BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 22

COVENTRY IS A clever DANCER, but Billie can only give him a little attention as the man leads him through complicated cotillion steps. George was done talking to the old man, and now she was bowing in salute in front of the woman with such a stunning beauty that it seemed astonishing that the people around her did not feel the need to cover the eyes of her astonishing luster.

Something seething and sickening roiled inside Billie, and that night, which had felt so magical, now turned annoying.

Billie knew she shouldn't have invited Mr. Coventry dancing. Lady Manston would've had a heart attack if she was here. Perhaps he would still have a heart attack once the gossip reached his ears. And the rumors will come. Billie may have been avoiding London for years, but she knew enough to realize this news would reach all corners of the party room in a few minutes.

And all over the city the next morning.

He would be too bold. They'll say he's chasing after Mr. Coventry, that he was desperate for unknown reasons, but he must have a bad secret because for what else would he throw away centuries of customs and invite a man to dance?

Then one would remember an unfortunate incident at the palace a few years ago. Horrible, really, they're all gonna grab him. Miss Philomena Wren's dress was struck by fire, and by the time everyone knew what was going on, there was a pile of young women helplessly tethered to the floor, and, unable to move against the weight of wide skirts that made their movements clumsy. Wasn't Miss Bridgerton there? Isn't she above Miss Wren?

Billie gritted her jaw just so she wouldn't growl. If he's on top of Philomena Wren, it's to put out the fire, but nobody's going to touch him.

That Billie was also the cause of the fire is still a closely guarded secret, thankfully. But really, how can a lady be expected to move in an official dress with a full skirt? Palace protocol demanded dresses with much wider skeletons than those used daily. Billie usually has a good awareness of where her body is in a room—ia the least careless person she knows. But who wouldn't have trouble maneuvering in an object that made his hips stick out nearly a meter to the right and to the left? And more importantly, which person***** thought lighting a candle in a room full of women with awkward body shapes was a good idea?

The tip of her dress was so far from her body that Billie didn't even feel it when she nudged the candle. Miss Wren also could not feel when her dress started to burn. And Miss Wren never realized it, Billie thought satisfied, for she was well-meaning enough to jump on the girl's body, putting out the fire before it reached her skin.

However, no one seems to remember that Billie saved Miss Wren from death and disability. No, her mother was so horrified by their entire situation that she threw out plans for Season Billie in London. That, Billie tried to remind herself, was what she had wanted all along. He has refused to attend the season for years.

But he did not want to get his wish because his parents were ashamed of him.

Sighing, he forced his attention back to the cotillion dance he seemed to be doing with Mr. Coventry. Billie doesn't remember doing it, but it looks like she has taken the right steps and hasn't stepped on anyone's feet. Fortunately it doesn't have to be conversational; it's the kind of dance that separates women from their partners as often as it brings them together.

“Lady Weatherby,” says Mr. Coventry when he's close enough to talk.

Billie looked up in shock; she was quite certain Mr. Coventry knew his name. “What?”

They split up, then came back closer. “Women who dance with Lord Kennard,” said Mr. Coventry. “Janda Weatherby.”

“She's a widow?”

“Newly,” Mr. Coventry confirmed. “Just out of black clothes.”

Billie gritted her teeth, trying to keep her expression friendly. The beautiful widow was very young, probably no more than five years above Billie. She was wearing a beautiful dress that Billie now knew was the latest style, and her skin was like a perfect marble that Billie would not be able to get without arsenic cream.

If the sun ever hits Lady Weatherby's perfect cheek, Billie will eat her hat.

“She must marry again,” said Mr. Coventry. “He did not give Weatherby the old heir, so he lived off the new Lord Weatherby donation. Or rather..”.

Once again, the cotillion dance separates them, and Billie barely screams in frustration. Why do people think having an important conversation while dancing is a good idea? Does no one care about providing timely information?

He stepped forward, returning to the area of conversation with Mr. Coventry, and said, “More precisely..?”

The man smiled understandingly. “He must have depended on the kindness of the wife of the new Lord Weatherby.”

“I'm sure he will enjoy the presence of Lord Kennard,” Billie said diplomatically. It won't fool Mr. Coventry; he knows exactly Billie's jealous half-dead. But the man should at least try to show indifference.

“I won't be anxious,” said Mr. Coventry.

“Axiety?”

Once again, Billie had to wait for her answer. He walks sweetly around another woman, cursing the cotillion dance. Isn't there a new dance in continental Europe that holds women and men together throughout the song? The dance is described as scandalous, but really, can't everyone see how plausible it is?

“Kennard is not happy to release you under my supervision,” said Mr. Coventry can do it. “If she asks Lady Weatherby to dance, it's just revenge.”

But that's not George's way. The humor may be cunning, but the attitude is not. He would not ask a woman to dance just to make another woman jealous. He may be irritated, perhaps angry with Billie for embarrassing himself in front of his friends, but if the man dances with Lady Weatherby, it's because he wants to.

