DAISY EDGAR-JONES as ELINOR DASHWOOD and GEORGE MACKAY as EDWARD FERRARS

Mary is, of course, gorgeous in this scene, and most importantly—so herself. As he listens to her, you can see his grin of admiration grow. He’s delighted at her excitement, endeared by her passion, awed by her abilities, proud of her understanding. She, Mary Bennet—who once told him that she felt herself defective, unable to feel emotions the way other people seemed to do—moved to tears by his reading of his favorite poem from a collection that he gave her. She catches his eye with that beaming smile, and as his happiness crests, he can’t help but return it. But then, as Mary looks away, the audience has a sudden impression of pain—as if the depth of his emotion has hit him, and the intensity of it has shaken him to the core. His restraint falters—the carefree, nonchalant mask slips, and he flounders when faced with the strength of his love for her. He can’t hold back anymore. He has to confess:

Again, it’s all there—the anxiety and agony while he gathers his courage, the love and desire building as he speaks, and the relief when he’s finally about to tell her what’s been building up inside of his heart since their very first meeting. The hope in his expression also strikes me in that final shot—even in this critical moment of pain and fear, he still can’t escape the joy of his love for her, and the hope of it being returned. He wants her so desperately. He’s never felt this way about another woman in his life. He wants her to accept him, and he wants to deserve that acceptance.

Until Mr. Ryder interrupts him at the most hilariously inconvenient time.