BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 21

That night

The Wintour Dance Party

.

NINETY MINUTES later, George still hasn't met Tallywhite.

George tugged at his cravat, which he believed tied his personal servant tighter than usual. There was nothing special about Lady Wintour's Spring Party; in fact, she could tell the event was so mundane it felt boring, boring, but he could not get rid of the strange pricking sensation that continued to crawl his neck. Wherever he turned, it felt as if someone was watching him strangely, watching him with a much greater curiosity than what his appearance caused.

Obviously, all this was his imagination, which led to a more important point—that he was clearly not suited for these kinds of things.

George arranged the time of his arrival carefully. If it is too early, it will attract unwanted attention. Like most single men his age, he usually spends several hours at the club before fulfilling his social duties. If he shows up at the dance at eight o'clock, he'll look weird. (And he had to spend the next two hours making a conversation with his deaf great-aunt, who was legendary for his punctuality and sweet breath.) P

But George was also unwilling to follow his usual schedule, which meant arriving after a long-running party. It would be too hard to find Tallywhite in a crowded room, or worse, he could miss the man.

So after careful consideration, George stepped into Wintour's party room about an hour after the party began. It's too early, but there's enough people moving to and fro around to keep George from standing out.

It was not for the first time that he wondered inwardly whether it was possible that he was over-thinking all of this. It seemed like his mental preparation was too much for the task of pronouncing a line of nursery rhymes.

A quick time check told him it was almost ten o'clock in the evening, which meant that if Billie hadn't arrived, soon the girl would have arrived. His mother intended to arrive at ninety-thirty, but George heard a great deal of grumbling about the long line of trains lining up outside Wintour House. Billie and her mother are almost certainly trapped inside Manston's horse-drawn carriage, waiting to be dropped off.

He didn't have much time if he wanted this matter to be sorted out before they arrived.

With a bored expression, George continued to move around the room, muttering polite greetings as he passed by old acquaintances. A waiter was spinning around carrying a glass of punch, so he picked one up, just wetting his lips while observing the party room from the edge of the glass. He didn't see Tallywhite, but he saw—fucking, what is Lord Arbuthnot?

Why would he ask George to deliver a message that he himself could do it?

But there may be a reason why Arbuthnot should not be seen with Tallywhite. Maybe there's someone else here, someone who can't know the two people are working together. Or maybe it was Tallywhite who knew nothing. Maybe he didn't know it was Arbuthnot who gave the message.

Or the…

Perhaps Tallywhite did know Arbuthnot was his contact, and all of this was a plan to test George so they could use him for future work. Maybe George accidentally entered a career in espionage.

He looked down at the punch in his hand. Maybe he needed. No, he obviously needed something with a higher alcohol content.

“What kind of foul drink is this?” George grumbled, and put down his glass.

And that's when he saw it.

George stopped breathing. “Billie?”

Billie looks amazing. The dress is dark deep red, an unusual energy-filled color choice for unmarried girls, but for Billie the color is perfect. His skin was as white as milk, his eyes were shiny, and his lips. George knew Billie didn't color it—the girl wouldn't have the patience for that sort of thing—but somehow his lips looked more lively, as if absorbing some brilliant ruby color from her dress.

George has kissed those lips. He tasted it and adored it, and he wanted to adore Billie in ways she never dreamed of.

But it's strange; he doesn't hear Billie's arrival announced. He was too far from the entrance, or perhaps he was just too immersed in his own thoughts. But this is where Billie, standing next to her mother, was so beautiful, so radiant that George could see nothing else.

Suddenly the whole world felt like a difficult task. George doesn't want to be here at this dance, with people he doesn't want to talk to and messages he doesn't want to convey. He did not want to dance with young women he did not know, and he did not want to mince words with people he knew. George just wants Billie, and he wants the girl for himself.

George forgot about Tallywhite. He forgot the peas, porridge, and pudding, and he walked across the room with the intent of the crowd as it melted from his path.

And somehow, amazingly, the others have yet to notice Billie's presence. The girl was so beautiful, so lively and original and unusual in a room full of wax dolls. He won't be able to hide for long.

But not yet. Soon George will have to contend with a horde of lustful young men, but for now, Billie is still his.