Billie suddenly got nauseous. He should not have tried to manipulate the situation, saying he should have danced with Mr. Coventry. But he was so frustrated. The night was going well at first. When she first saw George, glittering in his night suit, Billie almost stopped breathing. He tried to tell himself it was the same guy he knew in Kent, wearing the same suit and shoes, but here in London, here in London, among the people who run the country and perhaps the world, George looks different.

George seems worthy to be here.

There was a mesmerizing aura around him, a calm confidence and confidence about his position. George had his whole life Billie didn't know, living with parties and dancing and meetings at White’s. In the end he will take his place in parliament, and Billie will still be the reckless Billie Bridgerton. In just a few short years it will turn eccentric. And after that it all comes down to crazy.

No, Billie thought firmly. That's not what's gonna happen. George liked. Maybe the guy loved her a little. He had seen it in the man's eyes, and he felt it in his kiss. Lady Weatherby won't be able to—

Billie's eyes widened. Where's Lady Weatherby?

And more importantly, where is George?

.

FIVE HOURS LATER George finally tiptoed through the front door of Manston House, tired, frustrated, and above all, ready to strangle Lord Arbuthnot.

When the general asked him to deliver the message, George thought—How simple it is. He was already planning on attending the Wintour Dance Party, and Robert Tallywhite was the right kind of person to maybe have a light conversation with. After thinking about it, it would take ten minutes of his day, and he would be able to lay his head that night knowing he had done something for the King and the country.

George did not anticipate his night would involve following Sally Weatherby to The Swan With No Neck, a poorly reputed tavern halfway across town. There he finally found Robert Tallywhite, who seemed to have had fun by throwing arrows at a horribly nailed triangular hat into the wall.

With eyes closed.

George delivered a message, which seemed to not make Tallywhite surprised at all, but while trying to leave, he was forced to stay to enjoy a glass of ale. And being forced by what he meant was being forced, pushed into a chair by two very large men, one of whom had the clearest eye bruise George had ever seen.

Such bruises indicate an amazing tolerance for pain, and George fears this may be related to his amazing pain-carrying ability. So when the old Purple Eye told him to sit down and drink, George said.

He then spent the next two hours in a very tangled and empty conversation with Tallywhite and his henchmen. (Sally disappeared soon after driving her to Swan.) They discussed the weather and the rules of the game of cricket as well as the merits of Trinity College against Trinity Hall in Cambridge. They then moved on to the health benefits of saltwater, the difficulty of getting good ice in the summer, and whether the high price of pineapple would affect the popularity of oranges and lemons.

At one in the morning, George suspected Robert Tallywhite was not entirely sane, and at two o'clock he was certain about it. At three, he finally managed to leave, but not before “by accident” elbowed the ribs of one of Tallywhite's big-bodied comrades. There was also a scratch on his left cheekbone, which George could not remember for sure.

Worst of all, he thought as he climbed the steps of Manston House with great difficulty, leaving Billie behind. He knows tonight is important for the girl. Damn, tonight's important to him. Only God knows what Billie thinks of her attitude.

“George.”

George was shocked when he entered his room. Billie was standing right in the middle of the room in a sleeping coat.

Sleeping coat.

The coat was tied loosely, and George could see the fine silk peach of his nightgown peeking out from behind the coat. The dress looked very thin, almost translucent. A man could escape both his hands on such silk and feel the heat of the skin penetrating out. A man may think he has the right to do so, with Billie standing just a meter and a half from her bed.

“What are you doing here?” exacting.

The corners of Billie's lips stiffened. She's upset. In fact, perhaps George would say he looked wrathful and charming. “I'm waiting for you,” said the girl.

“I've guessed,” George pulled his cravat. If taking off the clothes in front of Billie bothered the girl, it was Billie's problem, George decided. The girl entered his bedroom.

“What happened to you?” sue Billie. “When you forced myself on Mr. Poor coventry—”

“I won't pity him too much,” George's scolding. “She gets danceaku.”

“You gave him your dance.”

George kept trying to open his cravat, finally pulling it loose with one last jolt. “I did not see that I had many options,” he threw a piece of linen that was now drooping limp onto the chair.

“What do you mean?”

George stopped, happy that he had turned his back on Billie. He thinks of Lord Arbuthnot, but of course Billie doesn't know—and shouldn't know—about their business. “I can't do the opposite,” he keeps directing eyes to random points on the wall, “remember you asked him to dance.”

“I didn't exactly ask for it.”

George looked back. “It makes no difference, Billie.”

“Alright,” Billie cross, “but I also don't see that I have much choice. Music has started playing and you just stand there.”

There was nothing to be gained from reminding that he was already going to lead the girl to the dance floor when Lord Arbuthnot arrived, so George held back. They looked at each other for a long and stressful time.

“You shouldn't be here,” finally George said. He sat down and took off his boots.

“I don't know where else to go.”

George observed Billie sharply, firmly. What does that girl mean?

“I can take care of myself.”

“Me too,” reply Billie.

George nodded receiving the reply, then turned his attention to his cuff, pushing the fine Belgian lace back so that his fingers could push the buttons through his hole.

“What happened tonight?” he heard Billie ask.

George closed his eyes, realizing Billie could not see his expression. That was the only reason he allowed himself to sigh tiredly. “I don't even know where to start.”

