BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 5

BILLIE WAS BORN ONLY seventeen days after Mary Rokesby, and according to their parents, was born, they have been best friends since they were laid in the same cradle when Lady Bridgerton visited Lady Manston for a routine visit every Thursday morning.

Billie wasn't sure why her mother took her two-month-old baby when there was a very competent nanny at Aubrey Hall, but he suspected it had something to do with him being unusually able to roll around by six weeks.

The Bridgerton and Manston women are loyal and devoted friends of one another, and Billie believes each is willing to give her life for the other—or for her children—but it must be said there is always a strong element of competition in their relationship.

Billie also suspected her ability in the art of overthrowing the astounding body had more to do with her mother's fingertips pushing her shoulders instead of her genius, but as her mother reminded her, there were no witnesses.

But what was witnessed by their mother and the servant— was when Billie was placed in Mary's spacious cradle, she grabbed and grabbed the tiny hand of the other baby. And when their mother tried to let go, the two of them began to howl like a banshee.

Billie's mother said she was tempted to leave Billie at the Crake House that night; it was the only way to keep both babies calm.

The first morning was certainly a sign for things to come. Billie and Mary are two nuts of the same skin, as their nanny told them. Two very different beans that happen to be very fond of each other.

When Billie is fearless, Mary is careful. Not scared, just careful. He always looks before he jumps. Billie also looked; it was just that she tended to do so with a more indifferent attitude.

Then he jumps high and far, often defeating Edward and Andrew, who are more or less forced to befriend him after they realize Billie will follow them all the way to the ends of the earth, except maybe he'll get there before they do.

With Mary—after careful consideration of the danger to about—behind him.

And they became four friends. Three wild children and one voice with common sense.

They listen to Mary sometimes. Really, they did. Perhaps that was the only reason the four of them had managed to reach adulthood without any permanent injuries.

But like anything good, it was over, and a few years after Edward and Andrew left home, Mary fell in love, got married, and left. She and Billie exchange letters regularly, but it's not the same. But still, Billie would always call Mary her best friend, so when he found himself at the Crake House with sprained ankles and no other clothes except men's pants and dusty shirts and suits, he felt no remorse as he looked around for proper family dinner in his friend's closet. Most of the dresses have been a few years out of fashion, but that doesn't bother Billie. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have noticed that the waiter who helped him get dressed for dinner didn't apologize for it.

And the dresses were definitely more stylish than anything she had in her own closet.

According to Billie the bigger problem is the length of her dress, or rather, the excess. Mary was taller than him, at least eight inches. It always irritated Billie— and Mary amused; it looked like she should have been the higher one. But since Billie can't even walk, the issue becomes less important than it should be.

Mary's dress is also a little too big on the chest. But beggars must not choose, so Billie slipped two extra triangular scarves into her chest and decided she should be grateful that Mary's wardrobe contained a full silhouette dress that was relatively simple in forest green that Billie thought confirmed the color his skin.

The waiter slipped the last few flops into Billie's hair when a knock was heard on the door of Mary's old room, where Billie was.

“George,” Billie said in surprise when she saw the man's strong arm fill the doorway. George looked elegant in a midnight blue suit that Billie thought would beautify the man's eye color if he wore it during the day. The golden buttons glittered in the light of the candle, affirming his noble aura.

“My Lady,” the man muttered, and a small bow saluted. “I came to help you get down to the guest room.”

“Oh.” Billie wasn't sure why she was surprised. Andrew could not do it, and his father, who must have been downstairs, was not as strong as he once was.

“If you like, we can call the male servant,” George said.

“No, no, of course not,” Billie said. The waiter looks like he's gonna be a little clumsy. At least he knew George. And that man had already held her.

George went into the room, hooked his hands to his back while walking over. “How's your ankle?”

“It hurts so much,” I'm Billie, “but I've already wrapped it with wide band, and it looks like it helps.”

George's lips bent, and his sky blue eyes twinkled amusedly. “Pita?”

Billie horrified her servant by lifting her long skirt and poking out her legs, showing off her partially-bound ankle with a festive pink ribbon.

“Very stylish,” comments George.

“I must not tear the sheets because this is enough.”

“Always be practical.”

