"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."

Mary laughed and linked her arm through Billie's. "Let us go inside and catch up. Oh, you're limping!"

"A silly accident," Billie said with a wave of her hand. "It's nearly healed."

"Well, you must have loads to tell me."

"Actually, I don't," Billie said as they ascended the portico stairs. "Nothing has changed around here. Not really."

Mary gave her a curious look. "Nothing?"

"Other than Andrew being home, it's all just as it ever was." Billie shrugged, wondering if she ought to be disappointed in all the sameness. She supposed she had been spending a little more time with George, but that hardly counted as an event.

"Your mother's not trying to marry you off to the new vicar?" Mary teased.

"We don't have a new vicar, and I believe she's trying to marry me off to Felix's brother." She tipped her head. "Or one of the Berbrookes."

"Henry is practically engaged," Mary said authoritatively, "and you do not want to marry one of the Berbrookes. Trust me."

Billie gave her a sideways glance. "Do tell."

"Stop that," Mary admonished. "It's nothing salacious. Or even interesting. They're lovely, both of them, but they're dull as sticks."

"Here, let's go up to my room," Billie said, steering them toward the main staircase. "And you know," she added, mostly to be contrary, "some sticks are actually quite pointy."

"Not the Berbrookes."

"Why did you offer to bring them, then?"

"Your mother begged! She sent me a three-page letter."

"My mother?" Billie echoed.

"Yes. With an addendum from mine."

Billie winced. The collective might of the Ladies Rokesby and Bridgerton was not easily ignored.

"She needed more gentlemen," Mary continued. "I don't think she was anticipating that the Duchess of Westborough would bring both of her daughters and her niece. And anyway, Niall and Ned are both very good-natured. They will make lovely husbands for someone." She gave Billie a pointed look. "But not for you."

Billie decided there was no point taking affront. "You don't see me marrying someone good-natured?"

"I don't see you marrying someone who can barely read his name."

"Oh, come now."

"Fine. I exaggerate. But this is important." Mary stopped in the middle of the upstairs hall, forcing Billie to a halt beside her. "You know I know you better than anyone."

Billie waited while Mary fixed her with a serious stare. Mary liked to dispense advice. Billie didn't ordinarily like to receive it, but it had been so long since she'd had the company of her closest friend. Just this once she could be patient. Placid, even.

"Billie, listen to me," Mary said with an odd urgency. "You cannot treat your future so flippantly. Eventually you are going to have to choose a husband, and you will go mad if you do not marry a man of at least equal intelligence to yourself."

"That presupposes that I marry anyone." Or, Billie did not add, that she might actually have a choice of husbands.

Mary drew back. "Don't say such a thing! Of course you will get married. You need only to find the right gentleman."

Billie rolled her eyes. Mary had long since succumbed to that sickness that seemed to afflict all recently married individuals: the fever to see everyone else blissful and wed. "I'll probably just marry Andrew," Billie said with a shrug. "Or Edward."

Mary stared at her.

"What?" Billie finally asked.

"If you can say it like that," Mary said with hot disbelief, "like you don't care which Rokesby you meet at the altar, you have no business marrying either one of them."

"Well, I don't care. I love them both."

"As brothers. Goodness, if you're going to take that view of it, you might as well marry George."

Billie stopped short. "Don't be daft."

She, marry George? It was ludicrous.

"Honestly, Mary," she said with a stern little hiss to her voice. "That's not even something to joke about."

"You said that one Rokesby brother would be as good as another."

"No, you said that. I said either Edward or Andrew would do." Really, she did not understand why Mary was so upset. Marriage to either brother would have the same effect. Billie would become a Rokesby, and she and Mary would be sisters in truth. Billie thought it sounded rather lovely.

Mary clapped her hand to her forehead and groaned. "You are so unromantic."

"I don't necessarily see that as a flaw."

"No," Mary grumbled, "you wouldn't."

She'd meant it as criticism, but Billie just laughed. "Some of us need to view the world with practicality and sense."

"But not at the price of your happiness."

For the longest moment, Billie said nothing. She felt her head tipping slightly to the side, her eyes narrowing with thought as she watched Mary's face. Mary wanted what was best for her; she understood that. But Mary didn't know. How could she know?

"Who are you," Billie asked softly, "to decide what constitutes another person's happiness?" She made sure to keep her words gentle, her tone without edge. She did not want Mary to feel attacked by the question; she did not mean the question as such. But she did want Mary to think about this, to stop for one moment and try to understand that despite their deep friendship, they were fundamentally different people.

Mary looked up with stricken eyes. "I didn't mean -"

"I know you didn't," Billie assured her. Mary had always longed for love and marriage. She'd pined for Felix since the moment she'd first met him at the age of twelve! When Billie was twelve all she'd been concerned about was the litter of puppies in the barn and whether she could climb the old oak tree faster than Andrew.

Truth be told, she was still concerned about this. It would be a massive blow if he could make it to the top branch before she could. Not that they'd be conducting a test anytime soon, what with his arm and her ankle. But still, these things were important.

Not that Mary would ever see them as such.

"I'm sorry," Mary said, but her smile was a little too tight. "I've no call to be so grave when I've only just arrived."

Billie almost asked her if that meant she had plans for later in the visit. But she didn't.

Such restraint. When had she developed such maturity?

"Why are you smiling?" Mary asked.

"What? I'm not smiling."

"Oh, you are."

And because Mary was her best friend, even when she was trying to tell her how to live her life, Billie laughed and linked their arms back together. "If you must know," she said, "I was congratulating myself on not making a smart comment at you."