Billie leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Mary didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “I don’t know how your mother knows,” she said.
“Did you inform your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
Mary laughed, her Rokesby-blue eyes crinkling just the way George’s did when he —
Billie blinked. Just one moment… What the devil was that about? Since when did George have the right to plague her thoughts? Perhaps they were getting on somewhat better than they had done in the past, but still, he was not a welcome distraction.
Mary, she reminded herself. She was talking to Mary. Or rather, Mary was talking to her.
“It is so good to see you,” Mary was saying. She clasped both of Billie’s hands in her own.
Billie felt something warm and tingly behind her eyes. She’d known she was missing Mary, but she hadn’t realized how very much until now. “I agree,” she said, working hard to keep the choke of emotion out of her voice. It wouldn’t do to turn into a watering pot in the front drive.
It wouldn’t do to turn into a watering pot, period. Goodness, her mother would probably send for the physician before the first tear reached her chin. Billie Bridgerton was not a crier.
She did not cry. What could be the use of it?
She swallowed, and somehow this reclaimed her equilibrium enough to smile at Mary and say, “Letters just aren’t the same.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Especially with you as a correspondent.”
“What?” Billie’s mouth fell open. “That’s not true. I am a brilliant letter-writer.”
“When you write,” Mary retorted.
“I send you a letter every two —”
“Every three.”
“— every three weeks,” Billie finished, keeping her voice filled with enough outrage to masque the fact that she had changed her story. “Without fail.”
“You really should come to visit,” Mary said.
“You know I can’t,” Billie replied. Mary had been inviting her for a visit for over a year, but it was so difficult for Billie to get away. There was always something that needed to be done around the estate. And truly, didn’t it make more sense for Mary to come to Kent, where she already knew everyone?
“You can,” Mary insisted, “you just won’t.”
“Perhaps in the winter,” Billie said, “when there isn’t as much to do in the fields.”
Mary’s brows rose doubtfully.
“I would have visited last winter,” Billie insisted, “but there was no point. You had already decided to come home for Christmas.”
Mary’s dubious expression did not alter in the least, and she gave Billie’s hand one final squeeze before turning to Georgiana. “My goodness,” she said, “I think you’ve grown three inches since I last saw you.”
“Unlikely,” Georgiana replied with a smile. “You were just here in December.”
Mary glanced from sister to sister. “I think you’re going to be taller than Billie.”
“Stop saying that,” Billie ordered.
“But it’s true.” Mary grinned, fully enjoying Billie’s scowl. “We are all going to be taller than you.” She turned back toward her husband, who was introducing the Berbrooke brothers to Lord and Lady Bridgerton. “Darling,” she called out, “don’t you think Georgiana has grown tremendously since we last saw her?”
Billie bit back a smile as she watched a flash of utter incomprehension cross Felix’s face before he carefully schooled his features into indulgent affection.
“I have no idea,” he said, “but if you say it, it must be true.”
“I hate when he does that,” Mary said to Billie.
Billie didn’t bother to hide her smile that time.
“Billie,” Felix said as he stepped forward to greet them. “And Georgiana. It is so good to see you both again.”
Billie bobbed a curtsy.
“Allow me to introduce Mr. Niall Berbrooke and Mr. Edward Berbrooke,” Felix continued, motioning to the two sandy-haired gentlemen at his side. “They live just a few miles away from us in Sussex. Niall, Ned, this is Miss Sybilla Bridgerton and Miss Georgiana Bridgerton, childhood friends of Mary’s.”
“Miss Bridgerton,” one of the Berbrookes said, bowing over her hand. “Miss Georgiana.”
The second Berbrooke repeated his brother’s felicitations, then straightened and gave a somewhat eager smile. He reminded her of a puppy, Billie decided, with nothing but endless good cheer.
“Have my parents arrived?” Mary asked.
“Not yet,” Lady Bridgerton told her. “We expect them just before dinner. Your mother preferred to dress at home.”
“And my brothers?”
“Coming with your parents.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Mary said with a bit of grumble, “but you would think Andrew could have ridden ahead to say hello. I haven’t seen him for ages.”
“He’s not riding much right now,” Billie said offhandedly. “His arm, you know.”
“That must be driving him mad.”
“I think it would do, were he not so proficient at milking the injury for all it’s worth.”