“I want to think like that,” Billie said, her carefree voice turned into a twitching forehead when it occurred to her maybe it was not a compliment. “Well,” said, flicking a speck of invisible dust from his arm, “however, it's your sheets. You should thank me.”

“I'm sure I thank you.”

Billie's eyes narrowed.

“True, I was making fun of you,” George said. “But just a little.”

Billie felt her chin lift up a little. “Ask only a little.”

“I wouldn't dare do the opposite,” reply George. Then he leaned slightly forward. “At the very least, not in front of you.”

Billie stole a glance at her servant. The girl looked shocked at their conversation.

“But seriously, Billie,” says George, proving that a sympathetic heart is beating somewhere in his chest, “are you sure you're healthy enough for dinner?”

Billie put up the earrings. Again, it belongs to Mary. “I have to eat. Maybe it's better to do it with family.”

George smiled at her. “It's been too long since everyone—well, at least as much as we have tonight—gather together.”

Billie nodded, feeling nostalgic. When he was a child, the Rokesby and Bridgerton families ate together several times each month. With nine children from two families, dinner—or lunch, or whatever holiday they decide to celebrate—always becomes a boisterous and bustling event.

But one by one, the boys went to Eton, first George, then Edward, and then Andrew. Billie's two younger brothers, Edmund and Hugo, now live in the dormitory there, with Rokesby's youngest son, Nicholas. Mary finds love and moves to Sussex, and now the only ones still living at home are Billie and her younger sister Georgiana, which at fourteen is fun but not a best friend for a 23 year old adult woman.

And George, of course, but the honorable—man who was already qualified to marry like himself—divides his time between Kent and London.

“One penny to fill your mind,” George crosses the room to where Billie sits in front of the dressing table.

Billie shakes. “Not even that much, I'm worried. All very sentimental and crybaby, actually.”

“Sentimental and crybaby? You you? I should know more.”

Billie looked at him, then said, “Our number is now reduced so much. There used to be a lot of.”

“The number is still the same,” George reminded.

“I know, but we rarely get together. It makes me sad.” Billie could hardly believe she was speaking so frankly to George, but the day was tiring and awkward. Maybe that makes him less careful.

“We'll all be together again,” says George enthusiastically. “I'm sure.”

Billie raised next to an eyebrow. “Are you assigned to comfort me?”

“Your mother offered me three quid.”

“What?”

“I'm kidding.”

Billie scowled, but there was no real feeling behind her.

“Come. I'll take you down.” George bends down to bring Billie into his arms, but as George moves to the right, Billie moves to the left, and their heads clash.

“Aduh, sorry,” grumbled George.

“Not, it's my fault.”

“Here, I'll..” George put both arms to the back and under Billie's legs, but there's something odd about it, and it's really weird, because George had been carrying it for over one and a half kilometers a few hours ago.

George lifted her into the air, and the waiter who had been standing noticed the conversation, snapped dodging as Billie's feet swung upwards.

“Please reduce your pressure on my neck,” said George.

“Oh, sorry.” Billie fixed her position. “This is the same as this afternoon.”

George walked towards the passageway outside. “No, not the same.”

Maybe not, I'm Billie in my heart. He felt so comfortable as the man carried him through the forest. Too comfortable than he deserves in the arms of a man who is not his family. Now it feels so clumsy. He was so aware of George's closeness that the man's body heat seeped out of his clothes. His suit collar was set high and well-mannered, but when Billie's finger touched the top, the man's bright brown hair curled against his skin.

“There is wrong?” george asked as they reached the top of the stairs.

“No,” answers quickly, then cleared his throat. “Why do you think like that?”

“You haven't stopped fidgeting since I picked you up.”

“Oh.” Billie could think of nothing to answer. “Only my legs ache.” No, it seems he can think of something. Unfortunately, his mind had nothing to do with it.

George stopped, looking down at him anxiously. “Are you sure you want to come down and have dinner?”

“I'm sure.” Billie grunted exasperatedly. “For God's sake, I've been here. It feels ridiculous to quarantine me in Mary.”'s room

“That's not quarantine at all.”

“It feels like quarantine,” grumbled Billie.

George watched her with a curious expression. “You don't like being alone, huh?”

“Not while the whole world is having fun without me,” reply Billie spicy.

George was silent for a moment, his head was shaken to indicate that he had Billie's words inviting curiosity. “How about other moments?”

