BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 11

BILLIE WASN'T QUITE sure what she was doing to her ankle when it hit Andrew's card house, but it felt just a little more painful than before, so on the last day before the feast he decided he was strong enough to ride, provided he did so by sitting sideways.

He really has no choice. Really, if he doesn't go out into the west to monitor the development of the barley plant, he doesn't know who will. But getting off the horse is still difficult, which means he has to take the steward. And they both don't enjoy it. The last thing the steward wanted was to inspect the barley, and the last thing Billie wanted was to be supervised by the steward while he inspected the barley.

The mood of the female horse is also ugly, so complete they have become a series of angry. It's been so long since Billie's been sitting in the sideways saddle, and Argo doesn't like her at all.

So did Billie. He had not forgotten how much he hated riding in a sideways saddle, but he had forgotten how much it hurt the next day when he had not ridden a horse for a long time. His hips and right thighs groaned in pain at every step. Add in the factor of his ankle still throbbing, then it's amazing how he doesn't wander around the house like a drunken sailor.

Or maybe it was like that. The servants gave him a strange look as he walked down the next morning for breakfast.

He felt that his condition of being too sore to return to the saddle was the best. His mother had already explained that he should continue to be in Aubrey Hall all day. There are four Bridgerton are currently at home, his mother said, and all four will stand in the driveway and welcome every guest.

So Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at one o'clock in the afternoon, when the Duchess of Westborough arrived in her magnificent chariot, accompanied by her daughters—one was engaged, one had not yet—and a niece.

Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at half-time, as Henry Maynard passed by in a lively two-wheeled carriage with his good friend Sir Reginald McVie.

And he was standing between his mother and Georgiana at three o'clock past twenty minutes, when Felix and Mary arrived with their neighbors Edward and Niall Berbrooke, who were, who came from a good family and happened to be old enough to get married.

“Finally,” grumbled Lord Bridgerton, trying to stretch his stiff neck while they were in a small and neat row waiting for the Felix and Mary train to stop, “someone I know.”

“Daddy knows Berbrooke family?” georgiana asked, leaning forward to talk with her father past her sister and mother.

“Dad knows Felix and Mary,” replied Lord Bridgerton. He looked at his wife. “When does the Rokesby family arrive?”

“One hour before dinner,” replied his wife without turning away. The carriage stopped, and because he was the perfect host, his eyes were directed towards the door, waiting for the guests.

“Remember me why they sleep here?” ask husband.

“Because it will make the party much more festive.”

Lord Bridgerton frowned, but wisely chose not to ask further.

Billie does not have the same self-control. “If it were me, I would prefer to sleep in my own bed,” she said as she tugged at the sleeves of her scrawled cotton dress.

“But it's not you,” reply his mother sour, “and stop moving.”

“I can't help it. It itches.”

“I think the dress looks beautiful on you,” comments Georgiana.

“Thank you,” replied Billie, momentarily dumbfounded. “I'm not so sure about the front.” He lowered. The front is covered in a cross-cut style, like a scarf. She never wore anything like that, although her mother assured her the model had been popular for several years.

Does it show too much cleavage? Billie grabbed a safety pin that secured the linen cloth near her waist. It seems that he can fix it with a little

“Stop,” her mother hissing.

Billie sighing.

The carriage finally stopped, and Felix got off first, then reached out to help his wife. Mary Maynard— was previously Rokesby— wearing a traveling jacket and scarf that even Billie could notice following the latest fashions. Mary's clothes look perfect on her body, Billie realized. Mary looked happy and happy from her bright brown curly hair all the way to the end of her elegant shoes.

“Mary!” greet Lady Bridgerton enthusiastically, stepping forward with arms outstretched. “You look radiant!”

Georgiana elbowed Billie. “What does that mean as I thought ?”

Billie gave him a slanted smile and a twitch of the shoulder—universal code for me-sama-once-not-know. Is Mary pregnant? And if so, how did his mother know before him?

Georgiana tilted slightly, whispering from the corner of her mouth. “He doesn't look—”

“Well, if yes,” cut Billie, whisper from the corner of her mouth, “definitely not long.”

“Billie!” exclaimed Mary, who rushed to greet him with a hug.

Billie leaned forward, speaking in a low tone. “There's something you want to tell me?”

Mary doesn't even pretend to misunderstand. “I don't know how your mother can know,” she said.

“Did you tell your mother?”

“Ya.”

“Well, that's your answer.”

Mary laughed, her Rokesby blue eyes wrinkled like George's when she—

Billie gnashing. A moment... What was that? Since when did George have the right to interfere with his thoughts? Maybe their relationship is a little better than before, but still, she is not an encouraging distraction.

Mary, Billie reminded herself inwardly. He was talking to Mary. Or rather, Mary was talking to him.