But Billie looks nervous. Not obvious; George was sure he was the only one who could see it. With Billie, you should know her. The girl stood full of pride, her back straight and head held high, but her eyes moved to and fro, glancing at the crowd.

Searching for?

George stepped forward.

“George!” exclaim Billie happy. “Eh, I mean, Lord Kennard. How nice and”—Billie gave her a secret smile—”t no surprise meet you.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” said George quietly, bending over the girl's hand.

“George,” his mother nodded in greeting.

George leaned over to kiss his mother's cheek. “Mother.”

“Didn't Billie look pretty?”

George nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the girl. “Ya,” said, “dia visible... beautiful.” But that's not the right word. That word is too boring. Beautiful is not the intelligence that gives Billie's eyes depth, nor is it the ingenuity behind her smile. Billie is beautiful, but she's not just beautiful, and that's why George loves her.

“I hope you save your first dance for me,”, George said.

Billie turned to Lady Manston for confirmation.

“Yes, you can use your first dance with George,” said Lady Manston with a patient smile.

“There are so many rules,” said Billie shyly. “I can't remember if for some reason I should have saved you for later.”

“Have you been here long?” ask Lady Manston.

“About an hour,” replied George. “My business spent less time than anticipated.”

“Urusan?” ask mother. “Kukira meeting.”

If George wasn't so enamored with Billie, maybe he had the equipment he needed to exert his annoyance at hearing this. His mother was obviously fishing for information, or at least trying to reprimand him. But he couldn't make himself care. Not when Billie looked up at him with glittering eyes.

“You do look beautiful,” she said.

“Thank you.” Billie gave a clumsy smile, and George's eyes fell on the girl's two hands, nervously flipping through the folds of her skirt. “You also look handsome.”

Beside them, Lady Manston looked radiant.

“You want to dance?” its spray.

“Now?” Billie's smile was adorable. “Is there music?”

There aren't. It's proof of how George has become a fool out of love because he doesn't even feel ashamed. “Maybe walk around the room,” he suggests. “Musicians will start soon.”

Billie turned to Lady Manston, who shook her hand to give her consent. “Go, but stay in sight,” said.

George flinched from his daydream fog long enough to throw a cold gaze at his mother. “I wouldn't dream of doing anything that could ruin his reputation.”

“Of course not,” says his mother is carefree. “I want to make sure he's visible. There's a lot of qualified lads here tonight. More than I expected.”

George grabbed Billie's arm.

“I saw the heir of Billington,” Lady Manston continued, “and you know, I don't think he's too young.”

George gave her a faint insulting look. “I don't think she wants to be Billie Billington, Mom.”

Billie chokes with laughter. “Oh, geez, I haven't even thought about it.”

“Good.”

“He's Sybilla now,” said Lady Manston, demonstrating her talent to only hear what she wants. “And Sybilla Billington sounds fun.”

George turned to Billie and said, “No.”

Billie close her lips, looking very amused.

“Last name Wycombe,” says Lady Manston. “Originally you know.”

George rolled his eyes. His mother is a threat. He stretched out an arm. “Mari, Billie?”

Billie nodded and spun so they faced the same direction.

“If you meet Ashbourne boys..”

But George took Billie away.

“I don't know what Ashbourne boys are like,” Billie said. “Do you know?”

“Slightly distended,” George lied.

“Oh.” Billie frowning. “I can't imagine why your mother thought of that man for me, then. He knows I'm very active.”

George let out a mutter intended to convey his agreement and continued his slow walk on the outskirts of the party room, enjoying the thrill of having the girl's hand on his arm.

“There is a long line of trains to get in here,” Billie said. “I told your mother we should go out and walk, because the weather is so beautiful, but she doesn't want to do it.”

George laughed a little. Only Billie could give such advice.

“Really,” grumbled Billie, “you'd think I asked if we could stop by and meet the King for a cup of tea on the way.”

“Well, considering the palace is across town.” George's tease.

Billie elbowed her ribs. But lightly, so that no one sees.

“I'm glad you don't wear fake hair,” says George. Billie's hair was styled elaborately, following the trend, but it was her hair, and only lightly powdered. George likes how his fancy brown is radiating; it's Billie without a trick, and if there's one thing that confirms Billie, it's that she has no tricks.

