[ Left to her thoughts, Mary thinks back on times with her young cousins and she contemplates if her memories wouldn't be half so fond if they hadn't been so well behaved. From there her thoughts shift to Mr. Cartwright and the good humor he's displayed today. She's had so little experience conversing with men, but with a well-educated man who enjoys music it feels easy. Natural, even.
And from there her thoughts shift to wonder why he hasn't yet returned. It's not something she suspects is a grand mystery. At a party such as this he is sure to have been waylaid by conversation or a queue at the stand. Still, she casts her eyes in that direction to check only to spot him dancing instead. An odd sensation blooms through her in all directions. It's as if a brief flame shoots up across her face while at the same time a lead weight drops into her stomach. It is not an entirely foreign feeling, but it's one she doesn't like to feel. Disappointment and jealousy are sensations she's known and dealt with as best she could while putting on a brave face and a sense of superiority to ease the sting. Tonight however, when she's felt such ease and happiness that are so rare for her, the sudden image of him ignoring her company for someone else's is almost too much to bear. She hardly knows how to deal with these feelings as she has in the past, when it was her parents or acquaintances ignoring her for her sisters. This feels so much more personal.
Her feet move in the direction of the dancers almost without her willing it so. The excitement and festive atmosphere feel like they're happening far away as the world closes in around her. Mary should not care. This is the thought that whispers across her mind. She should not care what a gentleman does, as there is no person on Earth more free to do as he likes than such a man. And yet for some reason being left and seemingly forgotten by him hurts.
Once she's close enough to properly see the dancers and Mr. Cartwright in particular, she's puzzled to see the goblets he carries in either hand. And it looks less like he's dancing and more like he's being pulled about to and fro. Whatever strange inclination possessed her to move over this way in the first place instead of flee into the house has her now marching her way out among the revelers, pushing around pairs and stepping on a heel here and there until she's reached Mr. Cartwright's side. Her chin lifts, her eyes are piercing, and she takes one of the goblets from his hand before firmly winding her arm around the crook of his elbow. Her jealousy has never caused her to react so quickly and decisively before. Like a flame burning bright, she feels as though nothing can touch her in this moment, but who can say for how much longer the candle will burn. ]
It appears you became lost on your way back to me, Mr. Cartwright.
[ Rosalie places her hands on her hips in irritation at this interruption from her good time. She certainly hadn't expected Miss Bennet to turn up all but claiming the gentleman as her own. Maybe what people have been saying about the two of them are true after all, though Rosalie doesn't want to risk her family losing their livelihood because she gave voice to it. She's smarter than that.
For her part, Mary - though not as smart as she'd like to think herself - has taken a breath and realized her blunder. It's true that she doesn't care what people think of her anymore, but much like Rosalie does, Mary thinks of her mother and father and how they wouldn't approve of her behavior right now. Eyes lower to her goblet before she can find the words to speak again. This time there is more thought behind them instead of blind emotion. ]
I thank you for my drink, sir. Shall I leave you to your dancing?
[ Her gaze lifts and despite her best efforts there is a vulnerability there. She is young, unsure, but full of some sort of feelings that have been bruised. Her expression says what she cannot give voice to: Or will you come with me? ]
no subject
And from there her thoughts shift to wonder why he hasn't yet returned. It's not something she suspects is a grand mystery. At a party such as this he is sure to have been waylaid by conversation or a queue at the stand. Still, she casts her eyes in that direction to check only to spot him dancing instead. An odd sensation blooms through her in all directions. It's as if a brief flame shoots up across her face while at the same time a lead weight drops into her stomach. It is not an entirely foreign feeling, but it's one she doesn't like to feel. Disappointment and jealousy are sensations she's known and dealt with as best she could while putting on a brave face and a sense of superiority to ease the sting. Tonight however, when she's felt such ease and happiness that are so rare for her, the sudden image of him ignoring her company for someone else's is almost too much to bear. She hardly knows how to deal with these feelings as she has in the past, when it was her parents or acquaintances ignoring her for her sisters. This feels so much more personal.
Her feet move in the direction of the dancers almost without her willing it so. The excitement and festive atmosphere feel like they're happening far away as the world closes in around her. Mary should not care. This is the thought that whispers across her mind. She should not care what a gentleman does, as there is no person on Earth more free to do as he likes than such a man. And yet for some reason being left and seemingly forgotten by him hurts.
Once she's close enough to properly see the dancers and Mr. Cartwright in particular, she's puzzled to see the goblets he carries in either hand. And it looks less like he's dancing and more like he's being pulled about to and fro. Whatever strange inclination possessed her to move over this way in the first place instead of flee into the house has her now marching her way out among the revelers, pushing around pairs and stepping on a heel here and there until she's reached Mr. Cartwright's side. Her chin lifts, her eyes are piercing, and she takes one of the goblets from his hand before firmly winding her arm around the crook of his elbow. Her jealousy has never caused her to react so quickly and decisively before. Like a flame burning bright, she feels as though nothing can touch her in this moment, but who can say for how much longer the candle will burn. ]
It appears you became lost on your way back to me, Mr. Cartwright.
[ Rosalie places her hands on her hips in irritation at this interruption from her good time. She certainly hadn't expected Miss Bennet to turn up all but claiming the gentleman as her own. Maybe what people have been saying about the two of them are true after all, though Rosalie doesn't want to risk her family losing their livelihood because she gave voice to it. She's smarter than that.
For her part, Mary - though not as smart as she'd like to think herself - has taken a breath and realized her blunder. It's true that she doesn't care what people think of her anymore, but much like Rosalie does, Mary thinks of her mother and father and how they wouldn't approve of her behavior right now. Eyes lower to her goblet before she can find the words to speak again. This time there is more thought behind them instead of blind emotion. ]
I thank you for my drink, sir. Shall I leave you to your dancing?
[ Her gaze lifts and despite her best efforts there is a vulnerability there. She is young, unsure, but full of some sort of feelings that have been bruised. Her expression says what she cannot give voice to: Or will you come with me? ]