“Oh, please,” she said impatiently. “You can’t possibly take offense.”
“I can,” Andrew said with a grin. “In fact I think I will, just for the fun of it.”
“Mary and Felix,” Lady Bridgerton said. “We cannot possibly have a celebration without them.”
“It would be nice to see Mary,” Billie admitted.
“What about the Westboroughs?” Lady Manston asked.
George groaned. “Surely that ship has sailed, Mother. Didn’t you just tell me that Lady Frederica has become engaged?”
“Indeed.” His mother paused, delicately lifting her soupspoon to her lips. “But she has a younger sister.”
Billie let out a choked laugh, then quickly schooled her face into a frown when George threw her a furious scowl.
Lady Manston’s smile grew positively terrifying. “And a cousin.”
“Of course she does,” George said under his breath.
Billie would have expressed some sort of sympathy, but of course that was the moment her own mother chose to say, “We shall have to find some nice young men, too.”
Billie’s eyes widened in horror. She should have known that her turn was coming. “Mother, don’t,” she cautioned.
Cautioned? Ordered was more like it.
Not that this had any effect on her mother’s enthusiasm. “We’ll be uneven if we don’t,” she said briskly. “Besides, you’re not getting any younger.”
Billie closed her eyes and counted to five. It was either that or go for her mother’s throat.
“Doesn’t Felix have a brother?” Lady Manston asked.
Billie bit her tongue. Lady Manston knew perfectly well that Felix had a brother. Felix Maynard was married to her only daughter. Lady Manston had likely known the names and ages of his every first cousin before the ink was dry on the betrothal papers.
“George?” his mother prompted. “Doesn’t he?”
Billie stared at Lady Manston in fascinated amazement. Her single-minded determination would do an army general proud. Was it some kind of inborn trait? Did females spring from the womb with the urge to match men and women into neat little pairs? And if so, how was it possible that she’d been skipped?
Because Billie had no interest in matchmaking, for herself or anyone else. If that made her some kind of strange, unfeminine freak, so be it. She would much rather be out on her horse. Or fishing at the lake. Or climbing a tree.
Or anything, really.
Not for the first time Billie wondered what her Heavenly Father had been thinking when she’d been born a girl. She was clearly the least girlish girl in the history of England. Thank heavens her parents had not forced her to make her debut in London when Mary had done so. It would have been miserable. She would have been a disaster.
And no one would have wanted her.
“George?” Lady Manston said again, impatience sharpening the edge of her voice.
George started, and Billie realized he’d been looking at her. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he had seen on her face… what he’d thought he’d seen there.
“He does,” George confirmed, turning toward his mother. “Henry. He’s two years younger than Felix, but he’s —”
“Excellent!” Lady Manston exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
“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.