#with the book mr bingley

[thatisntverycombefair]

eponine would have loved mr bingley from pride and prejudice

[4ever-feral]

The sluttiest thing a man can do is walk across a misty field in an unbuttoned white shirt at dawn.

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

i just got to the part of pride & prejudice in like. chapter 34 when mr. darcy goes to lizzy and says "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." and um. yeah if I were a girl in the regency era reading this for the first time right as it was published they would've sent me to the seaside to treat my hysteria

[comicaloverachiever]

On opening the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both as they hastily turned round, and moved away from each other, would have told it all.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (illustration by C. E. Brock) Pride and Prejudice (1995) dir. Simon Langton

[new-twitter-memes]

Pride & prejudice: the summary

[anghraine]

It's kind of fascinating to me that towards the end of P&P, Elizabeth has become protective of Darcy and either a) actively tries to insulate him from Situations or b) wishes that she could and gets stressed that she can't.

Darcy deeply loves her and is very ready to do whatever he can to secure her happiness, but narratively, I think the emphasis at the end is very much more on Elizabeth's protectiveness towards him.

It's like:

When Bingley and Darcy first come back to Hertfordshire, Darcy is very quiet and Elizabeth can barely bring herself to say anything—until Mrs Bennet insults Darcy. Then Elizabeth speaks up.

Mrs Bennet enlists Elizabeth to separate Darcy from Bingley with another insult to Darcy. Elizabeth finds this both convenient and enraging.

That day, Elizabeth decides to privately tell Mrs Bennet about her engagement to Darcy, specifically so that Darcy will be spared Mrs Bennet's first unfiltered response.

Elizabeth fiercely defends Darcy's character and love for her, as well as hers for him, to Mr Bennet. She not only says she loves Darcy but that it upsets her to hear Mr Bennet's criticisms of him.

Elizabeth is both relieved by Mrs Bennet's ecstatic reception of the engagement and a bit disappointed by how completely shallow she's being about it, and 100% sure she made the right call in keeping Darcy away.

Elizabeth defends Darcy against Darcy himself, repeatedly.

There's a period where Elizabeth seems to unwind and laugh, but this passes, especially after Charlotte and Mr Collins show up. Darcy manages to stay calm around Mr Collins (I think this is framed as a significant and admirable achievement for him), but Elizabeth does not like him being in a situation where he has to deal with Mr Collins in the first place.

Elizabeth tries to shield Darcy from being noticed by Mrs Phillips and Mrs Bennet, who do seem to make him pretty excruciatingly uncomfortable.

Ultimately, Elizabeth ends up trying to keep Darcy to herself or to shepherd him around to relatives he can handle more easily, and is so stressed at this point that she just wants to get married and escape to Pemberley.

After their marriage, things are actually great at Pemberley and in their married life, despite the occasional complication.

Lydia writes a congratulatory letter to Elizabeth, asking for Darcy to get Wickham a promotion unless Elizabeth would rather not bring it up with him. Elizabeth really does not want Darcy to have to deal with this and handles it by privately setting aside a Lydia fund out of her personal expenses. (IIRC, it's not clear if Darcy even knows about this.)

Elizabeth also is the driving force behind Darcy's reconciliation with Lady Catherine.

This could read as an unsettling, unbalanced dynamic and a very odd ending point for the arc of a woman like Elizabeth, but in the context of the overall novel, it doesn't feel that way. Or maybe I'd see it more that way if I interpreted Darcy (and for that matter, Elizabeth) + their arcs differently? But as it is, I do think that by this point in the story they are genuinely doing the best they can, independently and for each other, and they've both come a long way. They shine in different contexts and support each other as much as they can in the circumstances that do arise.

It seems very them, in terms of their temperament and abilities, that Elizabeth would put all this effort into shielding Darcy, while at the same time, Darcy completely cuts off Lady Catherine for insulting Elizabeth and only ever speaks to her again because Elizabeth wants him to.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Said Darcy, while other men were fighting Napoleon across the continent...

[thefairyfellermasterstroke]

Pride and Prejudice + Texts, Part Two || Pt1 Pt3

[nihilistic-optimistest]

watched pride and prejudice for the first time yesterday, had to go make this immediately

[dionysiaproductions]

Today at Pemberley, The 26th of October:

Having spent much of the last couple days in library, Mr. Darcy found several volumes with helpful references to the biology and habits of foxes. He wrote down the titles for Miss Caroline Bingely and recommended she peruse them at her leisure. Upon being handed the list, Miss Caroline sat in the blinking silence of one attempting to politely explain that one has no intention of reading a book.

