Cecilia’s brows rose as a dark-haired woman virtually flew down the stairs. She took the last half dozen steps in a single leap, and it was only then that Cecilia saw that she was wearing men’s breeches.
“Edward!” With one last cry, the woman hurled herself into Edward’s arms, hugging him with enough intensity and love to bring tears to Cecilia’s eyes.
“Oh, Edward,” she said again, touching his cheeks as if she needed to reassure herself it was really he, “we’ve been in such despair.”
“Billie?” Edward said.
Billie? Billie Bridgerton? Cecilia’s heart sank. Oh dear God. This was going to be awful. She probably still thought Edward was going to marry her. He’d said they had no formal understanding, that Billie didn’t want to marry him any more than he did her, but Cecilia suspected that that was the obtuse male in him talking. How could any woman not want to marry him, especially one who’d been told since birth that he was hers?
“It’s so good to see you,” Edward said with a brotherly kiss on her cheek, “but what are you doing here?”
At that Billie laughed. It was a watery, through-her-tears sort of laugh, but her joy was there in every note. “You don’t know,” she said. “Of course you don’t know.”
“I don’t know what?”
And then another voice entered the conversation. A male one.
“I married her.”
Edward whirled around. “George?”
His brother. It had to be. His hair wasn’t quite the same shade of brown, but those eyes, those incandescently blue eyes . . . He had to be a Rokesby.
“You married Billie?” Edward still looked . . . quite honestly, shocked really wasn’t quite strong enough a word.
“I did.” George looked right proud of it too, although Cecilia had less than a moment to gauge his expression before he enveloped Edward in a hug.
“But . . . but . . .”
Cecilia watched with interest. It was impossible not to smile. There was a story here. And she couldn’t help but be a little bit relieved that Billie Bridgerton was clearly in love with someone else.
“But you hate each other,” Edward protested.
“Not nearly so much as we love each other,” Billie said.
“Good God. You and Billie?” Edward looked from one to the other and back again. “Are you certain?”
“I recall the ceremony quite distinctly,” George said with dry humor. He tipped his head toward Cecilia. “Are you going to introduce us?”
Edward took her arm and drew her close. “My wife,” he said with obvious pride. “Cecilia Rokesby.”
“Formerly Harcourt?” Billie asked. “You were the one who wrote to us! Oh, thank you. Thank you!”
She threw her arms around Cecilia and hugged her so tightly that Cecilia could hear every catch in her voice as she said, “Thank you again and again. You have no idea how much that meant to us.”
“Mother and Father are in the village,” George said. “They should be back within the hour.”
Edward smiled broadly. “Excellent. And the rest?”
“Nicholas is at school,” Billie said, “and of course Mary has her own home now.”
“And Andrew?”
Andrew. The third brother. Edward had told Cecilia that he was in the navy.
“Is he here?” Edward asked.
George made a sound that Cecilia could not interpret. One might have called it a chuckle . . . if it weren’t so liberally laced with something better described as awkward resignation.
“Shall you tell him or shall I?” Billie said.
George took a breath. “Well, now that is quite a story . . .”