Author's Note: Inspired by transcending the meaning of tragedies and thus turning famed dramas into senseless comedy, I present to you, gentle reader, the novel (no pun intended!) twist upon Austen's own Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park with some fond cliches, Shakespearean irony and other allusions of no connection whatsoever.
Mr. Bennet of Longbourn was a man of considerable means and was thus, accepted very well among the ton and loved by all his daughters. It was rumored that he was in possession of an annual income of thirty thousand pounds though no one could confirm such a statistic. Either way, he had money, he had land and no one cared for much else. Due to such, Mr. Bennet had the false impression that women would flock to him for his witty conversation (and it was witty if anyone cared to hear about cattle farming but none did). Alas, poor Mr. Bennet never understood why his wives would eventually find themselves in Bedlam, or like his latest, be on a ship for the Americas.
The product of his various marriages was his much admired daughters, though for reasons similar to that of their father as each were rumored to come into possession of seventy thousand pounds upon their nuptials. Helen Jane, his eldest, possessed angelic beauty, with eyes as blue and clear as the sea (of course, the author exempts the inlet beside the Thames) and hair spun of gold, though her nature did not quite reflect her outer loveliness. Perhaps it was her brilliant smiles which blinded men for though she threw terrible fits, she was able to secure a man of utmost rank: the proud and reputable Fitzwilliam Darcy, Duke of Albany. Mr. Bennet's second was a plain girl of similar temperament to the former. Frances Anne, or Fanny, was of a different mother since Helen Jane had been abandoned when the first Mrs. Bennet succumbed to nerves. She was to marry a certain Mr. Henry Wilcox of Mansfield Park on the same day as her sister. Still, there was a third daughter, Mr. Bennet's favorite. A dark beauty with what some may call "fine eyes," Elizabeth Rachel reflected her father in personality and nature. Much admired for her independence and wit, she finally found her perfect mate in the Earl of Kent, Richard Fitzwilliam.
Lady Catherine nodded in submission. "Of course, Ms. Bennet! Anything you want."
She proceeded to crawl away in fear. The horrors of being a shopkeeper! Meanwhile, Juliet rolled her eyes as she picked up the beads that flew off the dress in Helen Jane's latest rage. Where was Benvolio anyway? Didn't he promise to take her away from this place? She shook her head in her own resignation as she thought that her love was probably trying to teach his dork cousin, Romeo, his arithmetic.
"There's not nearly enough feathers on that! Take it back!" Helen Jane was becoming quite frustrated. She had yet to find a dress which could remotely satisfy her. She turned to her sister, Fanny. "Have you decided upon anything, my dear?"
Fanny held up a black dress with long sleeves and a high neck.
"That's it?"
"Of course not, Helen Jane. I shall be wearing a black veil as well."
"Oh, how silly of me. But don't you think you should get some black gloves to complete your outfit?"
Fanny thought. And she thought. And she thought. She was a slow thinker but her mother hadn't been very bright either so we must excuse her.
"Yes." And with that, she left to find some black gloves though the second she left the dressing room, she forgot what she wanted to get and walked out into the streets and looked at the sky. She forgot why she wanted to do that, too.
While Helen Jane admired her snowy white skin and willowy frame in the mirror, Elizabeth came in with a troubled look upon her face. Her lips were formed in a pout and her forehead furrowed.
"Why, what's the matter with you, Lizzy?"
"Have you noticed something strange about Richard?"
"Richard?" Who was Richard? Helen Jane certainly didn't know!
"My soon to be husband, the Earl of Kent."
"Oh." Suffice to say that Helen Jane had been too concerned about her own wedding to care much about her sister's affairs. Anyway, Fitzwilliam Darcy knew how to strut his stuff and even the self-indulgent angel lost all sensibility and thought of herself or anyone else for the matter when he was doing so.
"It's just that he spends so much time with Henry Crawford, more than he does me."
"His manservant?!"
"Yes, he's always making some sort of excuse. He has to go riding with Henry, he has to pick flowers with Henry, he has to knit with Henry!" Elizabeth began to pace, trodding upon the many ruined gowns upon the carpet. "Why, he doesn't have a moment to spare with me!"
Now, Helen Jane knew exactly what was going on. Perhaps she had been called many things, such as "hellraiser" and "dum-dum," but she was a woman of society and a woman of society had heard many rumors fester into truth and such as the way with the Earl of Kent, there was no other explanation except the curious position of his manhood. She would send her man to deal with this. She needed her nails to be done. Thus, Helen Jane threw on a gown and grabbed Elizabeth by the arm, brushing past Lady Catherine who groveled upon the floor and swept out the shop. A certain Charles Bingley, who needed to stop dressing in the dark, found himself in the way of Helen Jane and thus pushed aside, flipping backward over a side stand into a pot of violets. Meanwhile, Elizabeth, realizing she was short one sister, went back for Fanny who was still staring at the sky.