George did not point out that he had not asked for an explanation.

"I'd have been dreadful at it."

"You'd have been a breath of fresh air," he lied. She would have been dreadful at it, and then he'd have been conscripted to be her social savior, making sure her dance card was at least halfway filled, and then defending her honor every time some brainless young lord assumed she was lax of morals because she was a bit too loud and free.

It would have been exhausting.

"Excuse me," he murmured, pausing to ask a footman to find her an ottoman. "Shall I hold you until he returns?"

"Hold me?" she echoed, as if she had suddenly lost her command of English.

"Is something wrong?" his mother asked, watching them with undisguised curiosity through the open doorway. She, Lady Bridgerton, and Georgiana had already taken their seats. The gentlemen were waiting for Billie to be set down.

"Sit," George told them, "please. I've asked a footman to bring something for under the table. So that Billie may elevate her foot."

"That's very kind of you, George," Lady Bridgerton said. "I should have thought of that."

"I've turned an ankle before," he said, carrying Billie into the room.

"And I have not," Lady Bridgerton returned, "although one would think I'd be an expert on them by now." She looked over at Georgiana. "I think you might be the only one of my children who hasn't broken a bone or twisted a joint yet."

"It's my special skill," Georgiana said in a flat voice.

"I must say," Lady Manston said, looking over at George and Billie with a deceptively placid smile, "the two of you make quite a pair."

George speared his mother with a stare. No. She might want to see him married, but she was not going to try this.

"Don't tease so," Billie said, with exactly the right amount of affectionate admonishment in her voice to put a halt to that line of thinking. "Who else would carry me if not George?"

"Alas, my fractured limb," Andrew murmured.

"How did you break it?" Georgiana asked.

He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling like the sea. "Wrestled with a shark."

Billie snorted.

"No," Georgiana said, unimpressed, "what really happened?"

Andrew shrugged. "I slipped."

There was a little beat of silence. No one had expected anything so mundane as that.

"The shark makes for a better story," Georgiana finally said.

"It does, doesn't it? The truth is rarely as glamorous as we'd like."

"I thought at the very least you'd fallen from the mast," Billie said.

"The deck was slippery," Andrew said in a matter-of-fact manner. And while everyone was pondering the utter banality of this, he added, "It gets that way. Water, you know."

The footman returned with a small tufted ottoman. It was not as tall as George would have liked, but he still thought it would be better for Billie than letting her foot dangle.

"I was surprised Admiral McClellan allowed you to recuperate at home," Lady Manston said as the footman crawled under the table to set the ottoman into place. "Not that I'm complaining. It's delightful to have you at Crake where you belong."

Andrew gave his mother a lopsided smile. "Not much use for a one-armed sailor."

"Even with all those peg-legged pirates?" Billie quipped as George set her down in her seat. "I thought it was practically a requirement to be missing a limb at sea."

Andrew tipped his head thoughtfully to the side. "Our cook is missing an ear."

"Andrew!" his mother exclaimed.

"How gruesome," Billie said, eyes aglow with macabre delight. "Were you there when it happened?"

"Billie!" her mother exclaimed.

Billie whipped her head around to face her mother, protesting, "You can't expect me to hear about an earless sailor and not ask."

"Nevertheless, it is not appropriate conversation at a family supper."

Gatherings between the Rokesby and Bridgerton clans were always classified as family, no matter that there wasn't a drop of shared blood between them. At least not within the last hundred years.

"I can't imagine where it would be more appropriate," Andrew said, "unless we all head out to the public inn."

"Alas," Billie said, "I'm not allowed this time of night."

Andrew flashed her a cheeky grin. "Reason seven hundred and thirty-eight why I'm glad I was not born a female."

Billie rolled her eyes.

"Are you allowed during the day?" Georgiana asked her.

"Of course," Billie said, but George noticed that her mother didn't look happy about it.

Neither did Georgiana. Her lips were pursed into a frustrated frown, and she had one hand on the table, her index finger tapping impatiently against the cloth.

"Mrs. Bucket makes the most delicious pork pie," Billie said. "Every Thursday."

"I'd forgotten," Andrew said, shuddering with delicious culinary memory.

"How on earth could you? It's heaven in a crust."

"Agreed. We shall have to sup together. Shall we say at noo -"

"Women are bloody," Georgiana blurted out.

Lady Bridgerton dropped her fork.

Billie turned to her sister with an expression of cautious surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"Women can be bloody, too," Georgiana said, her tone approaching truculence.

Billie seemed not to know what to make of that. Normally George would be enjoying her discomfiture, but the conversation had taken such a sharp turn into the bizarre that he could not bring himself to feel anything but sympathy.

