Abruptly, he crossed the room to the younger girl’s side and leaned down. “I saw the cat,” he said, his words disappearing into her gingery hair. “It dashed off into the woods.”
It hadn’t, of course. He had no idea what had become of the cat. Something involving brimstone and the wrath of the devil, if there was any justice in the world.
Georgiana started, then turned to him with a wide smile that was disconcertingly like her sister’s. “Did you? Oh, thank you for letting me know.”
George glanced over at Billie as he straightened. She was regarding him with a keen eye, silently admonishing him for lying. He returned the expression with equal insolence, his quirked brow almost daring her to call him out on it.
But she didn’t. Instead she dismissed him with a one-shouldered shrug so tiny no one could possibly have noticed it but him. Then she turned back to Andrew with her usual sparkle and charm. George returned his attention to Georgiana, who was clearly a cleverer girl than he’d ever realized, because she was watching the scene with slow-rising curiosity, her eyes moving back and forth between all of them, as if they were players on a field.
He shrugged. Good for her. He was glad she had a brain in her head. She was going to need it with her family.
He took another sip of his brandy, losing himself in his thoughts until the conversation around him descended into a low hum. He felt restless tonight, unusually so. Here he was, surrounded by people he’d known and loved his entire life, and all he wanted…
He stared toward the window, searching for an answer. All he wanted was to…
He didn’t know.
There was the problem. Right there. He didn’t know what he wanted, just that it wasn’t here.
His life, he realized, had reached a new depth of banality.
“George? George?”
He blinked. His mother was calling his name.
“Lady Frederica Fortescue-Endicott has become betrothed to the Earl of Northwick,” she said to him. “Had you heard?”
Ah. So this was to be tonight’s conversation. He finished his drink. “I had not.”
“The Duke of Westborough’s eldest daughter,” his mother said to Lady Bridgerton. “Such a charming young lady.”
“Oh, of course, lovely girl. Dark hair, yes?”
“And such beautiful blue eyes. Sings like a bird.”
George stifled a sigh.
His father slapped him on the back. “The duke set her up with a good dowry,” he said, coming straight to the point. “Twenty thousand and a piece of property.”
“As I’ve missed my chance,” George said with a diplomatically impassive smile, “there can be no benefit to the catalogue of her many attributes.”
“Of course not,” his mother said. “It’s far too late for that. But if you had listened to me last spring —”
The supper gong sounded – thank God – and his mother must have decided that there was no use in further pressing her matchmaking points because the next words out of her mouth had to do with the evening’s menu, and the apparent lack of good fish this week at market.
George made his way back to Billie’s side. “Shall I?” he murmured, holding out his arms.
“Oh,” she exclaimed lightly, although for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why she’d be surprised. Nothing had changed in the past quarter of an hour; who else was going to carry her into the dining room?
“How very gallant of you, George,” his mother said, taking her husband’s hand and allowing him to lead her across the room.
He gave her a dry smile. “I confess it’s a heady feeling to have Billie Bridgerton at my mercy.”
Lord Bridgerton laughed. “Enjoy it while you can, son. She doesn’t like to lose, that one.”
“Does anyone?” Billie retorted.
“Of course not,” her father replied. “It’s more of a question of how gracefully one concedes.”
“I’m perfectly gr—”
George scooped her into his arms. “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” he murmured. Because they all knew. Billie Bridgerton was rarely graceful in defeat.
Billie clamped her mouth together.
“Two points for honesty,” he said.
“What would it take to earn three?” she shot back.
He laughed.
“And anyway,” Billie said to her father, fundamentally unable to let a point drop, “I didn’t lose anything.”
“You lost the cat,” Georgiana said.
“And your dignity,” Andrew added.
“Now that earns three points,” George said.
“I sprained my ankle!”
“We know, dear,” Lady Bridgerton said, giving her daughter a little pat on the arm. “You’ll feel better soon. You said so.”
Four points, George started to say, but Billie fixed him with a murderous glare.
“Don’t you dare,” she ground out.
“But you make it so easy.”
“Are we mocking Billie?” Andrew asked, catching up as they entered the hall. “Because if we are, I’ll have you know I’m hurt that you would begin without me.”
“Andrew,” Billie all but growled.
Andrew laid his good hand on his heart in feigned affront. “Hurt. Hurt, I say.”
“Do we think we could not mock me?” Billie asked in an exasperated voice. “Just for one evening?”