“I'm so happy to meet you,” Mary said. He held Billie's hands together.

Billie felt something warm and tingling behind her eyes. He knew he missed Mary, but he didn't realize how much he missed her until now. “I agree,” said, trying hard to hold the choked tone because of the emotion from his voice. It wouldn't be good for him if he flooded tears in the driveway.

It wouldn't be good for him if he flooded tears, period. Geez, her mother will probably call the doctor before the first tears get to her chin. Billie Bridgerton isn't a whiny girl.

He never cried. What use?

Billie gulped, and somehow managed to restore enough balance to smile to Mary and said, “Letters don't taste the same.”

Mary rolled her eyeballs. “Especially if you are the author.”

“What?” Billie's mouth is open. “It's not true. I'm a brilliant letter writer.”

“As you write it,” reply Mary.

“I send mail every two—”

“Any three.”

“—every three weeks,” Billie finishes, keeping her voice sounding angry to cover up the fact she has changed her story. “No stop.”

“You really should visit,” said Mary.

“You know I can't,” replied Billie. Mary had invited him to visit for over a year, but it was hard for Billie to leave. There is always something to do around the property. And really, wouldn't it make more sense if Mary came to Kent, where she already knew everyone?

“You can, it's just that you don't want to,” Mary insisted.

“Maybe in winter, when the work in the fields is not too much,” Billie said.

Mary's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“I will definitely visit last winter,” Billie insisted, “but it is useless. You've decided to go home at Christmas time.”

Mary's incredulous expression did not change at all, and she squeezed Billie's hand one last time before turning to Georgiana. “Yeah,” said, “I think you've been taller almost ten inches since I last saw you.”

“No way,” replied Georgiana with a smile. “You just arrived in December.”

Mary looked on alternately from one sister to another. “I think you'll be taller than Billie.”

“Stop saying that,” command Billie.

“But it's true.” Mary grinned, deeply enjoying the whimper on Billie's face. “We will all be higher than you.” She turned to her husband, who was introducing the Berbrooke brothers to Lord and Lady Bridgerton. “Honey,” call him, “don't you think Georgiana has grown so fast since we last met her?”

Billie held a smile as she observed flashes of clueless stares crossing Felix's face before she carefully made her face appear affectionate and patient.

“I don't know at all, but if you say it, it must be true,” he said.

“I hate it when she does that,” Mary told Billie.

Billie didn't bother to hide her smile.

“Billie,” glass Felix while stepping forward greeted them. “And Georgiana. Nice to see you both again.”

Billie bends her knees saluting.

“Let me introduce Mr. Niall Berbrooke and Mr. Edward Berbrooke,” Felix continued, gesturing to the two tanned blond men beside him. “They live just a few kilometers from us in Sussex. Niall, Ned, this is Miss Sybilla Bridgerton and Miss Georgiana Bridgerton, friends of Mary since childhood.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” one of Berbrooke's youth said, and bowed over his hand. “Miss Georgiana.”

“Have my parents arrived?” ask Mary.

“But,” Lady Bridgerton told. “We are expecting their arrival before dinner. Your mother would rather get ready from home.”

“And my brothers?”

“Come with your parents.”

“I think it makes sense,” said Mary grumbled a little, “but you would have thought Andrew could ride here first and say hello. I haven't seen him in a long time.”

“He's not riding much right now,” said Billie as is. “The arm, you know.”

“It sure drives him crazy.”

“I think yes, if he is not so good at pulling profits from his wounds.”

Mary laughed and hooked an arm with Billie. “Let's go inside and chat. Oh, you're limping!”

“Silly accident,” Billie said while shaking hands. “Already almost healed.”

“Well, you must have a lot to tell me.”

“Actually, no,” replied Billie while they climbed the front porch stairs. “Nothing has changed here. Not really.”

Mary gave him a questioning look. “No?”

“Besides Andrew being at home, all still the same as before.” Billie shrugged, wondering inwardly if she should be disappointed with all the things that remained the same. He said he had spent a little more time with George, but that could not count as an event.

“Your mother did not try to marry you to the new priest?” mary Goda.

“We don't have a new pastor, and I'm sure he's trying to marry me to brother Felix.” He raises his head. “Or one of Berbrooke brothers.”

“Henry can be said to be engaged,” said Mary full of authority, “and you do not want to marry one of the Berbrooke brothers. Trust.”

Billie gave him a glance from the side. “Please tell.”

“Stop,” Mary's nag. “Not something indecent. Or even interesting. They're both fun, but his mind is as blunt as a stick.”

“Come, we go to my room,” Billie takes the two of them to the main stairs. “And you know,” he added, just to oppose, “some sticks are actually quite sharp.”

“No with Berbrooke brothers.”

“Why did you offer to invite them, then?”