George wants Billie to enjoy her time in London, but he doesn't want the girl to change because of it.

“Very not following fashion, I know,” Billie said as she touched the long curls of her hair that were smeared on her shoulders, “but I managed to convince your mother there was a high chance I would step too close to the lantern and make myself burn.”

George looked sharply.

“Given my history when it was introduced in the palace, it's not as impossibly sounding,” Billie said.

George tried not to laugh. Really try.

“Oh, please,” said Billie. “It took me this long to make a joke about it. Better we be entertained by it.”

“What really happened?” George asked. “Or should I not know?”

“Oh, you must want to know,” Billie said as she glanced at him presumptuously. “Trust. You must want to know.”

George's waiting.

“But you won't know it now,” Billie announced. “A woman should have a secret, or so your mother kept telling me.”

“Somehow I guess burned down the palace hall of St. James is not the kind of secret he has in mind.”

“Given how much she wanted me to look like a graceful and refined young woman, I guess that's probably what she had in mind.” Billie glanced at George with a haughty expression. “Lady Alexandra Fortescue-Endicott will never accidentally burn someone.”

“No. If he did, I imagine he would have done it on purpose.”

Billie grunts laughing. “George Rokesby, that's a very bad thing to say. And may not be true.”

“You don't think like that?”

“While it hurts me to admit it, no. He's not that bad. Or as smart as that.”

George was silent for a moment, then asked, “It was an accident, wasn't it?”

Billie gave him a sharp look.

“Of course,” says George, but it doesn't sound as sure as it should.

“Kennard!”

Hearing his name, George reluctantly moves away from Billie. Two of his university friends—Sir John Willingham and Freddie Coventry—walk through the crowd. They were both very pleasant, very respectable, and the kind of man her mother would want to introduce to Billie.

George found out he wanted to hit one of them. It doesn't matter which one. Anyone can, as long as he can take aim at his face.

“Kennard,” Sir John approached with a big smile. “It's been a long time. I didn't think you were in town.”

“Family extension,” George said without giving an explanation.

Sir John and Freddie nodded then said something to approve, then they turned to Billie expectantly.

George forced a smile and turned towards Billie. “Can I introduce Sir John Willingham and Mr. Frederick Coventry.” Mumbles rang out, then said, “Gentleman, this is Miss Sybilla Bridgerton from Aubrey Hall in Kent.”

“Kent, you said,” setu Freddie. “Then you are neighbors?”

“True,” sahut Billie Sweet. “I've known Lord Kennard all my life.”

George tried to hold back his whimper. He knew Billie couldn't use her first name in an event like this, but it still seemed annoying to be called so formal.

“You are indeed a lucky man, having a beauty like this so close at home,” Freddie said.

George glanced at Billie to see if the girl was as shocked and horrified by the sugar-filled praise as she was, but Billie was still smiling kindly, looking like a gentle and friendly debutante.

“Did you say something?” the girl asked.

George mimicked Billie's smile, equally friendly. “Only that I am indeed lucky.”

Billie's eyebrows shot up. “Whatever how I might have missed a sentence that long.”

George glanced at the girl sharply.

Replied with a secretive smile.

George felt something calm inside him. Again, everything is fine in the world. Or at least at the moment. The world is a mess, but right here, right now, Billie is smiling in secret…

With me he was happy.

“May I dance with you, Miss Bridgerton?” John asked Billie.

“With me too,” Freddie instantly chimed in.

“Of course,” replied Billie, again so sweetly that George wanted to vomit. The girl did not sound like herself.

“He promised me his first dance,” cut it. “And set after dinner.”

Billie observed him rather surprised, as she did not promise the set after dinner, yet she did not deny.

“Despite that, there are more than two dances at the dance,” Freddie said smoothly and amusedly.

“I'd love to dance with you both,” Billie said. He looked around the room as if looking for something. “I don't think there's a dance card tonight.”.

“We can survive without that card,” Freddie said. “Which we must remember only after finishing with Kennard, you will dance with me.”

Billie gave him a friendly smile and nodded gracefully.