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy took her husband to the library, collected his recommended books and together they made a chart of the best information available. Mr. Darcy voiced surprise at his wife’s willingness to assist Miss Caroline with whom she so frequently disagrees.

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy’s only response was, “I am pleased to see her allow herself to be strange and unfashionable. Perhaps one day soon, she will even allow herself to be content.”

Previous days at Pemberley here

[melmad21]

Had to make a book cover for a classic book in my illustration class. Had just finished Pride and Prejudice and thought why not!

[sunkillerlovechild]

"It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy" yet youve been doing nothing but for the last five pages

[thegreeks]

A Night at Netherfield

"I was oversensitive. I'd been told this my entire life. It was a liability, my sensitivity, but it was also a power," - Suzanne Scanlon, from "Committed; On Meaning and Madwomen,"

The Netherfield Ball shone with a brilliance that seemed to linger in the very atmosphere, casting a warm, golden hue over the assemblage, and creating an ambiance that was both lively and intimate. As you traversed the room, a delicate lace ribbon woven into your hair and a faint blush gracing your cheeks, the festivities blurred around you, transforming into a mere backdrop for your reverie. Laughter and chatter wafted through the air like gentle petals, yet you remained quiet, acutely attuned to each subtle expression and whispered remark, observing with a depth that few would suspect.

Your fingers, delicate and restless, played with the laces of your gown, as if seeking to untangle the weight of both joy and melancholy that enveloped you. Throughout your life, you had often been informed that this very sensitivity—this exquisite responsiveness to the beauty around you—was a liability. It rendered you vulnerable, laid bare to the world’s harshness. Your mother had frequently chastised you for it; your companions had teased you; and even the society pages, in which your family sometimes featured, alluded to your “delicate sensibilities.” Yet, how could you so easily alter your nature? How could one harden a heart that was fashioned to feel so deeply?

Even yet, you perceived this sensitivity as a gift. You were attuned to the subtlest shifts in countenance, catching the gentlest inflections in tone, and at times, it seemed as though you could decipher hearts through the briefest exchanges of glances. Though this heightened perception brought its own trials—many deemed you overly sensitive, prone to fervent emotion—you had gradually learned that such sensitivity might be a strength, albeit a quiet one.

The room whirled in a kaleidoscope of colors and laughter, yet your gaze was inexorably drawn to a solitary figure in the dimmest corner. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood apart from the merriment, his brow contemplative as he surveyed the assembly. His dark, penetrating gaze roved over the room, seemingly detached yet unmistakably watchful.

It was nearly impossible to overlook him throughout the evening, for his presence bore an undeniable weight, stirring emotions within you that you would scarcely confess to another. Each time you caught sight of him, your heart fluttered, your breath quickened, and a warm blush bloomed upon your cheeks, betraying the depths of feeling you endeavored to conceal. There was an ethereal quality about him, a bearing that combined pride with a silent yearning, and tonight, the shadows that surrounded him appeared less forbidding and more inviting.

A mixture of curiosity and trepidation fluttered within your heart. You had overheard whispered accounts of Mr. Darcy—tales of his aloofness and unyielding pride. Yet, beneath every account of disdain, you sensed a complexity that hinted at a soul wrestling with his own sensitivity.

“Would you care for a dance, Miss Y/L/N?” A familiar, cheerful voice broke through your reverie. It was Mr. Bingley, his warm smile and outstretched hand a welcome distraction. You accepted his invitation, though your gaze lingered on Mr. Darcy, who appeared both intrigued and reserved.

As you twirled across the floor, laughter echoed around you, yet the world felt faintly distant. Your thoughts remained entangled in Mr. Darcy’s presence, swirling like the fabric of your gown

When the dance concluded, you excused yourself from the vibrant room. Constrained by the jangling energy around you, you slipped into a quieter nook of the manor. Here, the air was still, and the shadows seemed intimate rather than isolating. You leaned against the windowsill, relishing the cool air against your flushed cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N,” a deep voice, rich and resonant, emerged from the doorway, startling you. You turned to find Mr. Darcy, his tall figure imposing yet regal. He approached with a gravity that both intrigued and unnerved you, his earnest gaze disarming.

“Mr. Darcy,” you replied softly, your voice trembling slightly beneath the weight of his scrutiny. You curtsied, your heart fluttering like the ribbons entwined in your hair.