“What?”

“When the world is not gathering without you,” said George in a vaguely patronizing tone. “Do you mind being alone?”

Billie felt her eyebrows move up as she glanced at the man. What caused this investigation?

“That's not a hard question,” says George, something a little provocative made him lower the volume of his voice to mumbling.

“No, of course I don't mind being alone.”

Billie put her lips together, feeling a bit irritated. And pissed. But the man asked questions he never asked himself. But then, before realizing he was about to say it, Billie heard herself say, “I don't like—”

“What?”

Billie shakes. “Forget.”

“No, tell me.”

Billie sighing. The man won't let go. “I don't like being cooped up. I could spend the whole day alone if I was outdoors. Or even in the living room, whose windows are high and enter so much light.”

George nodded slowly, as if agreeing.

“Not at all,” replied George.

Well, then, it turns out that only up to that ability to interpret the movements of the man.

“I enjoy my solitude,” continued George.

“I'm sure so.”

George's mouth moved to review the small smile. “I don't think we're insulting each other tonight.”

“No?”

“I'm taking you down a series of steps. You'd better speak well of me.”

“Truely too,” Billie gave up.

George passed through the bordes, and Billie thought their conversation was over when the man said, “A few days ago it rained all day, nonstop.”.

Billie shakes her head. He knew the day George was talking about. That day was bad. He planned to take his horse Argo outside to check the fences at the southern end of his father's estate. And maybe stop by a swath of wild strawberries. It was too early for the plant to bear fruit, but the flowers must have started to appear, and he wanted to know as much as what came out.

“I stayed inside, of course,” George continued. “There is no reason to exit.”

Billie wasn't sure where the man was going, but followed him by asking, “How do you concern yourself?”

“I read books.” George sounded satisfied with himself. “I sat in the study and read books from start to finish, and it was the most fun day I remember lately.”

“You need to get out more often,” Billie said with an expressionless face.

George ignored. “What I want to say is that I spent the day cooped up indoors, as you said, and it feels good.”

“Well. That just explains my point.”

“We are making an explanation?”

“We always make explanations, George.”

“And always count score?” muttered the man.

Always was. Billie didn't say it. Feels childish. And shortsighted. And even worse, it was as if he was trying too hard to be something he wasn't. Or rather, his true self but will never be allowed by society. The man was Lord Kennard, and he was Miss Sybilla Bridgerton, and although Billie was willing to pile strength inside him against the man at any time, he was not stupid. He knows how the world works. Here in her little corner of Kent, she was queen in her realm, but in any contest held outside the cozy little circle drawn around the Crake House and Aubrey Hall…

George Rokesby will win. Always was. Or else, the man will act like he won.

And there's nothing Billie can do about it.

“Suddenly you looked serious like never before,” said George, landing on a shiny board floor on the ground floor.

“I'm thinking of you,” replied Billie honestly.

“I took it a challenge.” The man reached the open door to the sitting room, and his lips moved closer to Billie's ears. “Challenges I won't accept.”

Billie's tongue touched the roof of her mouth, preparing to answer, but before she could make a sound, George passed through the doorway of the formal sitting room at Crake House.

“Goodnight, everyone,” the sound sounds great.

Any hope Billie has of getting in without a trace is instantly lost when she realizes they were the last to arrive. His mother sat next to Lady Manston on a long sofa, with Georgiana on a chair nearby and looking rather bored. The men who were chatting were beside the window. Lord Bridgerton and Lord Manston had a conversation with Andrew, who happily received a glass of brandy from his father.

“Billie!” his mother exclaimed, and jumped to her feet. “In your message you said your feet just sprained.”

“Include sprained,” replied Billie. “I'll be back like new on the weekend.”

George grunting. Billie ignored.

“This is nothing, Mama,” he assured. “I've obviously experienced worse.”

Andrew grunting. Billie ignored him too. “With a stick, he might be able to go down on his own,” George said as he put Billie on a long bench, “but he will spend three times as long, he said, and we don't have patience for it.”

Billie's father, who was standing next to the window with a glass of brandy, broke up.

Billie throws a nasty delicacy, which only makes her father's laughter louder.

“What is one of Mary's dresses?” ask Lady Bridgerton.

Billie nodded. “So I wore long pants.”

