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THE BALL AT Netherfield was six days hence. Elizabeth had no reason to associate with Mr. Darcy during that time period, and so she was left to speculate about him and to stew over the things that Mr. Wickham had said about him.

She could not but feel as if Mr. Wickham had taken too much enjoyment in his censure of Mr. Darcy.

She was not sure what that meant, not exactly.

It could be that Mr. Wickham himself took a great deal of pleasure in vengeance.

People did, of course. He had been wronged by Mr. Darcy; he was getting him back.

That felt like justice and one could convince oneself it was noble.

But it was interesting how no one ever seemed to admit that they themselves had been in the wrong or to agree that they should be censured.

No, people only wished to do this sort of “justice” to others. Hence, vengeance, not justice.

It could have been something else, of course, something darker. Mr. Wickham could have been enjoying the way it affected her. He might be the sort of person who enjoyed manipulating others.

Elizabeth herself was not entirely immune from this feeling of enjoyment, she supposed, but she was ashamed of it and did her best to keep it in check.

Well, she hoped she did.

There was a succession of rain for several days leading up to the ball, which prevented Elizabeth from walking to Meryton or walking halfway to Netherfield to meet Caroline or walking anywhere at all. Therefore, she said nothing to Caroline about what she’d heard about Mr. Darcy.

She didn’t think it would matter in the end, anyway.

Caroline would likely not care very much about the plight of the son of a steward, even if he were as guileless as the day was long (which Mr. Wickham was not and she was certain of that).

Caroline was not cruel to servants or anything, but she saw the world in a certain way.

Servants were there for the precise purpose of seeing to the needs and desires of their betters.

That was their lot in life, and they must set themselves to that path.

Servants trying to make names for themselves or rise in their stations, to be elevated to the status of gentlemen by taking on posts in the church…

well, Caroline would not be that sympathetic.

Many people wouldn’t, after all.

And Elizabeth herself didn’t know how she felt about it. Was it a sign? Should Mr. Wickham perhaps have schooled his desires? Reaching too high was a sin, the sin of covetousness, after all.

It was ironic, though. Caroline herself was reaching above her own station, trying to rise.

Maybe everyone wished to. Maybe it was simply human nature.

After all, Elizabeth’s own little daydream about the wealthy man coming to sweep her off her feet? Was that not simply a wish to rise?

She must, of course, tell Caroline, at some point. But she would wait, she supposed.

First, I shall dance with him, ask him my questions, take his measure, she thought. And then, I shall hopefully know how to put in context what I have learned about him from Mr. Wickham.

She should probably talk more to Mr. Bingley, also, if she could find a way to do that. Mr. Bingley’s impressions of Mr. Darcy would likely prove illuminating.

Until then, she was not able to gather any more information, so she could only form an incomplete picture of him.

And besides, she was busy enough dodging the attentions of Mr. Collins, who kept talking too much of marriage and mentioning offhand too many times that Elizabeth must see this or see that at Rosings or in the parsonage, as if it were a foregone conclusion she would eventually end up there with him.

She mostly succeeded at staying clear of him, but on the day of the Netherfield ball, Mr. Collins claimed her first two dances, and she could not get out of it, not by any art except by being too ill to dance—which would, of course, keep her from the ball entirely.

Therefore, she must accept graciously, though she was not looking forward to such a thing at all.

She vowed that she would remain silent during these dances, ever so silent, and say only as much as was polite.

Mr. Collins might speak if he liked, but she would do as little to encourage him as was possible.

ELIZABETH WAS BARELY into the doorway of Netherfield the evening of the ball when she was practically accosted by Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Darcy was trailing behind him, and those stormy gray eyes of his sought her out and then stayed fixed on her with a kind of mournful intensity that unsettled her.

Mr. Bingley introduced every member of the Bennet family to Mr. Darcy who was gracious and polite, though his gaze often returned to her.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, when everyone had been introduced, “I wonder if your first two dances have been claimed this evening.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in sheer horror. Two dances? He was staring at her.

Oh, Lord in heaven, this was a disaster.

She had never been grateful for Mr. Collins in her life, but she was now. She demurred that her cousin had claimed them, and Mr. Darcy asked for her third and fourth dances, and she could not but acquiesce, of course.

