BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"
chapter 20
GEORGE WAS ALWAYS the first in his family to have breakfast, but by the time he stepped into the informal dining room the next morning, his mother was already at the table, sipping a cup of tea.
There's no way this is a coincidence.
“George, we have to talk,” call his mother as soon as we see her.
“Mother,” muttered George, stepping into the sideboard to fill his plate. Whatever made his mother angry, George didn't want to hear it. He is tired and easily angry. He probably just barely proposed to someone last night, but he has obviously been rejected.
It is not an event that produces a good dream. Or a good sleep.
“As you know, tonight there is Lady Wintour's dance party,” her mother immediately jumped into the subject.
George scoops some half-cooked eggs onto his plate. “Trust me it has not gone out of my mind.”
Her mother's lips tightened, but did not reprimand her for her sarcasm. Instead the woman waited impatiently until George joined the table.
“It's about Billie,” said her mother.
Sure oes.
“I'm worried about it.”
So did George, but he hesitated for the same reason. He put a polite smile on his face. “What problems are there?”
“He will need all the help he can get tonight.”
“Don't be silly,” George scoffs, but he knows what his mother means. Billie wasn't destined for London. She's a country girl, from head to toe.
“He has no confidence, George. The predators will see it soon.”
“Did Mom ever wonder why we chose to hang out with these predators?” tanyanya ticklish.
“Because half of them are actually soft like pigeons.”
“Pigeon?” George gave his mother a look of disbelief.
His mother shook one hand. “Maybe pigeon post. But that's not the point.”
“I will never be so lucky.”
Her mother gave her a sharp look to explain that even though she heard what George said, she chose to ignore him gracefully. “Billie's success is in your hands.”
George knew he would regret having encouraged his mother to explain her point, but he could not stop himself from asking, “Sorry, what does Mother mean?”
“You know like me that the surest way to ensure the success of a debutant girl is a qualified man—like yourself—note her.”
For some reason, this irritated George. “Since when did Billie become the girl to debut?”
His mother looked at him as if he was *****. “What else do you think I'm taking her to London?”
“I'm sure Mom said she wanted to accompany him?” reply George.
His mother shook her hands to hear something that she clearly thought was nonsense. “That girl needs a little polish.”
No, George thought, Billie doesn't need it. He thrust his fork into the sausage too forcefully. “She is fine as is.”
“You're fine, George,” Lady Manston replied, checking her muffin before deciding to add a little butter, “but rest assured, no woman wants to be ‘ alright.’”
George had a patient face. “What does Mother mean?”
“I need you to do your part tonight. You should dance with her.”
His mother made it sound as if to George it was a chore. “Of course I'll dance with her.” It would feel very awkward after considering everything, but even so, inevitably he looked forward to it. She had wanted to dance with Billie since that morning at Aubrey Hall when the girl looked up at her with a waistline and demanded, “Have you ever danced with me?”
At the time, George could not believe he had never done so. After all these years of neighbors, how could he have never danced with Billie?
But now he can't believe he ever thought he had. If he ever danced with Billie, with music washing them as he put his hands on the girl's hips.
And George wants it. He wanted to hold Billie's hand and dance with the girl through the lines, stepping and bowing, feeling the innate elegance in Billie. But more than that, he wanted Billie to feel it. George wants the girl to know he is as feminine and as elegant as others, that he is perfect in George's eyes, not just ‘ alright,’ and if only he—
“George!”
It looked.
“Please notice,” said his mother.
“Sorry,” he mutters. George had absolutely no idea how long he had been dissolved in his own mind, although in general, with his mother even a second or two of daydreaming was already intolerable.
“I said you had to dance twice with Billie,” her mother said rather annoyedly.
“I'll do.”
Her mother's eyes narrowed; she was clearly suspicious of how easily she got her wish. “You should also make sure to leave at least ninety minutes between dances.”
George turned the eyeball and did not bother to hide it. “As per order Mother.”
Lady Manston stirred a little sugar into her tea. “You should look attentive.”
“But not too attentive?”
“Do not tease me,” his mother warned.
George put down the fork. “Mother, rest assured I also want happiness for Billie just like you.”
This seemed to calm his mother a little. “Alright, I'm glad we agreed,” he said. “I want to arrive at the dance at half ten. This will give us a chance to make a decent appearance, but it is still early enough that it is not so difficult to make introductions. Circumstances can become too noisy at events like this.”
George nodded in agreement.