"Forgive my intrusion,” he said, his tone low and measured. “I find myself in need of a moment’s reprieve from the festivities.”

“Indeed,” you replied softly, wishing he could see the heart behind your words. “I too prefer quieter moments, where the laughter seems to echo rather than drown out contemplation.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the lively sounds of the ball fading into a distant hum. You sensed a hesitancy in him, an uncertainty that only made you more attuned to the flickers of emotion in his expression. He glanced away briefly, as though collecting his thoughts, and when he spoke again, there was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard.

“So it is with sentiment that you exist," he began, his gaze searching yours as though grappling with the right words, “I have… noticed in you a sensitivity, a kindness, that I do not often see in others.”

Your cheeks warmed under his attention, the delicate blush deepening at his words. “I… I have been told it is my weakness, Mr. Darcy,” you murmured, evading your gaze to avoid the intensity in his.

His dark gaze pierced the veil of propriety. “If it is a weakness, Miss Y/L/N, then it is one I find myself quite… affected by.” He paused, his words lingering in the air. “I believe sensitivity, in your case, is not a liability. It is…” He hesitated, his voice lower to a tone almost reverent. “It is a strength. A rare strength.”

At his pronouncement, your heart swelled, a gentle fluttering sensation filling your chest. “That is too kind of you, Mr. Darcy,” you managed, glancing back up to meet his gaze. “Though I fear many would not agree with you. Sensitivity is, in the view of society, rather inconvenient.”

He held your gaze with an intensity that seemed to dissolve the distance between you. “Then society does not deserve such a gift,” he replied, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that stirred something deep within you. “To care deeply, to feel so keenly… it is not a burden. It is a virtue.”

A smile played at the corners of your lips, a soft, genuine expression that seemed to reach into the depths of your heart. “I never thought to hear you speak so, Mr. Darcy,” you admitted, your voice scarcely a whisper.

He exhaled softly, his eyes unwavering. “Perhaps… perhaps I find myself saying things I did not know resided within me,” he said, stepping a fraction closer. “I fear I have often allowed my own sensitivity to manifest as pride and disdain, hiding behind a façade of strength.”

“Perhaps there is strength in vulnerability,” you suggested gently, an empathetic pulse boldly urging you onward.

In that moment, a connection blossomed that transcended the words shared between you. It enveloped you both like the warmth of a gentle sunrise, fostering a sense of understanding that needed no further elucidation. Mr. Darcy had seen you—not as others had, but with an awareness that acknowledged both your strength and your fragility.

With a soft smile, you began to share the beauty you discerned in colors and emotions—the way a sunrise could evoke hope, or how a simple gesture could convey volumes. As you spoke, you noticed how the gravity that adorned Mr. Darcy seemed to dissipate, leaving only a man hungry for connection, wary yet intrigued by the spirit you displayed.

As the night unfolded, you found solace not only in your own thoughts but in Mr. Darcy’s burgeoning interest. He listened with an intensity that both unnerved and fascinated you, his dark brows furrowed and lips tugged into a faint smile. Moments of warmth blossomed between you, weaving a connection that tethered the softness of your heart to the fortress of his.

When the night drew to a close, you stood along the grand staircase, illuminated by flickering candlelight and the murmurs of departing guests. He regarded you with a newfound softness, as if the unspoken echoes of your conversation lingered in the air.

“You have opened my eyes,” he said, his tone rich with sincerity. “To perceive the world with such tenderness is a gift I wish to understand more fully.”

A blush crept to your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps we can learn of sensitivity together.”

A rare, almost imperceptible smile broke through the walls that surrounded him, illuminating his stern features. “I would welcome that very much.”

As you exchanged promises of future conversations, a connection tethered you in that fleeting moment—one bound not by societal expectations but by the power of the sensitivity you both shared, a bridge spanning between a gentle heart and a complex soul.

And in the soft glow of Netherfield, amidst the swirling dance of life, you both began to discover that embracing your true selves might just illuminate the path to something beautifully profound.

[chaoticpersontale]

Pride and Prejudice (1995)

[lilyharriet11]

I just finished reading Pride and Prejudice and I am entirely charmed. This is so incredibly good book, I wish I could read more such wonderful literature. Reading it now, I noticed how lovely was Jane and Bingley's relationship. They were so cute! I definitely appreciated them more now, they both were so kind, soft and delicate. I currently intend to reread Northanger Abbey because I don't remember anything from this book at all. (This will be my Jane Austen week!)