He set down his fork. “Mother, I assure you that I am every bit as eager for Billie’s happiness as you are.”
This seemed to appease her somewhat. “Very well,” she said, “I am pleased that we are in agreement. I wish to arrive at the ball at half past nine. This will give us the opportunity to make a proper entrance, but it will still be early enough that it won’t be so difficult to make introductions. It gets so loud at these things.”
George nodded his agreement.
“I think we should depart at nine – there will surely be a line of carriages outside of Wintour House and you know how long that takes – so if you could be ready by three-quarters past eight —”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” George interrupted, thinking of the ridiculous message he was meant to pass along to Robert Tallywhite. “I cannot accompany you. I’ll need to make my own way to the ball.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said dismissively. “We need you to escort us.”
“I wish I could,” he said quite honestly. He would have liked nothing better than for Billie to make her entrance on his arm, but he’d already given a great deal of thought to this evening’s schedule, and he had determined that it was imperative that he arrive on his own. If he came with the ladies, he would have to practically abandon them at the door. And heaven knew that would never happen without a full interrogation from his mother.
No, better to get there earlier so that he could find Tallywhite and take care of the whole thing before they even arrived.
“What can possibly be more important than accompanying Billie and me?” his mother demanded.
“I have a previous engagement,” he replied, lifting his own cup of tea to his lips. “It cannot be avoided.”
His mother’s lips pressed into a firm line. “I am most displeased.”
“I am sorry to disappoint.”
She began stirring her tea with increasing vigor. “I could be completely wrong about this, you know. She could be an instant success. We could be surrounded by gentlemen from the moment we arrive.”
“Your tone seems to imply that you think that would be a bad thing,” George said.
“Of course not. But you won’t be there to see it.”
In truth, it was the last thing George wanted to see. Billie, surrounded by a pack of gentlemen astute enough to realize what a treasure she was? It was the stuff of nightmares.
And a moot point, as it happened. “Actually,” he told his mother, “I will likely arrive at Wintour House before you do.”
“Well, then I see no reason you cannot circle back ’round from your errand and pick us up on the way.”
He fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Mother, it won’t work. Please leave it at that and know that I will see you at the ball, where I shall dance such attendance upon Billie that the gentlemen of London will be waiting in line just to fall at her feet.”
“Good morning.”
They both turned to see Billie standing in the doorway. George stood to greet her. He wasn’t sure how much she had heard, beyond his obvious sarcasm, and he very much feared she would take it the wrong way.
“It is very kind of you to agree to attend to me tonight,” she said, her tone so sweet and pleasant that he could not quite gauge its sincerity. She walked over to the sideboard and picked up a plate. “I do hope it will not be too much of a chore.”
Ah, and there she was.
“On the contrary,” he replied. “I am very much looking forward to being your escort.”
“But not so much that you will actually accompany us in the carriage,” his mother muttered.
“Stop,” he said.
Billie turned around, her eyes darting from Rokesby to Rokesby with unconcealed curiosity.
“I regret to inform you that I have an unbreakable commitment this evening,” he told her, “which means I will not be able to drive to Wintour House with you. But I will see you there. And I hope you will save me two dances.”
“Of course,” she murmured. But then again, she could hardly say anything else.
“Since you cannot escort us this evening…” Lady Manston began.
George nearly threw down his napkin.
“… perhaps you may assist us in some other way.”
“Please,” he said, “inform me how I may be of service.”
Billie made a sound that might have been a snort. He wasn’t sure. But it was certainly in her nature to find amusement in his rapidly dwindling patience with his mother.
“You know all of the young gentlemen better than I do,” Lady Manston continued. “Are there any we should avoid?”
All of them, George wanted to say.
“And are there any we should particularly look out for? That Billie may plan to set her cap for?”
“That I may – what?”
Billie must truly have been startled, George thought. She dropped three slices of bacon on the floor.
“Set your cap, darling,” Lady Manston said. “It’s an expression. Surely you’ve heard it.”