And relief that he wasn't the one questioning the young girl.

"What you said earlier," Georgiana said. "About women, and how we would wage war less frequently than men. I don't think that's true."

"Oh," Billie said, looking mightily relieved. Truth was, George was relieved, too. Because the only other explanation for women being bloody was a conversation he did not want to have at the dining table.

Or anywhere for that matter.

"What about Queen Mary?" Georgiana continued. "No one could call her a pacifist."

"They didn't call her Bloody Mary for nothing," Andrew said.

"Exactly!" Georgiana agreed with an enthusiastic nod. "And Queen Elizabeth sank an entire armada."

"She had her men sink the armada," Lord Bridgerton corrected.

"She gave the orders," Georgiana shot back.

"Georgiana has a point," George said, happy to give credit where it was due.

Georgiana gave him a grateful look.

"Indeed," Billie said with a smile.

At that, Georgiana seemed ridiculously pleased.

"I did not mean to say that women couldn't be violent," Billie said, now that Georgiana was done with her argument. "Of course we can, given proper motivation."

"I shudder to think," Andrew murmured.

"If someone I loved was in danger," Billie said with quiet intensity, "I'm quite certain I could be moved to violence."

For years George would wonder about that moment. Something changed. Something shook and twisted. The air crackled electric, and everyone every last Rokesby and Bridgerton at the table sat almost suspended in time, as if waiting for something none of them understood.

Even Billie.

George studied her face. It was not difficult to imagine her as a warrior, fierce and protective of the people she loved. Was he counted among that number? He rather thought he was. Anyone with his surname would fall beneath her protection.

No one spoke. No one even breathed until his mother let out a laugh that was really nothing more than a breath, and then declared, "Such a depressing topic."

"I disagree," George said softly. He didn't think she'd heard him. But Billie did. Her lips parted, and her dark eyes met his with curiosity and surprise. And maybe even a hint of gratitude.

"I do not understand why we are talking of such things," his mother continued, thoroughly determined to steer the conversation back to sweetness and light.

Because it's important, George thought. Because it means something. Because nothing had meant anything for years, not for those who had been left behind. He was sick of being useless, of pretending that he was more valuable than his brothers by virtue of his birth.

He looked down at his soup. He'd lost his appetite. And of course that was when Lady Bridgerton exclaimed, "We should have a party!"

Chapter 7.

A.

party?

Billie carefully set down her napkin, a vague sense of alarm washing over her. "Mother?"

"A house party," her mother clarified, as if that had been what she'd been asking about.

"This time of year?" her father asked, his soupspoon pausing only briefly on its way to his mouth.

"Why not this time of year?"

"We usually have one in the autumn."

Billie rolled her eyes. What typically male reasoning. Not that she disagreed. The last thing she wanted right now at Aubrey Hall was a house party. All those strangers tramping around her home. Not to mention the time it would take to play the part of the dutiful daughter of the hostess. She'd be stuck in her frocks all day, unable to tend to the very real responsibilities of running the estate.

She tried to catch her father's eye. Surely he realized what a bad idea this was, no matter the season. But he was oblivious to anything but his wife. And his soup.

"Andrew won't be home in the autumn," Lady Bridgerton pointed out. "And we should celebrate now."

"I do love a party," Andrew said. It was true, but Billie had a feeling he'd said it more to smooth the tension at the table. Because it was quite tense. And it was oddly clear to her that no one knew why.

"It's settled, then," her mother said. "We shall have a house party. Just a small one."

"Define small," Billie said warily.

"Oh, I don't know. A dozen guests, perhaps?" Lady Bridgerton turned to Lady Manston. "What do you think, Helen?"

Lady Manston surprised no one when she replied, "I think it sounds delightful. But we shall have to act quickly, before Andrew is sent back to sea. The admiral was quite explicit that his leave was for the duration of his convalescence and not a moment longer."

"Of course," Lady Bridgerton murmured. "Shall we say in one week's time?"

"One week?" Billie exclaimed. "You can't possibly ready the house in one week."

"Oh, pish. Of course I can." Her mother gave her a look of amused disdain. "I was born for this sort of thing."

"That you were, my dear," her father said affectionately.

He would be no help at all, Billie realized. If she was going to put a stop to this madness, she was going to have to do it herself. "Think of the guests, Mama?" she persisted. "Surely you must give them more notice. People lead busy lives. They will have plans."

Her mother waved this away as if it were of no consequence. "I'm not planning to send invitations across the country. We've plenty of time to reach friends in the nearby counties. Or London."

"Who will you invite?" Lady Manston asked.