B
illie wasn’t exactly certain what she’d done to her ankle when she crashed into Andrew’s house of cards, but it felt only a little bit worse than before, so on the last day before the house party she decided that she was well enough to ride, as long as she did so sidesaddle.
She really didn’t have any choice. Honestly, if she didn’t get out to the west fields to monitor the progress of the barley crops, she had no idea who would. But dismounting was difficult, which meant she’d had to take a groom with her. Which neither of them enjoyed. The last thing the groom wanted was to inspect barley, and the last thing Billie wanted was to be watched by a groom while she inspected barley.
Her mare was in bad spirits as well, just to round out the cranky triumvirate. It had been a long time since Billie had sat in a sidesaddle, and Argo didn’t like it one bit.
Neither did Billie. She had not forgotten how much she hated riding sidesaddle, but she had forgotten how much it hurt the next day when one was out of practice. With every step her right hip and thigh groaned with pain. Factor in her ankle, which was still twinging like mad, and it was a wonder she wasn’t lurching around the house like a drunken sailor.
Or maybe she was. The servants gave her very odd looks when she made her way down the next morning to break her fast.
She supposed it was for the best that she was too sore to get back in the saddle. Her mother had made it explicitly clear that Billie was to remain at Aubrey Hall throughout the day. There were four Bridgertons currently in residence, she said, and there would be four Bridgertons standing in the drive to greet each and every guest.
And so Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at one o’clock, when the Duchess of Westborough arrived in her grand coach and four, accompanied by her daughters (one engaged, one not) and niece.
Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at half two, when Henry Maynard drove up in his racy little curricle with his good friend Sir Reginald McVie.
And she stood between her mother and Georgiana at twenty minutes past three, when Felix and Mary arrived with their neighbors Edward and Niall Berbrooke, who were both of good family and, it just so happened, of marriageable age.
“Finally,” Lord Bridgerton grumbled, stretching a crick from his neck as they waited in their neat little row for Felix and Mary’s carriage to come to a halt, “someone I know.”
“You know the Berbrookes?” Georgiana asked, leaning forward to speak to him past her sister and mother.
“I know Felix and Mary,” he replied. He looked at his wife. “When do the Rokesbys arrive?”
“An hour before supper,” she said without turning her head. The carriage had come to a stop, and, consummate hostess that she was, her eyes were on the door, awaiting her guests.
“Remind me why they’re sleeping over?” he asked.
“Because it will be infinitely more festive.”
Lord Bridgerton frowned, but he very wisely chose not to question her further.
Billie, however, showed no such restraint. “If it were me,” she said, tugging on the sleeve of her printed cotton dress, “I would want to sleep in my own bed.”
“It’s not you,” her mother replied tartly, “and stop fidgeting.”
“I can’t help it. It’s itchy.”
“I think it looks lovely on you,” Georgiana said.
“Thank you,” Billie said, momentarily nonplussed. “I’m not so sure about the front.” She looked down. The bodice draped in a crisscross fashion, rather like a shawl. She’d never worn anything quite like it, although her mother assured her it had been in style for several years.
Was she revealing too much décolletage? She reached for the pin that secured the linen near her waist. It looked like she could adjust it with a little —
“Stop it,” her mother hissed.
Billie sighed.
The carriage finally came to a complete stop, and Felix alighted first, holding out his hand to assist his wife. Mary Maynard (née Rokesby) wore a chintz traveling jacket and shawl that even Billie could tell was the height of fashion. It looked absolutely perfect on her, Billie realized. Mary looked happy and jaunty from her light brown curls right down to the tips of her elegantly shod feet.
“Mary!” Lady Bridgerton gushed, striding forward with outstretched arms. “You are blooming!”
Georgiana elbowed Billie. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Billie gave her a lopsided grimace and a shrug – code universal for I-haven’t-a-clue. Was Mary pregnant? And if so, why on earth did her mother know this before she did?
Georgiana leaned slightly in, whispering out the corner of her mouth. “She doesn’t look —”
“Well, if she is,” Billie cut in, whispering out the corner of her mouth, “she can’t be very far along.”
“Billie!” Mary exclaimed, hurrying over to greet her good friend with a hug.