She rushed through the room to find Caroline, who was in a conversation with Charlotte in the corner of one of the rooms of the ball. The music had not yet begun, and everyone was lulling about, chatting here and there.

“Me? Mistress of Longbourn?” Charlotte was saying. “Lizzy won’t stand for it!”

Elizabeth planted herself in front of both of the other women. “He’s asked for two dances, Caroline, and I swear to you, I did nothing to encourage him, nothing at all.”

Caroline looked up at her. “Eliza! You’re here. Assure Charlotte you have absolutely no interest in Mr. Collins, would you not?”

Elizabeth barely glanced at Charlotte. “When you meet him, you’ll see. He’s insufferable.” She focused on Caroline. “I did nothing to encourage him.”

“Well, we already knew he wished to marry you,” said Caroline.

“We knew that?” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Who are you talking about?”

“We are all talking about Mr. Collins,” said Caroline.

“I am talking about Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.

Caroline blinked at her.

“He has asked for two dances with me,” said Elizabeth. “He was waiting for me to arrive. He was impatient to get through all of the introductions to speak to me. I did nothing , Caroline. I haven’t even spoken to him.”

Caroline squared her shoulders. “It’s fine. Two dances means you can find out a lot about him, of course. It’s a good thing.”

Elizabeth twisted her fingers together. “Well, I must dance with him, of course. And I obviously shan’t encourage him.”

Caroline looked her up and down, sizing Elizabeth up, and Elizabeth had never seen Caroline be quite so assessing. “Obviously,” she said in a very contained voice.

Charlotte spoke up. “I am ever so confused right now. Would someone explain me what is going on? ”

“Mr. Darcy is Caroline’s quarry,” said Elizabeth. “He seems interested in me, however.”

“Well, you are pretty and witty and interesting and you have that way about you,” said Caroline.

“I suppose I must have always known that we might end up in competition together, and if so, you would come out ahead. You may be penniless, but you’re the daughter of a gentleman.

I am… well, I am not good with conversations and the like. Obviously, he would want you.”

“He doesn’t know me,” said Elizabeth. “He hasn’t even spoken to me. And I am not so pretty that a man would…” Was she? “I suppose I’m not abundantly plain, but…” She let out a breath. “Why are we discussing this? It matters not, Caroline, because I would never do that to you.”

Caroline chewed on her lower lip. “Oh, come now, Eliza, if Mr. Darcy wanted you, you would be foolish to turn him down. And it might be… we could work with it, if necessary. You would still help me find a match, though, another match, a better match, but you would be his wife, and that would put you in a materially better situation.”

“No, I would never,” said Elizabeth. “Everything I hear of him is uncomplimentary, not least from you.”

Caroline laughed. “Yes, I suppose you would think so, but you have foolish ideas of what recommends a man. Charlotte, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” said Charlotte. “Which one is Mr. Darcy again?”

“You do, Charlotte,” said Caroline. “You understand it’s much better to get out of one’s family’s house and have one’s own household, even if the man you marry is not a man you can summon much of anything in the way of affection for.”

“Marriage is about more than affection, true,” said Charlotte. “You really don’t want Mr. Collins, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth wrung out her hands.

The music was starting.

She turned to look around the room and caught sight of Mr. Collins, beckoning to her, smiling widely.

“I must go,” said Elizabeth. “After my second dance with Mr. Collins, I shall bring him straightaway here, so that I may introduce the two of you, Charlotte. With any luck, he will ask you to dance. You can take your measure of him then.” She looked to Caroline.

“You wouldn’t simply give up on Mr. Darcy that easily. ”

Caroline hesitated, licking her lips.

“Oh, I have to go,” said Elizabeth, and she hurried off for Mr. Collins.

The two first dances with the man did little to ease any of her distress.

They were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give.

The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.

She did as she had intended, and took him over to introduce him to Charlotte.

Charlotte was all winsome smiles, inquiring immediately about Mr. Collins in such a way that was sure to prop up the man’s self-importance. “I hear you are a rector in Kent. What a difficult job that must be!”

Oh, Lord in heaven.