“Your mother begged! He sent me three pieces of mail.”

“Ibook?” repeat Billie.

“Yes. With extras from my mom.”

Billie grimacing. The combined strength of Lady Rokesby and Lady Bridgerton was not something that could be easily ignored. “He needs more gentlemen,” continued Mary. “I don't think she thought the Duchess of Westborough would bring her two daughters and her niece. After all, Niall and Ned are fun. They will be a good husband for someone.” He gave Billie a meaningful look. “But not for you.”

Billie decided it was pointless to be offended. “You didn't see me marry someone nice?”

“I didn't see you marry someone who can barely read her own name.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Good. I exaggerated. But this is important.” Mary stops in the middle of the main staircase, forcing Billie to stop beside her. “You know I know you more than anyone.”

Billie waited while Mary gave him a serious look. Mary likes to give advice. Billie doesn't really like to accept it, but it's been so long since she's enjoyed her best friend's presence. Only this time can he be patient. Even calmly.

“Billie, listen to me,” said Mary in an urgent tone that sounded awkward. “You can't treat your future so recklessly. In the end you have to choose a husband, and you will go crazy not to marry a man who has the least amount of intelligence on par with you.”

“It hints that I am married to someone.” Or, Billie doesn't add, maybe she has a choice for a husband.

Mary tereak. “Don't say things like that! Of course you're getting married. You just need to find the right guy.”

Billie rolled her eyeballs. Mary had a long-standing illness that seemed to strike all newly married individuals: a fever to see everyone get married and live happily. “Maybe I'm going to marry Andrew,” Billie puts a shoulder together no matter what. “Or Edward.”

Mary stared at him.

“What?” billie finally asked.

“If you can say it like that,” said Mary in a fierce tinge of disbelief, “as if you don't care which Rokesby you'll meet at the altar, you have no right to marry them both.”

“Well, I don't care. I love them both.”

“As brother. Geez, if you're going to look at it from that point of view, you're married to George.”

Billie's steps stopped. “Do not be foolish.”

Married to George? That's ludicrous.

“Really, Mary,” said with a slight strained hiss in her voice. “It's not something that can be made into a joke.”

“You said one Rokesby would be as good as another.”

“No, you said it. I said Edward or Andrew would be the same.” Really, he didn't understand why Mary was so upset. A marriage with one of the brothers would have the same effect. Billie will be Rokesby, and she and Mary will be true brothers. Billie said it sounded beautiful.

Mary hit her forehead and groaned. “You are very unromantic.”

“I don't think of that as a deficiency.”

“No, you won't see it,” grumbled Mary.

Mary refers to it as criticism, but Billie just laughs. “Some of us need to see the world with practicality and common sense.”

“But not with your happiness as the pay.”

For a very long time, Billie said nothing. He felt his head slightly move to the side, his eyes narrowed while thinking while he scanned Mary's face. Mary wants the best for her; she understands that. But Mary doesn't know. How could he possibly know?

“Who are you,” asked Billie gently, “until you can decide what makes others happy?” He made sure to keep his words soft, his tone did not sound sharp. He did not want Mary to feel attacked by the question; he did not intend to ask such a question. But she wanted Mary to think about this, to pause and try to understand that while their friendship was deep, they were basically different people.

Mary raised her head with a look of injured eyes. “I don't mean—”

“I know you didn't mean it that way,” Billie assured. Mary always longed for love and marriage. He wanted Felix since he first met the man— at the age of twelve! When Billie was twelve years old she thought only puppies were in the shed and whether she could climb an old oak faster than Andrew.

To be honest, he still thinks about it. It would be a big blow for him if Andrew could get to the top before him. It's not that they'll be having tests anytime soon, with Andrew's ankle and arm. But still, things like this are important.

Not that Mary would see it that way.

“I'm sorry,” said Mary, but her smile seemed a little too stiff. “I have no right to be so serious when I just arrived.”

Billie almost asked what it meant Mary had plans to do so later. But he didn't do it.

Great self-control. Since when did he learn to be so mature?

“Why are you smiling?” ask Mary.

“What? I'm not smiling.”

“Oh, you smile.”

And because Mary was her best friend, even as the woman tried to tell her how to live her life, Billie laughed and re-attached their arms. “If you must know, I am congratulating myself for not making smart-ass comments to you,” he said.

“Great self-control,” said Mary, repeating Billie's thoughts appropriately.

“I know. Not at all like me.” Billie turned her head to the end of the corridor. “Can we proceed to my bedroom? My leg hurts.”

“Of course. How did your leg get hurt?”

Billie smiled wryly as she continued her steps. “You won't believe who ends up being my hero.

"DON'T FORGET PIKE,KOMEN,VOTE,FAVORITE, AND RATE YES"