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And unpleasant.
“Do you know what she meant?” Lady Alexandra asked. “I believe she said something about a cat.”
“Northie adores cats,” Lady Frederica said.
“I can’t stand them myself,” George said with a renewed sense of affability. The statement wasn’t precisely true, but one couldn’t discount the pleasure to be found in being contrary.
Lady Frederica blinked with surprise. “Everybody likes cats.”
“Not me!”
Both Fortescue-Endicott sisters stared at him in shock. George supposed he couldn’t blame them; his tone had been downright gleeful. But as he was finally starting to enjoy himself, he decided he didn’t care. “I prefer dogs,” he said.
“Well, of course everyone likes dogs,” Lady Frederica said. But she sounded hesitant.
“And badgers,” George said cheerfully, popping a bit of bread into his mouth.
“Badgers,” she repeated.
“And moles.” He grinned. She was now regarding him with visible unease. George congratulated himself on a job well done. A few more minutes of this, and she would surely think him insane.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had so much fun at a formal dinner.
He looked over at Billie, suddenly eager to tell her about his conversation. It was exactly the sort of thing she’d find amusing. They would have such a good laugh over it.
But she was busy with Sir Reginald, who was now gazing at her as if she were a rare creature.
Which she was, George thought violently. She just wasn’t his rare creature.
George had a sudden urge to leap across the table and rearrange Sir Reggie’s perfect teeth into something far more abstract.
For the love of God, who was born with teeth like that? The man’s parents had clearly sold their souls to the devil.
“Oh, Lord Kennard,” Lady Alexandra said, “do you plan to observe the ladies’ archery tournament tomorrow?”
“I wasn’t aware there was one,” he replied.
“Oh yes. Frederica and I both plan to take part. We’ve practiced extensively.”
“With Lord Northwick?” he could not help but ask.
“Of course not,” she said. “Why on earth would you think that?”
He shrugged helplessly. Dear God, how much longer would this meal last?
She laid her hand on his arm. “I do hope you will come to watch.”
He glanced down at her hand. It looked so very wrong on his sleeve. But he had a feeling she misinterpreted his gesture, because if anything her fingers tightened. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Lord Northwick. God help him if he’d replaced the earl in her affections.
George wanted to shake her off, but there was that damned gentlemanly nature of his, so instead he gave a tight smile and said, “I will of a certain come to watch.”
Lady Frederica leaned forward and beamed. “Lord Northwick very much enjoys observing archery, too.”
“Of course he does,” George said under his breath.
“Did you say something?” Lady Alexandra asked.
“Merely that Miss Bridgerton is a very accomplished archer,” he said. It was the truth, even if that hadn’t been what he’d said. He looked over at Billie, intending to motion to her with his head, but she was already staring at him with a ferocious expression.
He leaned to the right to see her better.
Her mouth tightened.
He cocked his head.
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Sir Reginald.
George blinked. What the hell had that been about?
And honestly, why did he care?
Billie was having a marvelous time. Truly, she wasn’t quite certain just what she’d been so nervous about. Andrew was always an amusing dinner companion, and Sir Reggie was so kind and handsome; he’d put her right at ease even if he had started speaking in French when they had been introduced.
She hadn’t understood a word of it, but she’d figured it must be complimentary, so she’d nodded and smiled, and even blinked a few times the way she’d seen other ladies do when they were trying to act particularly feminine.
No one could say she wasn’t trying her best.
The one fly in the proverbial ointment was George. Or rather George’s predicament. She felt desperately sorry for him.
Lady Alexandra had seemed like a perfectly pleasant sort of lady when they had been introduced in the drive, but the moment she arrived in the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks, the little shrew had latched on to George like a barnacle.
Billie was appalled. She knew the man was rich and handsome and going to be an earl, but did the grasping little wench need to be quite so obvious about it?
Poor George. Was this what he’d had to contend with every time he went to London? Perhaps she ought to have had more compassion for him. At the very least she should have taken a peek into the dining room before the guests filed in to check on the seating arrangement. She could have saved him from a full evening of Lady Alexandra Four-handed-Endicott.
Blergh. She could come up with something better than that.
Formidable… For-heaven’s-sake… For-the-last-time…
Fine. She couldn’t come up with something better. But really, the woman might as well have had four hands with the way she kept clutching on to George in the drawing room.
At dinner she was even worse. It was difficult to see George across the table with her mother’s monstrous fruit epergne blocking the way, but she had a clear view of Lady Alexandra, and it had to be said – the lady was displaying a highly impractical expanse of bosom.