“I think we should leave at nine—there will definitely be a train queue outside Wintour House and you know how long it will be—so if you can be ready at eight past forty-five—”
“Oh, no, I'm sorry,” George cut in, thinking of the silly message he had to pass on to Robert Tallywhite. “I can't keep you company. I have to go alone to the party.”
“Don't be silly,” said his mother. “We need you to accompany.”
“I wish I could do it,” said George honestly. There's nothing she'd like more about Billie showing up in her tramp, but she's been thinking through the schedule tonight, and she's decided it's important for her to arrive alone. If he came with the two women, he had to leave them at the door. And God knows it wouldn't have happened without a full interrogation from his mother.
No, it was better to get there early so he could find Tallywhite and take care of everything before the two of them arrived.
“What might be more important than accompanying me and Billie?” sue mom.
“I already have an appointment,” replied George, lifting his teacup to the mouth. “Cannot be avoided.”
Her mother's lips were thinning. “I'm very disappointed.”
“I'm sorry for disappointing.”
His mother started stirring the tea even tighter. “I may be wrong about this, you know. He could have been an instant success. We could have been surrounded by gentlemen since the moment we arrived.”
“The tone of Mom's voice seems to imply that it's a bad thing,” George said.
“Of course not. But you won't be there to watch it.”
Actually, that's the last thing George wants to see. Billie, surrounded by a group of men sharp enough to realize how valuable the girl is? That was a nightmare.
And debatable, it turns out. “Actually,” George told his mother, “maybe I will arrive at Wintour House before you guys.”
“Well, then I see no reason why you can't turn back from your affairs and pick us up on the way.”
George tried not to pinch his nose. “Mother, it can't. Please accept that and know I'll meet you at the party, where I'll dance attentively with Billie until the men in London will queue just to fall at her feet.”
“Good morning.”
The two of them turned around and saw Billie standing in the doorway. George stood up in welcome. He wasn't sure how much the girl had heard, beyond her sarcasm, and he was worried that Billie would take it wrong.
“How good are you to be willing to take care of me tonight,” said Billie, her tone so sweet and friendly that George could not measure her sincerity. The girl stepped onto the sideboard and picked up the plate. “I hope it is not too difficult task.”
Ah, there he is.
“Instead,” George replied. “I'm really looking forward to being your companion.”
“But not so much that you want to accompany us on the train,” his mother muttered.
“Stop,” sergeant.
Billie turned around, her eyes moving from one Rokesby to another with a curiosity that was not hidden.
“By regret I told you that I have an irrevocable promise tonight,” George told, “which means I won't be able to go to Wintour House with you. But I'll meet you there. And I hope you'll save two dances for me.”
“Of course,” Billie murmured. But there's not much he can say.
“Because you can't accompany us tonight.” Lady Manston started.
George almost threw the napkin.
“...maybe you can help us in another way.”
“Please, tell me how I can help,”.
Billie let out a voice that was probably a grunt. George is not sure. But it is clearly Billie's nature to find the cuteness of George's patience that begins to disappear in the face of his mother.
“You know all young men better than me,” Lady Manston continued. “Is there anything we should avoid?”
Everyone, George wanted to say.
“And is there anything we should look for? Who could Billie possibly make a choice?”
“That may be me—what?”
Billie must have been really surprised, George thought. The girl dropped three slices of smoked meat onto the floor.
“Make a choice, Honey,” Lady Manston said. “That's a phrase. Surely you've heard of it.”
“Of course I've heard of it,” Billie rushed over and put the dishes on the table. “However, I don't see what it has to do with me. I didn't come to London to find a future husband.”
“You should always look for a future husband, Billie,” said Lady Manston, then turn back to George. “What about Ashbourne boys? Not the oldest, of course. He's married, and although you're so much fun,”—ini he said over his shoulder to Billie who is still aghast—” I don't think you can get the heir to the title duke.”
“I'm pretty sure I don't want to do it,” Billie said.
“You're practical, honey. The degree is very excessive.”
“Wife words of an earl,” comments George.
“The two are not at all the same,” said Lady Manston. “And you didn't answer my question. What about Ashbourne boys?”
“No.”
“No?” reset mother. “No, which means you have no opinion?”
“No, which means no. He's not for Billie.”
Yang, George could not help but look, was observing the conversation between mother and child with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness.
“There's a special reason?” ask Lady Manston.
