"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."

"Of course I've heard it," Billie said, hurrying over to take her place at the table. "I don't, however, see how it applies to me. I did not come to London to look for a husband."

"You must always be looking for a husband, Billie," Lady Manston said, then turned right back to George. "What about Ashbourne's son? Not the oldest, of course. He's already married, and as delightful as you are," this, she said over her shoulder to the still-aghast Billie "I don't think you could snag the heir to a dukedom."

"I'm fairly certain I don't want to," Billie said.

"Very practical of you, my dear. It's quite a lot of pomp."

"So says the wife of an earl," George remarked.

"It's not at all the same thing," his mother said. "And you didn't answer my question. What about Ashbourne's son?"

"No."

"No?" his mother echoed. "No, as in you don't have an opinion?"

"No, as in no. He is not for Billie."

Who, George could not help but note, was watching the mother-son exchange with an odd mix of curiosity and alarm.

"Any particular reason?" Lady Manston asked.

"He gambles," George lied. Well, maybe it wasn't a lie. All gentlemen gambled. He had no idea if the one in question did so to excess.

"What about the Billington heir? I think he -"

"Also no."

His mother regarded him with an impassive expression.

"He's too young," George said, hoping it was true.

"He is?" She frowned. "I suppose he might be. I can't remember precisely."

"I don't suppose I have any say in the matter," Billie put in.

"Of course you do," Lady Manston said, patting her hand. "Just not yet."

Billie's lips parted, but she appeared not to know what to say.

"How could you," Lady Manston continued, "when you don't know anyone but us?"

Billie put a piece of bacon in her mouth and began to chew with impressive force. George suspected this was to stop herself from saying something she'd regret.

"Don't worry, my dear," Lady Manston said.

George took a sip of his tea. "She doesn't look worried to me."

Billie shot him a grateful look.

His mother ignored him completely. "You will get to know everyone soon enough, Billie. And then you can decide with whom you wish to pursue an acquaintance."

"I don't know that I plan to be here long enough to form opinions one way or another," Billie said, her voice in George's opinion remarkably even and calm.

"Nonsense," Lady Manston said. "Just leave everything to me."

"You're not her mother," George said quietly.

To which his mother raised her brows and said, "I could be."

To which both George and Billie stared at her in openmouthed shock.

"Oh, come now, you two," Lady Manston said, "surely it can be no surprise that I have long hoped for an alliance between the Rokesbys and Bridgertons."

"Alliance?" Billie echoed, and all George could think was that it was a terrible, clinical word, one that could never encompass all that he had come to feel for her.

"Match, marriage, whatever you wish to call it," Lady Manston said. "We are the dearest of friends. Of course I should like to be family."

"If it makes any difference," Billie said quietly, "I already think of you as family."

"Oh, I know that, dear. I feel the same way. I've just always thought it would be wonderful to make it official. But no matter. There is always Georgiana."

Billie cleared her throat. "She's very young yet."

Lady Manston smiled devilishly. "So is Nicholas."

The look on Billie's face came so close to horror George almost laughed. He probably would have done if he hadn't been fairly certain his own face held the same expression.

"I see that I have shocked you," his mother said. "But any mother will tell you it's never too early to plan for the future."

"I would not recommend mentioning this to Nicholas," George murmured.

"Or Georgiana, I'm sure," his mother said, pouring herself yet another cup of tea. "Would you like a cup, Billie?"

"Ehrm... yes, thank you."

"Oh, and that's another thing," Lady Manston said as she put a splash of milk in Billie's teacup. "We need to stop calling you Billie."

Billie blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

In went the tea, and then Lady Manston held the cup out and said, "Starting today we will use your given name. Sybilla."

Billie's mouth hung open for a brief but noticeable moment before she said, "That's what my mother calls me when she's cross."

"Then we shall begin a new, happier tradition."

"Is this really necessary?" George asked.

"I know it will be difficult to remember," Lady Manston said, finally setting the cup down near Billie's plate, "but I think it's for the best. As a name, Billie is so, well... I don't know that I would call it mannish, but I don't think it accurately represents how we wish to portray you."

"It accurately represents who she is," George practically growled.

"Goodness. I had no idea you would feel so strongly about this," his mother said, peering over at him with a flawlessly innocent expression. "But of course, it's not up to you."

"I would prefer to be called Billie," Billie said.

"I'm not sure it's up to you, either, dear."

George's fork came down heavily on his plate. "Who the devil is it up to, then?"

His mother regarded him as if he had asked just the stupidest question. "Me."

"You," he said.

"I know how these things work. I've done this before, you know."

"Didn't Mary find her husband in Kent?" George reminded her.

"Only after she gained her polish in London."

Good God. His mother had gone mad. It was the only explanation. She could be tenacious, and she could be exacting when it came to society and etiquette, but never had she managed to weave the two together with such complete irrationality.

"Surely it doesn't matter," Billie said. "Won't most everyone be calling me Miss Bridgerton, anyway?"

"Of course," Lady Manston conceded, "but they will hear us speaking with you. It's not as if they won't know your Christian name."

"This is the most asinine conversation," George grumbled.

His mother just flicked him A Look. "Sybilla," she said, turning to Billie, "I know you did not come to London with the intention of looking for a husband, but surely you see the convenience of it now that you're here. You'll never find so many eligible gentlemen in one place in Kent."

"I don't know," Billie murmured over her tea, "it's chock-full when all of the Rokesbys are home."

George looked up sharply just as his mother burst out in a trill of laughter. "Too true, Billie," she said with a warm smile (apparently forgetting that she meant to call her Sybilla), "but alas, I have only the one home right now."

"Two," George said incredulously. Apparently if one never went away, one wasn't counted as being home.

His mother's brows rose. "I was speaking of you, George."

Well, now he felt like a fool.

He stood. "I will call Billie what she wishes to be called. And I will see you at Wintour House as promised, when the ball is underway. If you will excuse me, I have much to attend to."