They did listen to Mary occasionally. Truly, they did. It was probably the only reason all four had reached adulthood without permanent injury.
But like all good things, it came to an end, and a few years after both Edward and Andrew left home, Mary had fallen in love, got married, and moved away. She and Billie exchanged letters regularly, but it wasn’t the same. Still, Billie would always call Mary her best friend, and thus, when she found herself at Crake House with a sprained ankle and nothing to wear but men’s breeches and a rather dusty shirt and coat, she had no compunction raiding her friend’s wardrobe for a garment suitable for a family dinner. Most of the dresses were a few years out of fashion, but that didn’t bother Billie. In all truth, she likely wouldn’t have even noticed if the maid who was helping her to dress for dinner hadn’t apologized for it.
And they were certainly more stylish than anything she possessed in her own closet.
Billie rather thought that the bigger problem was the length, or rather, the excess of it. Mary was taller than she was, by at least three inches. It had always irked Billie (and amused Mary) to no end; it had always seemed like she should be the taller of the two. But as Billie couldn’t even walk, this was less of an issue than it might have been.
Mary’s gowns were also a bit too large in the chest. But beggars could never be choosers, and so Billie tucked two extra fichus into the bodice and decided instead to be grateful that Mary’s wardrobe had contained a relatively simple round gown in a shade of forest green that Billie liked to think flattered her complexion.
The maid was tucking a few final pins into Billie’s hair when a knock sounded on the door to Mary’s old room, where Billie had taken up residence.
“George,” she said with surprise when she saw his strong form filling the doorway. He was elegantly dressed in a midnight blue coat that she suspected would complement his eyes if he wore it in the full light of day. Gold buttons twinkled in the candlelight, adding to his already regal mien.
“My lady,” he murmured, executing a small bow. “I’ve come to help you down to the drawing room.”
“Oh.” Billie wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Andrew couldn’t very well do it, and her father, who was surely already downstairs, wasn’t as strong as he used to be.
“If you prefer,” George said, “we could summon a footman.”
“No, no, of course not,” Billie replied. A footman seemed most awkward. At least she knew George. And he had already carried her once.
He came into the room, clasping his hands behind his back when he reached her side. “How is your ankle?”
“Still quite painful,” she admitted, “but I bound it with some wide ribbon, and that seems to be helping.”
His lips curved, and his eyes took on an azure sparkle of amusement. “Ribbon?”
To her maid’s horror, Billie hiked up her overlong skirt and stuck out her foot, revealing an ankle bound in a length of festive pink ribbon.
“Very stylish,” George commented.
“I could not justify tearing up a bedsheet when this would do just as well.”
“Ever practical.”
“I like to think so,” Billie said, her jaunty voice giving way to a slight frown when it occurred to her that this might not have been a compliment. “Well,” she said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her arm, “they’re your sheets, at any rate. You should thank me.”
“I’m sure I do.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m mocking you. But only a little.”
Billie felt her chin rise an inch or so. “So long as it’s only a little.”
“I wouldn’t dare otherwise,” he replied. He leaned in, just a bit. “At least not in your presence.”
Billie stole a glance at the maid. She appeared thoroughly scandalized by the exchange.
“In all seriousness, though, Billie,” George said, proving that a sympathetic heart did beat somewhere in his chest, “are you certain you’re well enough to dine?”
She fastened an earring. Again, Mary’s. “I have to eat. I might as well do it in good company.”
He smiled at that. “It has been too long since we have had everyone – well, at least as many as we have tonight – together.”
Billie nodded, feeling wistful. When she was a child, the Rokesbys and Bridgertons had dined together several times each month. With nine children between the two families, suppers – or luncheons, or whatever odd holiday they’d elected to celebrate – could not be anything but loud and boisterous affairs.
But one by one, the boys left for Eton, first George, then Edward, and then Andrew. Billie’s two younger brothers, Edmund and Hugo, were boarding there now, along with the youngest Rokesby, Nicholas. Mary had found love and moved to Sussex, and now the only ones left in regular residence were Billie and her younger sister Georgiana, who at fourteen was perfectly pleasant but no bosom bow for a grown woman of three and twenty.
And George of course, but – eligible unmarried gentleman that he was – he split his time between Kent and London.