“From the beginning is enough.”

George turned his head towards Billie, unable to stop the wry smile that flashed across his lips. Billie makes a statement like that. But he just shook his head and said in a tired tone, “Not tonight.”

Billie.

“For God's sake, Billie, I'm tired.”

“I don't care.”

It made George flinch, and for a moment he could only be stunned, gnawing like an owl *****.

“Where were you?” sue Billie.

And because the truth is always the best when circumstances allow, George told him, “In the tavern.”

Billie's head jolted back in shock, but her voice sounded cold as she said, “You are indeed like that.”

It made George laugh grimly. “True, right?”

“Why are you in the tavern? What you might have done there that is more important than—” Billie stopped herself with a gasp of horror, smothering her mouth with one hand.

George could not answer, so he did not say anything. There is nothing in the world more important than Billie. But there are things more important than dancing with the girl, no matter how much George wants it.

Brother's missing. Maybe tonight's senseless assignment has nothing to do with Edward. Shit, George sure doesn't exist. How come? Edward disappeared in the Connecticut wild, and he was in London, bringing nursery rhymes to the madman.

But he was asked by his government to carry out the task, and more importantly, he had promised to carry it out.

George felt no remorse in rejecting Lord Arbuthnot when the man came again with another foolish task. He does not have the right disposition to follow orders blindly. But he agreed this time, and he has done it.

The silence in the room grew heavier, then Billie, who turned her back to George, hugged herself and said in a very soft voice. “I'd better sleep.”

“Do you cry?” George quickly stood up.

“No,” replied Billie too soon.

George could not help it. He stepped forward without even realizing it. “Do not cry,” said.

“I'm not crying!” Billie chokes.

“No,” said softly. “Of course not.”

Billie dragged the back of her hand inelegantly to the nose. “I didn't cry,” she protested, “and I obviously didn't cry because of you.”

“Billie,” said George, and before he realized the girl had been in his arms. He held Billie to his heart, and stroked Billie's back while one by one the girl's tears fell from both eyes.

Billie cried without a sound, which seemed to be unexpected for some reason. Billie never did anything half-and-half, and that she would cry. George thought the girl would do it with a hard sedu sedan.

And that's when George realized—Billie was telling the truth. She never cried. George has known Billie for 23 years, and George has never seen her shed a tear. Even when her ankle sprained and had to climb down the stairs by herself, she did not cry. For a moment she looked as if she might cry, but then she straightened her shoulders and swallowed the pain, then continued on with life.

But now she's crying.

George made her cry.

“I'm really sorry,” murmured him into the girl's hair. He doesn't know what he can do differently, but it doesn't seem important. Billie cries, and each sedu contains George's broken heart.

“Please don't cry,” he said, because he doesn't know what else to say. “All will be fine. I promise, everything will be fine.”

George felt Billie nod to his chest, a small gesture, but somehow enough to tell George the girl had passed the tipping point. “You see,” he touched Billie's chin and smiled as the girl finally looked up. “I told you, everything is fine.”

Billie took a trembling breath. “I'm worried about your situation.”

“You worried?” George didn't mean to sound happy, but he couldn't help it.

“And angry,” continued Billie.

“I know.”

“You go,” said Billie loudly.

“I know.” George won't make excuses. Billie deserves better than that.

“Why?” the girl asked. And when George doesn't answer Billie out of his arms and says it again. “Why did you go?”

“I can't tell you,” he said sorry.

“Are you with that woman?”

George did not pretend to not understand. “Shortly a minute.”

There was only one three-branched candle holder in the room, but there was enough light so George could see the pain running through Billie's face. The girl gulped, her movements trembling past her neck.

From the way he stood, with both arms hugging his waist in a protective manner.

“I won't lie to you,” said George quietly. “I may not be able to answer your questions, but I won't lie.” He stepped forward, his gaze piercing Billie's eyes as he swore. “Do you understand? I would never lie to you.”

Billie nodded, and George saw something change on Billie's face. Highlight the girl's eyes softened, more anxious. “You are injured,” he said.

“Not too severe.”

“But still..” Billie reached out to George's face, her hand stopping a few inches from her destination. “Did someone hit you?”

George shakes. Maybe he got that scratch when he was persuaded to enjoy a glass of beer with Tallywhite. “I don't remember, really,” he said. “It's a very strange night.”

Billie's lips opened, and George could see the girl wanted to ask further, but instead he said very gently, “You never danced with me.”

George's eyes looked into his eyes. “I regret it.”

“I want... I hope..” Billie's lips are tightened while gulping, and George realizes he is holding his breath, waiting for the girl to continue. “Kurasa no...”

Whatever it was, Billie couldn't dare to say it, and George realized he had to be as brave as the girl.

“It hurts,” whispered George softly.

Billie looked up, shocked.

George took Billie's hand and kissed her palm. “Do you know how hard it is to tell Freddie Coventry to dance with you? What's it like to see him holding your hand and whispering in your ear as if he has the right to be near you?”

“Ya,” sahut Billie soft. “I know exactly.”

Then, at that moment, everything became clear. There was only one thing George could do.

He did the only thing he could.

He kissed Billie.