“Then it's your turn with Sir John,” Freddie reminded. “But I warn you, she's a terrible dancer. You should keep an eye on your toes.”

Billie laughs at it, full and raucous, and once again she becomes so radiant with her beauty that George is half tempted to throw a blanket to cover it, only to prevent others from wanting it.

He shouldn't be angry that Billie's got time to shine. George knows that. Billie deserves to be admired and adored, getting a moment that really deserves her as a party star. But for God's sake, when the girl smiled at Sir John or Freddie, she looked earnest.

Who smiles like that unless they mean to do so? Did he even know such a smile could lead to where? The two men will think Billie is interested. George suddenly imagines a bouquet filling the front porch of Manston House, the young men lining up for the privilege of kissing his hands.

“There is wrong?” ask Billie slowly. Sir John and Freddie were being distracted by other acquaintances and slightly twisted, so his words were only for George.

“Of course not,” George replied, his voice sounds a little sharper than usual.

Billie frowned anxiously. “Are you sure? You—”

“I'm fine,” George snapped.

Billie's eyebrows shot up. “Obviously.”

George scowling.

“If you don't want to dance with me.” Billie starts.

“You think it's about that?”

“So there is something!” Billie's expression was triumphant; she was supposed to hold Pall Mall's hammer in hand to complete her performance.

“For God's sake, Billie, this is not a competition,” murmured George.

“I don't even know what this is.”

“You shouldn't smile like that to another man,” George said in a low voice.

“What?” Billie was shocked, and George was not sure what it was because of disbelief or anger. “It will give them the wrong impression.”

“I think the purpose of all this is for me to attract the attention of the men,” Billie hissed.

Anger, then. And very much.

George has enough sense not to spout such stupid comments, “Ya, but not too much.” Instead he warned, “Don't be surprised if they come home tomorrow.”

“This time, isn't that the goal?”

George had no answer, for there was no answer. It behaves like the person*****, that's obvious to both of them.

My God, how could the conversation go bad like this?

“Billie, put it this way,” said, “I'm just—”

It cringes. Arbuthnot walked towards him.

“You only..” Billie urged.

George shook his head, and Billie was smart enough to know the gesture had nothing to do with him. He followed the direction of George's gaze to Arbuthnot, but the old man stopped and spoke to someone else.

“Who did you see?” ask Billie.

George turned around and directed all his attention to Billie. “No.”

Billie rolled her eyeballs hearing her obvious lies.

“Kennard,” said Freddie Coventry, who returned to their side while Sir John walked away, “I think the orchestra is back to their position. You'd better take Miss Bridgerton to the dance floor or I'm forced to accuse you of rigging the deal.” He leaned over to Billie and pretended to tell her a secret, “Kennard doesn't treat you right if you ask for the first dance then leaves you among the girls who don't dance.”

Billie laughed, but it was just a small laugh, and in George's ears it didn't sound too sincere. “He will never do it,” said Billie, “though just because his mother would reprimand him.”

“Oh-ho!” Freddie chuckles. “So like that.”

George smiled stiffly. He wanted to strangle Billie for castrating himself so efficiently in front of his friends, but he was still well aware of Arbuthnot's presence, just a few feet away, perhaps trying to get some time to talk to him.

Freddie's voice humbled into a seductive mutter. “I don't think he wants to dance with you.”

Billie turned to George, and when their eyes met, George felt he had found his world. He bowed respectfully and reached out, because damn, he had been waiting for this moment for a time that felt like years.

But of course that time Arbuthnot finally arrived. “Kennard,” he called, his friendly greeting was exactly as one might expect from someone when greeting his friend's child. “It's nice to meet you here. What brings you to town?”

“Dancing with Miss Bridgerton,” Freddie said in a lazy tone, “but it seems she can't take Miss Bridgerton to the dance floor.”

Arbuthnot chuckles. “Oh, I'm sure he's not that reckless.”

George could not decide who he wanted to kill first.

“Maybe I should dance with you,” Billie told Freddie.

Forget those two guys. George will kill Billie first. What's he thinking? It's too presumptuous, even for him. Honourable women don't ask men to dance, especially if they've only met for five minutes.

“Women who express their thoughts,” says Freddie. “How refreshing. I can see why Lord Kennard praised you.”