“He gambled,” George lied. Well, maybe not a lie. All the nobles gamble. He had absolutely no idea if the person they were talking about was overdoing it.
“What about the heir of Billington? I think he—”
“Also no.”
His mother watched him expressionlessly.
“He's too young,” says George, hoping it's true.
“Really?” Mother frowned. “I think maybe so. I don't remember exactly.”
“Of course got,” Lady Manston patted her hands. “But not yet.”
Billie's mouth was open, but she looked as if she didn't know what to say.
“How come, when you don't know anyone but us?” lady Manston.
Billie stuffed a piece of bacon into her mouth and began chewing with impressive force. George suspected this was done to prevent the girl from saying anything she would regret.
“Do not worry, dear,” said Lady Manston.
George sipped his tea. “I don't think he looks worried.”
Billie threw a grateful look.
His mother ignored him completely. “You'll get to know everyone in a moment, Billie. Then you can decide with whom you want to know more.”
“I don't know I plan to be here long enough to form an opinion in any way,” said Billie, her voice—in George—'s opinionstay sounding flat and calm.
“Omong empty,” says Lady Manston. “Just leave everything to me.”
“You are not his mother,” said George quietly.
And made his mother raise an eyebrow and say, “But it could have been.”
George and Billie looked at him in shock with their mouths open.
“Oh, come on, you two,” said Lady Manston, “it's no surprise that for a long time I expected an alliance between Rokesby and Bridgerton.”
“Alliances?” reiterate Billie, and all George can think of is that it's a bad and clinical word, a word that could never encompass the whole feeling he now has for Billie.
“Stupid, marriage, whatever you want to call it,” Lady Manston said. “We are very close. Of course I want to be family.”
“If this makes a difference, I already consider you family,” Billie said slowly.
“Oh, I know, Honey. I feel the same way. I just always thought it would be so beautiful to make it official. But it doesn't matter. There's always Georgiana.”
Billie cleared her throat. “She is very young.”
Lady Manston smiled. “So does Nicholas.”
The expression on Billie's face was so close to horror that George almost laughed. Perhaps he had laughed if he wasn't sure enough that his own face had the same expression.
“See I've taken you by shock,” said his mother. “But any mother will tell—it's never too early to plan for the future.”
“I wouldn't recommend to offend this with Nicholas,” murmured George.
“Or Georgiana, I'm sure,” her mother said, and poured herself another cup of tea. “You want a cup, Billie?”
“Eh... yes, thank you.”
“Oh, and that's one more thing,” Lady Manston said as she poured a little milk into Billie's teacup. “We have to stop calling you Billie.”
Billie gnashing. “Sorry, what?”
Tea was poured, then Lady Manston stretched out her cup and said, “From today we will use your real name. Sybilla.”
Billie's mouth gaped for a moment—but it was clear—before she said, “That's the name my mother used to call me when she was angry.”
“Then we will start a new, happier tradition.”
“What does this really need?” ask George.
“I know it will be hard to remember,” said Lady Manston, finally putting her cup near Billie's plate, “but I guess that's for the best. As for the name, Billie was so, well. I don't know if I'd call it maniacal, but I don't think it exactly represents our desire to describe you.”
“The name represents exactly who he is,” George could be said to growl.
“Yes geez. I had no idea you would feel so sure about this,” his mother said, and watched him with a plain expression. “But of course, it's not up to you.”
“I'd rather be called Billie,” said Billie.
“I'm not sure it's up to you, too, dear.”
George's fork fell onto the plate with a loud noise. “Then who is it up to?”
His mother looked at him as if he had just asked the dumbest question. “I.”
“Mother,” repeat.
“I know how everything works. I've done it before, you know.”
“Didn't Mary find her husband in Kent?” George reminded.
“Only after she polished in London.”
Oh God. Her mother's gone mad. That's the only explanation. He can be insistent, and he can be meticulous when it comes to high society and etiquette, but he never managed to unite the two so irrationally.
“Surely it doesn't matter,” said Billie. “Didn't most people also call me Miss Bridgerton?”
“Of course,” I am Lady Manston, “but they will hear us talking to you. It's not like they won't know your first name.”
“This is the dumbest conversation,” grumbled George.
His mother just glanced at him sharply. “Sybilla,” said, turning to Billie, “I know you didn't come to London with the intention of finding a future husband, but surely you saw that opportunity after you were here. You'll never find so many honorable men qualified in one place in Kent.”
