A more sympathetic view of Mary during Pride and Prejudice (from Longbourn by Jo Baker):
In her own room, Mary closed her eyes and rested her fingers on the piano keys, and took a breath and let it go, and, trying to ignore the shrieks and clattering and squabbles from next door, began again her Irish air. One day, she knew, her fingers would fly about the keyboard with the facility and delicacy of tiny birds. One day. But until then, there was just the lumbering work of practise, practise, practise, and the distraction of those silly sisters, whose immoderacy of behaviour was now manifested by a series of high-pitched squeals that suggested that Kitty had lost her temper entirely, and was now pulling Lyddieâs hair. If they could but think of higher things, of music, religion, good works, instead of officersâher fingers plodded up and down the keyboard, now picking out the sweet opening notes of Haydnâs Love Dialogueâthen they would, no doubt, be happier creatures for it. Her thoughts drifted unwittingly to that courteous, gentle Mr. Collins, whom, she was certain, she could have made quite happy. She had no such confidence in Charlotte Lucas, who might come one day to deserve him, but who certainly did not love him, not like Mary did; and who must never be allowed to suspect what turmoil she had, with her rank opportunism, engendered in Maryâs tender breast. Because Mary had allowed herself to daydream, and she should have never allowed herself that. She had let herself think of the possibility of reciprocated love, of marriage, of the new importance that it would bring to her; of how, on becoming Mr. Collinsâs bride, she would have also become the means of her familyâs salvation, and no longer just the plain, awkward, overlooked middle child.