“He's talking about me?”

“No to him,” says George ketus.

“Well, he should have done it,” Freddie moved both eyebrows in a seductive style. “You will obviously be a more interesting topic than our last conversation, which I am sure about wheat porridge.”

George was pretty sure it wasn't true, but there seemed to be no way to protest without looking childish.

“Ah, but I found wheat very interesting,” said Billie, and George almost laughed, because he was the only one who knew Billie was not joking. Her father's recent harvest success could be proof.

“What an unusual woman,” Freddie cheered.

The orchestra starts making groaning sounds that always start the real music, and Billie turns to George, waiting for him to repeat the bow respectfully and lead him to a dance.

But before George could do so, he heard Lord Arbuthnot thump. George knew what he had to do.

“I hand it to you, Coventry,” he bent lightly. “Because you so want her to accompany.”

George tried not to look Billie in the eye, but he was not very successful, and when his eyes passed through Billie's face, he saw the girl in shock. And angry.

And wounded.

“The next dance will be yours,” said Freddie cheerfully, and George's heart was twisted a little as he watched his friend lead Billie to dance.

“I'm sorry for keeping you away from the presence of the beautiful Miss Bridgerton,” said Lord Arbuthnot after a while, “but I'm sure there's a bigger goal for your time in town than dancing.”

No one else in the small circle of their conversation now that Billie left with Freddie Coventry, but Arbuthnot obviously wanted to be careful, so George said, “This and that. Family affairs.”

“Isn't it always like that?” Arbuthnot tilted his head toward George. “Very tiring, is not it, being the head of the family.”

George thought of his father. “I'm so lucky this privilege isn't mine yet.”

“True, true.” Arbuthnot gulped down the length of the drink he was holding, which looked much stronger than the silly punch served to George earlier. “But your turn is coming soon, and we can't choose our family, can we?”

George wondered in his heart what Arbuthnot had said something ambiguous. If so, it is another indication that he is not fit for life containing mysterious messages and secret meetings. He decided to accept Arbuthnot's words as they are and said, “If we could, I dare say I would choose my family.”

“Well, you're a lucky man.”

“Taste so.”

“And how is your business tonight? Success?”

“Feel depending on how one measures success.”

“Really?” said Arbuthnot, sounding a little irritated.

George was not sympathetic. Arbuthnot started this multilayered conversation. He could also let George have a little fun with him. He looked into Arbuthnot's eyes and said, “Unfortunately, we come to these kinds of events to find something, don't we?”

“You are quite philosophical for Tuesday.”

“Usually I keep my great thoughts for Monday night and Thursday afternoon,” George said.

Lord Arbuthnot looked at him in shock.

“I haven't found what I'm looking for,” said George. My God, the ambiguous conversation gave him a headache.

Arbuthnot's eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can. This place is so crowded.”

“It was very disappointing.”

“Indeed.”

“Maybe you should dance with Lady Weatherby,” said Lord Arbuthnot subtly.

George looked sharply. “What?”

“Have you guys been introduced? I made sure she was an incomparable woman.”

“We've met,” George confirms. She has known Sally Weatherby since her name was Sally Sandwick, the older sister of one of her friends. The woman married and buried her husband many years ago and just moved from a state of full mourning to half-grieving. Fortunately for him, he was very suitable to use the purple color of lavender.

“Weatherby nice guy,” says Arbuthnot.

“I don't know him,” said George. The man was older, and Sally was his second wife.

“I work with him from time to time,” says Arbuthnot. “Good men. Very nice guy.”

“It's been years since I spoke to Lady Weatherby,” George said. “I don't know if there's anything I can talk to him about.”

“Oh, I imagine you'll think of something.”

“Test yes.”

“Ah, I saw my wife there,” said Lord Arbuthnot. “She did just that with her head, which means either she needs my help or she will die.”

“You must come to him, then,” said George. “It's clear.”

“I think he'll need my help anyway,” Arbuthnot puts a shoulder to shoulder. “Hopefully succeed, Son. I hope your night is a success.”

George observed while Lord Arbuthnot stepped across the room, then spun around to carry out his mission.

Looks like it's time to dance with Sally Weatherby.