“Now, there was so full of honorable men when all Rokesby was at home,” Billie muttered over her tea.
George looked up sharply as his mother laughed loudly. “That's right, Billie,” he said with a warm smile (seems to have forgotten he meant to call her Sybilla), “but unfortunately, right now I only have one Rokesby at home.”
“Two,” says George doesn't believe. Looks like if you never leave, you don't count being home.
Her mother's eyebrows shot up. “I'm talking about you, George.”
Now he feels like a fool.
George stand. “I'll call Billie by the name she wants. And I'll meet you at Wintour House as promised, when the party's over. If you will, there are many things I have to do.”
Actually no, but George doesn't think he'll be able to hear one more word from his mother about Billie's debut.
The sooner they get through this shitty day, the better.
.
BILLIE WATCHED GEORGE walk away, and he wouldn't say anything, really, but even as he dipped the spoon into the porridge, he heard himself exclaim, “Wait!”
George stopped at the door.
“Only a moment,” Billie quickly put down her napkin. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, but there was something inside him and this obviously had to come out. He looked at Lady Manston. “Excuse me. I'll just take a minute.”
George came out of the small dining room and entered the corridor which gave them a little privacy.
Billie cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
Great question. Billie is not sorry. “Actually,” it says, “thank you.”
“You thank me,” said the man slowly.
“Because it defends me,” he said. “Call Me Billie.”
George's lips curled with a half-sour smile. “I don't think I can call you Sybilla even if I try.”
Billie replied with the same expression. “I'm not sure I'll answer it if it comes from a voice other than my mother's.”
George looked at his face for a moment, then said, “Don't let my mother turn you into someone you're not.”
“Oh, I don't think that's possible at this time. I'm far too used to my ways.”
“At an impressive age of 23?”
“Very impressive when you're an unmarried woman,” reply Billie. Maybe he shouldn't have said it; there were too many half-lamarans in their history. (One, Billie thought, was too much. Two can be said to mark it as a miracle of nature.)
But Billie doesn't regret saying it. He can't regret it. Not if he wants to turn one of those half-lamarans into something real.
And he wanted it. He woke up almost at half night—well, twenty minutes at least— berated him for making sure George would not propose to him. If he had brought a shirt out of his hair that would have made him itch (and a penchant for unnecessary choices), he would have done it already.
George frowned, and of course his mind thought three times faster. Did the man wonder why he made such a comment regarding his almost virgin status? Trying to decide how to respond? Arguing his sanity?
“She helped me choose a pretty dress for tonight,” her blow.
“Ibook?”
Billie nodded, then let out a teasing smile. “Although I brought my long pants to town just in case I had to shock her.”
George. “Really?”
“No,” I'm Billie, her heart suddenly feels lighter after the man laughs, “but the fact I'm considering it means something, doesn't it?”
“Of course.” George looked down at him, the man's eyes were so blue in the morning light, and his humor was replaced with something more serious. “Please allow me to apologize on behalf of my mother. I don't know what mastered it.”
“I think maybe he feels”—Billie frowning for a moment, choose the word best—”guilty.”
“Bersalah?” George's face showed his surprise. “For what?”
“Because none of your brothers proposed to me.” One more thing that might not be said. But what happened, Billie did think Lady Manston felt that way.
And when George's expression went from being curious to something he might be jealous of.
“So I think he tried to make up for me,” he said bravely. “It's not like I'm waiting for one of them to propose to me, but I think he feels I'm waiting for them, so now he wants to introduce me—”
“Enough,” George almost snapped at him.
“What?”
The man cleared his throat. “Quite,” said George in a quieter voice. “That's laughable.”
“That your mother felt like that?”
“That he thinks introducing you to a bunch of useless dandy guys is a reasonable idea.”
Billie took a while to enjoy her statement, then said, “She means well.”
George scoffed at him with a loud tone.
“Really,” Billie insisted, unable to hold back her smile. “He only wants what he thinks is best for me.”
“What he thinks.”
“Well, yes. You can't possibly convince her otherwise. That's Rokesby's nature, I'm worried.”
“You may have just insulted me.”
“No,” Billie maintains her expressionless face impressively.
“I'll let your comment pass.”
“You are very good, Sir.”
George turned the eyeball around presumptuously, and once again Billie felt calmer. Perhaps this is not the more subtle way a woman flirts, but this is all she knows.
And it seems to work. On that he is sure.
Maybe she has a bit of feminine intuition.
