Because of Miss Bridgerton

“But he’s what?” Billie asked. Or rather, pounced. Because this was her potential mortification they were talking about.

“Nearly engaged,” George told her. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“It doesn’t count until it’s official,” his mother said airily.

Billie stared at her in disbelief. This, from the woman who had been planning Mary’s wedding from the first time Felix had kissed her hand.

“Do we like Henry Maynard?” Lady Bridgerton asked.

“We do,” Lady Manston confirmed.

“I thought she wasn’t even sure he had a brother,” Billie said.

Beside her, George chuckled, and she felt his head draw close to hers. “Ten pounds says she knew every last detail of his current courtship before she even mentioned his name,” he murmured.

Billie’s lips flickered with a hint of a smile. “I would not take that bet.”

“Smart girl.”

“Always.”

George chuckled, then stopped. Billie followed his gaze across the table. Andrew was watching them with an odd expression, his head tilted at the slightest of angles and his brow pleated into a thoughtful frown.

“What?” she said, while the mothers continued their plans.

Andrew shook his head. “Nothing.”

Billie scowled. She could read Andrew like the back of her hand. He was up to something. “I don’t like his expression,” she murmured.

“I never like his expression,” George said.

She glanced at him. How odd this was, this silly little kinship with George. It was usually Andrew with whom she was sharing muttered quips. Or Edward. But not George.

Never George.

And while she supposed this was a good thing – there was no reason she and George had to be at constant loggerheads – it still made her feel strange. Off-balance.

Life was better when it puttered along without surprises. It really was.

Billie turned to her mother, determined to escape this growing sense of unease. “Do we really have to have a party? Surely Andrew can feel celebrated and adored without a twelve-course meal and archery on the lawn.”

“Don’t forget the fireworks and a parade,” Andrew said. “And I might want to be carried in on a litter.”

“You want to encourage this?” Billie asked, gesturing to him with an exasperated hand.

George snorted into his soup.

“Will I be permitted to attend?” Georgiana asked.

“Nothing in the evening,” her mother said, “but certainly some of the afternoon entertainments.”

Georgiana sat back with a cat-in-the-cream smile. “Then I think it’s an excellent idea.”

“Georgie,” Billie said.

“Billie,” Georgiana mocked.

Billie’s lips parted in surprise. Was the entire world tipping on its axis? Since when did her younger sister talk back to her like that?

“It’s settled, Billie,” her mother said in a tone that brooked no dissent. “We are having a party, and you will attend. In a dress.”

“Mother!” Billie cried out.

“I don’t think it’s an unreasonable demand,” her mother said, glancing about the table for confirmation.

“I know how to behave at a house party.” Good Lord, what did her mother think she would do? Come to dinner with riding boots under her gown? Race the hounds through the drawing room?

She knew the rules. She did. And she didn’t even mind them under the right circumstances. That her own mother thought her so inept… And that she would say so in front of all the people Billie cared most about…

It hurt more than she could ever have imagined.

But then the strangest thing happened. George’s hand found hers and squeezed. Under the table, where no one could see. Billie jerked her head to look at him – she couldn’t help it – but he’d already let go and was saying something to his father about the price of French brandy.

Billie stared at her soup.

What a day.

Later that evening, after the men had gone off to have their port and the ladies were congregated in the drawing room, Billie stole away to the library, wanting nothing more than a spot of peace and quiet.

Although she wasn’t really sure if it counted as stealing away when she was required to beg a footman to carry her there.

Still, she’d always liked the library at Crake House. It was smaller than the one they had at Aubrey Hall, and it felt less imposing. Almost cozy. Lord Manston had a habit of falling asleep on the soft leather sofa, and as soon as Billie settled into the cushions she understood why. With a fire in the grate and a knitted blanket thrown over her legs, it was the perfect place to rest her eyes until her parents were ready to return home.

She wasn’t sleepy, though. Just weary. It had been a long day, and her entire body ached from her fall, and her mother had been spectacularly insensitive, and Andrew hadn’t even noticed that she wasn’t feeling well, and George had, and then Georgiana had gone and turned into someone she didn’t recognize, and —

And, and, and. It was all ands this evening, and the sum of it all was exhausting.

“Billie?”

She let out a softly startled shriek as she lurched into a more upright position. George was standing in the open doorway, his expression made unreadable by the dim, flickering candlelight.