Nerves

Prologue

Mr. Bennet and his five daughters stood beside the freshly dug grave. All were despondent, but each showed it differently.

Lydia was openly in hysterics, crying and wailing, and Kitty sobbed next to her. They clung to each other like glue.

Mary, his poor middle child, was doing her best to remain stoic, but even the pouring rain couldn't hide her tears. His two eldest and his favorites, Jane and Elizabeth, clutched his arms for support. Whether he was supporting them or vice versa, he wasn't sure. And Mr. Bennet wasn't sure it even mattered anymore.

His wife was dead. His frivolous, noisy, beautiful wife. Did he love her? Did he ever love her? Mr. Bennet wasn't sure, but he knew she would be missed.

He looked at his children. He knew he had three of the silliest girls in England. Lydia, with her remarkable lack of manner and proprietary, Kitty, with her impressionable, careless behaviour, and Mary, who presumed wisdom and skill despite having neither.

He also knew he had two of the most beautiful, kind, and intelligent girls as well. Of course, he was referring to his elder two. Why was this dichotomy there?

Mr. Bennet knew this was entirely his fault. He had taken a keen interest in the education and upbringing of his older two, but he had almost no part in that of his younger three.

But would be different now. Soon, he would have five of the best, most eligible daughters in England, and for his wife's sake, for his sake, they would be happy. His children would have the life they deserved. Yes, it would be different now.

He swore on his wife's grave that it would, that he would make sure Mrs. Bennet could finally rest her nerves.

AN: Currently, I am rewriting this story. It will be updated. Thank you for your support.