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It was beyond ridiculous; George had been sure that Billie would burst out laughing. But no, she blushed.
She blushed!
And then she had batted her eyelashes. It was quite possibly the least Billie Bridgerton-like thing he’d ever seen.
All for a set of freakishly straight teeth. And she didn’t even speak French!
Of course they had been seated next to each other at dinner. Lady Bridgerton had eyes like an eagle when it came to the marriage prospects of her eldest daughter; George did not doubt she had noticed Sir Reggie flirting with Billie within seconds of the first pearly white grin. If Billie hadn’t been seated next to him earlier that day, she would be by the dinner gong.
With Andrew on Billie’s other side, there was no stopping her. Laughter rang like church bells as that side of the table ate, drank, and made merry.
George’s side continued to extoll the many virtues of the Earl of Northwick.
The many, many virtues.
By the time the soup was removed, George was ready to put the man forth for a sainthood. To hear the Ladies Frederica and Alexandra tell it, nothing less would do him justice. The two ladies were regaling him with some nonsense involving Northwick and a parasol he had held for the both of them on a particularly rainy day, and George was just about to comment that it all sounded very crowded, when yet another peal of laughter rang out from the other side of the table.
George glowered, not that Billie could see him. She wouldn’t have seen him even if they didn’t have that damned fruit bowl between them. She was far too busy being the life of the party. The girl was a veritable shining star. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was literally sparkling.
And he’d offered to watch out for her.
Please. She was doing quite well on her own.
“What do you suppose they are talking about?” Lady Alexandra queried after a particularly loud burst of merriment.
“Teeth,” George muttered.
“What did you say?”
He turned with a bland smile. “I have no idea.”
“They seem to be enjoying themselves a great deal,” Lady Frederica said with a thoughtful frown.
George shrugged.
“Northie is such a wonderful conversationalist,” she said.
“Is he?” George murmured, stabbing a piece of roasted beef.
“Oh, yes. Surely you know him?”
George nodded absently. Lord Northwick was a few years his senior, but they had crossed paths at both Eton and Cambridge. George couldn’t remember much about him other than his shock of violently blond hair.
“Then you know,” Lady Frederica said with an adoring smile, “he’s perfectly droll.”
“Perfectly,” George echoed.
Lady Alexandra leaned forward. “Are you talking about Lord Northwick?”
“Er, yes,” George replied.
“He is so delightful at a house party,” Lady Alexandra concurred. “I wonder why you did not invite him.”
“Strictly speaking,” George reminded her, “I did not draw up the guest list.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’d quite forgotten that you are not a member of the family. You seem so at home at Aubrey Hall.”
“The Bridgertons and Rokesbys have long been amiable neighbors,” he told her.
“Miss Sybilla is practically his sister,” Lady Frederica said, leaning forward to keep herself in the conversation.
Billie? His sister? George frowned. That wasn’t right. “I wouldn’t say…” he began.
But Lady Alexandra was already talking again. “Lady Mary said as much earlier this evening. She told the most amusing tales. I do so adore your sister.”
George had a mouthful of food, so he nodded and hoped she’d take that as a thank you.
Lady Alexandra leaned forward. “Lady Mary said the lot of you ran wild together as children. It sounded dreadfully exciting.”
“I was a bit older,” he said. “I rarely —”
“— and then it ran off!” Andrew chortled from across the table, loudly enough to put a (thankful) halt to George’s conversation with the two Fortescue-Endicott ladies.
Lady Frederica peered at them through the fruit display. “What do you think they are talking about?” she inquired.
“Lord Northwick,” George said firmly.
Her entire face lit up. “Really?”
“But Mr. Rokesby said ‘it’,” Lady Alexandra pointed out. “Surely he would not refer to Northie as an it.”
“I’m sure you misheard,” George lied. “My brother very much admires Lord Northwick.”
“He does?” She leaned forward, far enough to attract her sister’s attention. “Frederica, did you hear that? Lord Kennard said that his brother admires Lord Northwick.”
Lady Frederica blushed prettily.
George wanted to plant his face in his potatoes.
“… ungrateful feline!” Billie’s voice wafted over the asparagus terrine. More laughter ensued, followed by: “I was furious!”
George sighed. He never thought he would yearn for Billie Bridgerton, but her smile was bright, her laughter infectious, and he was quite sure that if he had to endure another moment seated between the Ladies Frederica and Alexandra his brain was going to start washing out his ears.
Billie must have caught him moping, because she moved just a bit to the side. “We’re talking about the cat,” she said.
“Yes, I’d gathered.”
She smiled – a rather encouraging and pleasant smile that had the effect of making him feel rather discouraged.