The object of Darcy’s displeasure wore the expression of a plump, old tabby that had just been presented with a bowl of rich cream. Her satisfaction and avarice were almost palpable as she kept close watch on Bingley and the girl. Her daughter? Likely, he determined, although there is little resemblance. There was no doubt in his mind as to where her thoughts were leading; he had seen that look too many times to be mistaken. Bingley must be warned against showing any particular attention in that direction. The slightest sense of partiality and the woman would be encamped upon the doorstep of Bingley’s home, Netherfield.

Darcy made his way to the refreshment table, his back stiff with displeasure at the duty to his friend that lay before him. Accepting a cup of punch from the girl behind the table, he suffered her smiles and giggles with a show of composure he was far from feeling.

At that moment, Bingley appeared next to him, secured a cup from the girl with a smile and a wink, and turned to his friend. “I say, Darcy, have you ever seen so many lovely young ladies in one place in your life? What do you think of country manners now?”

“I think of them as I have always thought, having certainly been given no cause this evening to do otherwise.”

“But, Darcy, surely you cannot have been offended by Sir William’s attentions.” Bingley smiled ruefully. “He is a good sort, a trifle officious, but —”

“Sir William’s attentions were not uppermost in my mind as I considered your question. You cannot be unaware of the vulgar gossip we are figuring in even at this moment.” Darcy’s jaw clenched in agitation as a rapid review of the room confirmed the truth of his observation.

“They probably wonder, as do I, why you have not danced as yet tonight. Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance. There are many pretty girls who would, no doubt —”