Pride and/or Prejudice
It takes a rigorous amount of shaking to dislodge Mrs. Bennet from Lizzie's sleeve. So much shaking, in fact, that Lizzie is in danger of inventing a new dance craze. However, she eventually succeeds, and Mrs. Bennet harrumphs forcibly at her. "Well, suit yourself then, Elizabeth! All I'm ever concerned with is securing your future and if you don't want to be an active member in that than suit yourself!"
The attempt at guilt-tripping doesn't work on Lizzie, however, and Mrs. Bennet soon stomps off with a self-important swish of her skirts. In her wake trails the rest of the Bennet sisters, Jane tossing an apologetic look in Lizzie's direction to which Lizzie shrugs in reply.
"Do you really think it's all the effort in defying her?" Charlotte asks after a moment, both friends craning to monitor the Bennet family's progress through the crowd, who have collectively finally returned to dancing. Mrs. Bennet alights on the cub-like Mr. Bingley first, the man all confused smiles and gracious welcome at having a gaggle of young women flung into his lap (metaphorically, of course, though don't tempt Mrs. Bennet to try, please).
"Oh, most certainly: I have a very far-away seat for all the proceedings; makes it more entertaining," Lizzie replies and Mrs. Bennet, as if proving her point, bursts into peals of laughter, snapping her fan shut and whacking against the dour Mr. Darcy's arm. He looks disgusted at the contact. Though Lizzie knows it's somewhat hypercritical of her (she knows her mother's ridiculous, but only she can judge her for it), she tsks her tongue, pronouncing, "What a horrible man-that Mr. Darcy, look how beneath him he seems to think all of us are!"
"Don't you think that's a bit of an assumption?" Charlotte offers, but it falls on deaf ears.
Lizzie's on a roll. "Look at how thin his lips are pulled, how narrowed his eyes have become-he's judging us as too lowly too associated-as if his ten thousand a year elevates him too high to associate with country folk!"
So absorbed is she in studying Mr. Darcy, Lizzie misses when a pink-faced Mr. Bingley asks Jane to dance. In Lizzie's defense, however, Mr. Darcy is objectively more interesting (Jane is forever being asked to dance by men in varying degrees of nervous-breakdowns; her beauty serves as both a lure and an intimidation): Darcy edges around the perimeter of the dance hall, aggressively avoiding the eye contact of every eager available young woman by pretending great concentration in the dingy architecture, the sparse decorations All the while, his eyebrows poised high and imperious, evaluating and judging everything his dark eyes fell on.
"What a horrible man," Lizzie mumbles.
Grin curling wider with every word Lizzie mutters, Charlotte watches her friend watch Mr. Darcy, an idea forming. "Dearest Lizzie," Charlotte begins, "I have a proposition."
Eyes snapping back to Charlotte, Lizzie replies: "Of what nature?"
"A fun nature," Charlotte answers without hesitation, knowing precisely what to say to entice her friend's interest. Sure enough, Lizzie's mouth quirks up. "It appears that Mr. Darcy is aggressively avoiding every eligible young lady in the room, and I predict, that if you put your mind to it, you could snag him for the next reel."
"Well," Lizzie replies, feigning a face of deep contemplation. And then replies:
The attempt at guilt-tripping doesn't work on Lizzie, however, and Mrs. Bennet soon stomps off with a self-important swish of her skirts. In her wake trails the rest of the Bennet sisters, Jane tossing an apologetic look in Lizzie's direction to which Lizzie shrugs in reply.
"Do you really think it's all the effort in defying her?" Charlotte asks after a moment, both friends craning to monitor the Bennet family's progress through the crowd, who have collectively finally returned to dancing. Mrs. Bennet alights on the cub-like Mr. Bingley first, the man all confused smiles and gracious welcome at having a gaggle of young women flung into his lap (metaphorically, of course, though don't tempt Mrs. Bennet to try, please).
"Oh, most certainly: I have a very far-away seat for all the proceedings; makes it more entertaining," Lizzie replies and Mrs. Bennet, as if proving her point, bursts into peals of laughter, snapping her fan shut and whacking against the dour Mr. Darcy's arm. He looks disgusted at the contact. Though Lizzie knows it's somewhat hypercritical of her (she knows her mother's ridiculous, but only she can judge her for it), she tsks her tongue, pronouncing, "What a horrible man-that Mr. Darcy, look how beneath him he seems to think all of us are!"
"Don't you think that's a bit of an assumption?" Charlotte offers, but it falls on deaf ears.
Lizzie's on a roll. "Look at how thin his lips are pulled, how narrowed his eyes have become-he's judging us as too lowly too associated-as if his ten thousand a year elevates him too high to associate with country folk!"
So absorbed is she in studying Mr. Darcy, Lizzie misses when a pink-faced Mr. Bingley asks Jane to dance. In Lizzie's defense, however, Mr. Darcy is objectively more interesting (Jane is forever being asked to dance by men in varying degrees of nervous-breakdowns; her beauty serves as both a lure and an intimidation): Darcy edges around the perimeter of the dance hall, aggressively avoiding the eye contact of every eager available young woman by pretending great concentration in the dingy architecture, the sparse decorations All the while, his eyebrows poised high and imperious, evaluating and judging everything his dark eyes fell on.
"What a horrible man," Lizzie mumbles.
Grin curling wider with every word Lizzie mutters, Charlotte watches her friend watch Mr. Darcy, an idea forming. "Dearest Lizzie," Charlotte begins, "I have a proposition."
Eyes snapping back to Charlotte, Lizzie replies: "Of what nature?"
"A fun nature," Charlotte answers without hesitation, knowing precisely what to say to entice her friend's interest. Sure enough, Lizzie's mouth quirks up. "It appears that Mr. Darcy is aggressively avoiding every eligible young lady in the room, and I predict, that if you put your mind to it, you could snag him for the next reel."
"Well," Lizzie replies, feigning a face of deep contemplation. And then replies: