Welcome to my first P&P story! I've been a massive Austen fan since I was too young to completely understand the books, but it's taken me a long time to put my toe into the water of fan fiction. This is a novella in progress, with relatively short chapters of 1000 to 2000 words. This is an early draft, so the story may change slightly as I progress. I'm planning to update about once a week, unless I'm able to write faster. Thank you so much for reading!

*****

Elizabeth Bennet had never known such a strained silence over the breakfast table. The household at Longbourn had been more accustomed to a state of mild uproar: with five daughters of wildly varying temperament, a mother passionately devoted to the cultivation of her dyspeptic nerves, and a sarcastically inclined father, it could scarcely be otherwise.

On this uncomfortable morning, however, the cumulative disasters and humiliations of the week had taken their toll on every member of the family. Mrs. Bennet, red-eyed and with a nose of complementary colour from untold hours of indignant weeping, sat rigid at the table, balefully staring down at her eggs as they congealed on the plate. Her tearful fury at Elizabeth's refusal to marry Mr. Collins had not yet run its natural course, and Elizabeth felt that this thundering sulk could very well persist until the end of her mother's natural life. That Elizabeth would turn down the opportunity to secure her family's future by marrying the cousin on whom their estate was entailed was entirely beyond Mrs. Bennet's comprehension or absolution.

Across the table, Mr. Bennet, complicit in his daughter's decision and his wife's disappointment, offered no comments over his caraway cake. Tormenting Mrs. Bennet's nerves was one of the great joys of his life, but after several deafening days of unremitting lamentation from that lady, even he had had his fill of the sport. He dared no utterance which might encourage a renewal. Indeed, he scarcely raised his eyes from the volume of essays he had brought to table, thus denying Elizabeth the relief she might ordinarily have found in the exchange of knowing and sympathetic glances with her father.

Her sister Jane, closest to her in age and affiliation, mutely stirred a cup cold tea, absorbed in her own private distress. Mr. Bingley, the young gentleman who had won Jane's heart over the past few weeks, had failed to put forth the expected offer. Worse yet, an abrupt letter from his sister had arrived yesterday, detailing their defection from the country and in consequence all but severing their acquaintance. More shocking was the paragraph Elizabeth had read so many times over that the words seemed imprinted on her mind.

"I have something still more interesting to relate; I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the country without confiding them. My brother is to be married; we hope an announcement of the delightful day may come as soon as ever we arrive in London. The attachment has not been widely known; a secret engagement of two childhood sweethearts. Nothing could be more romantic, and the depth and constancy of my dear brother's love through this time of concealment does him the greatest credit. I am not at liberty to name the blessed girl as yet, but believe me that I think she hardly has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened by the prospect of her being hereafter our sister...perhaps by Christmastide."

A secret engagement was an uneasy thing, but to trifle with Jane's heart when Mr. Bingley knew himself to be otherwise committed was a very shameful one. Elizabeth could hardly credit that her sister could be so imposed upon, and she longed to expose Bingley to public censure he so surely deserved. His sister's behaviour, likewise, she could never excuse. To Elizabeth, Caroline Bingley's design in sharing such a confidence with Jane as they prepared to leave Hertfordshire could only be to wound. Jane, generous of spirit to a fault, pleaded that Caroline must have meant to warn her that Bingley's heart was not at liberty, thereby to save her further pain. Elizabeth could not agree.

Outwardly, Jane bore her trial with the serene patience of a stained-glass saint. Only an attentive sister would notice the tell-tale signs of heartbreak: at night, Jane cried silently under the covers, and in the morning hesitated to speak more than three short words at once lest her voice might betray her with a quiver.

As for the other Bennet daughters, Mary was allied with her mother and regarded Elizabeth with a haughty censure which belied her position as a younger sister. Kitty repetitively scraped the tine of her fork against the rim of her dish. Lydia tipped back her chair and idly rocked on its hind legs, casting her gaze at the plaster rosette of the breakfast room's ceiling.

"La!" she declared at last "How fearfully dull you all are today! Has no one anything amusing to relate?"

Jolted from his reading by her outburst, Mr. Bennet concealed a smile and felt the revival of his customary wit. It was not a day to test the tempers of his wife and daughters, but the habit of indulging his own private jokes was too strong. He took in the grand silence of the table and, forgetting his earlier reticence, ventured forth.

"No, indeed." said he. "I relish this refreshing interlude of peace. If thwarted engagements can bring perfect quietude to a such house as this I must encourage you girls to drive away as many young men as may come calling! Well done Lizzy! Well done, Jane!"

The effect was immediate. Mrs. Bennet burst into noisy tears and Kitty did likewise, giving in to the undercurrent of hysterical tension which had marked the morning. Jane paled. Lydia shrieked with mirth at the discomfiture of the entire table. Elizabeth met her father's eye, but this time the look that passed there was not one of mutual comprehension. She felt her temper rise and struggled to retain her countenance. She was saved from an utterance she might soon regret by Mary, whose reply was only too ready.

"Fordyce himself says that young ladies must always 'give soft answers to hasty words' and so blissful peace in a happy house may be retained..." She gave her father a condescending nod. "He does not say what answer we must give to hasty decisions which affect the fortunes of an entire household" - here she fixed a severe stare on Elizabeth - "but the disposition of the female sex must always be one of mildness, and therefore I shall say nothing further of that painful subject."

Well satisfied with her speech, Mary returned her attention to her breakfast. The honey cakes would not eat themselves, and in the unwonted absence of her family's appetite, for once she could enjoy as many as she liked without interference from greedy Lydia and Kitty.

"Thank you, Mary." said Elizabeth. "And thank you Father. I find I have had quite a sufficiency of breakfast for this morning." She stood from the table, perceptibly flushed with vexation. "I had a note from Charlotte Lucas, asking me to call to before noon today." She spared a glance at Jane, who looked so white and still that Elizabeth's heart clenched with sympathy. "Jane, will you come with me for the walk?"

Jane started and looked up. "No, thank you." she replied. "I am afraid I do not feel at all well. If you will all pray excuse me, I think I shall retire to my room. But come with me, Lizzy, and let me give you the embroidery silks I promised to send Charlotte." Together the sisters escaped the intolerable breakfast table and left Mr. Bennet to reflect once more on the folly of a dig too far.