, all of us! May the Lord forgive you, Mama! If ever."

"Hush, Lizzy!" Jane cried. She waved at her, "Go. Do not allow her to aggravate you."

Mrs. Bennet continued to weep until, finally, she fell into a deep sleep once more.

The anticipatory grief for her father's end consumed her. With what strength Elizabeth had left for the day, she trudged to her bedroom.

She blankly roamed over the considerable disarray of clothing and miscellaneous objects, accumulated from brighter, more intimate days with her family. Her luggage from her visit to Kent was open, her frocks spilling out. Above it, her personal books and writing set sat on the windowsill beside a worn doll Papa had given her a decade ago, much to the disapproval of her Mama, who demanded that it be shared by all the girls.

After Lydia and Kitty had thoroughly abused the doll to the point where they scrubbed off its painted face and its dress frayed to shreds, her sisters returned the doll to her. She named it Edith. It was small. Its height was that of her forearm. Out of boredom, she had sewn a little crème gown for her last fall from her sisters' scraps, just before news of Mr. Bingley's arrival made its way to Longbourn.

Ready or not, all these possessions around her would be swept from their feet. As her mother in hysterics had pointed out, Mr. Collins was in every legal right to come to claim his inheritance before the dirt could be poured over. All this ran through her mind while she struggled to remember what her last words would be with Papa should he die before seeing Elizabeth one last time. Elizabeth collapsed in front of her vanity, the doll still within her grip. Her tears had long been spent. She rested her forehead on her arm, staring down at her doll. Beneath her arm lay scattered papers of all sorts: letters, notes, and calculations. Normally, the two sisters arranged their sanctuary in an organized fashion, but the crisis had rendered all consideration for tidiness unthinkable.

She lifted her face. Various letters addressed to her mingled with her own unsent drafts. Many were in correspondence with the Gardiners—letters of comfort and letters of business. Uncle Gardiner's letter read straight to the point to Lizzy. They needed a plan. With a shattered mother, three incapable younger sisters, and sweet Jane managing them all, Lizzy took matters of the estate and their future into her hands. Another letter from the pile was addressed to her Uncle Phillips, but she never finished writing out her request to him. There was no need. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips came often to see Mr. Bennet at his bedside and to provide support to Mrs. Bennet, though they understood the gravity of the circumstance and the probability of everlasting damage upon Mrs. Bennet's constitution. Uncle Phillips visits divided into surprising care and grim discussions with Lizzy in her father's library.

The other inquiries from tenants she answered promptly, while those from Meryton folk eager for bites of gossip laid untouched, save a few from those friends offering consultation and references.

One letter from her collection was missing from her station. No, not missing. Hidden away. The consequences of setting that letter anywhere for the household to peruse sent fear pulsing throughout her body. A letter from a man, at that, who was not her family, nor her husband, nor her fiancé. And the issue of another woman's reputation besides her own. It would not do well for the dignity of the family to be the reason for their further descent. Yet, she refused to destroy it.

A knock on the door startled her. It sounded from outside the house.

Lizzy sped down the stairs as Mr. Hill greeted the guest at the entrance.