His mother nodded but did not comment. It was an inexhaustible argument between them, and their truce was maintained only by Billie's promise to always dress appropriately at dinner. And when there are guests. And in the church.

There is actually a pretty long list of events when he has to dress to his mother's specifications. But if Billie was wearing trousers while doing her work around the estate, Lady Bridgerton did not protest.

For Billie, it felt like a win. As he explained to his mother—repeatedly—all he needed was actually permission to dress appropriately while he was out. The tenants of the land must have thought of him as more than an eccentric, but Billie knew he was liked. And respected.

The feeling of affection was naturally present; according to Billie's mother, she came out of the womb with a smile, and even as a child, she became a favorite of land tenants.

But respect is earned by effort, and for that reason respect is much more appreciated.

Billie knew her sister would one day inherit Aubrey Hall and all of her land, but Edmund was still a child, eight years under him. The child is more often in school. Their father would not be any younger, and one would have to learn how to properly take care of such a large estate. After all, Billie was good at it; everyone said that.

She was an only child for many years; there were two babies between her birth and Edmund, but none lived past childhood. Over the years with prayers and hopes and wishes for the heir, Billie became a sort of mascot for the tenants of the land, a living and smiling symbol of Aubrey Hall's future.

Unlike most noble daughters, Billie always accompanied her parents in their work surrounding the estate. When his mother brought baskets of food for the needy, he was there with apples for the children. When his father inspected their land, he was often found near his father's feet, digging for worms explains why he thinks rye would be a better choice than barley for sun-strapped soils like their soil.

Initially he became an energetic source of entertainment five-year-old boy who insisted on weighing the harvest when the rent was collected. But in the end it became something permanent, and now he is expected to check the needs of the estate. If there is a leaky cottage roof, he will make sure the roof is repaired. If the crop is reduced, he will go and find out why.

He could almost be said to be his father's eldest son.

Other young women may read Shakespeare's romantic poems and tragedies. Billie reads treatises in agricultural management. And he likes it. Really am. All of that is really good reading.

It is hard to imagine a life that might be more suitable for her, but it must be said: all is much easier to do without the use of a corset.

Although painful for his mother.

“I was checking irrigation,” Billie explained. “Doing it using a skirt will be very impractical.”

“I didn't say anything,” said Lady Bridgerton, though they all knew she was thinking about it.

“Not to mention difficult to climb that tree,” Andrew added.

It got his mother's attention. “He climbs a tree?”

“To save the cat,” Andrew confirms.

“People may assume,” says George, his voice snoring with authority, “if he wears a skirt, he will not try to climb a tree.”

“What happened to that cat?” ask Georgiana.

Billie turned to her sister. He almost forgot his brother was there. And he had obviously forgotten the cat. “I don't know.”

Georgiana leaned forward, her blue eyes looking impatient. “Well, did you save him?”

“If yes,” says Billie, “that's completely out of her will.”

“He's a very ungrateful cat,” said George.

Billie's father chuckles at the description and hits George on the back. “George, m’boy, we have to give you a drink. You'll need it after the ordeal you've been through.”

Billie's mouth is open. “Trial she faced?”

George grinned, but no one saw him, damn the man.

“Gaun Mary looks beautiful on you,” said Lady Bridgerton, driving the conversation back to the topic around women.

“Thank you,” Billie said. “I like this green color.” His fingers moved to lace along the rounded neckline. The dress is so beautiful.

His mother stared at him in shock.

“I like pretty dresses,” Billie insisted. “I just don't like wearing it at times that are not practical.”

“Cat it,” Georgiana insisted.

Billie threw an impatient look. “I told you, I don't know. Really, he's a terrible little creature.”

“Agree,” George raised glass salute.

“I can't believe you're toast to the possible death of a cat,” Georgiana said.

“I didn't do it,” replied Billie, turning around to see if anyone might give her a drink. “But I want.”

“It's okay, darling,” murmured Lady Bridgerton, giving her younger daughter a soothing smile. “You don't need to worry.”

Billie looked towards Georgiana again. If their mother used that tone of voice on him, he would probably go crazy. But Georgiana was sickly as a child, and Lady Bridgerton never learned to treat her in ways other than anxiety.

“I'm sure the cat survived the ordeal,” Billie told Georgiana. “He seems very tough. His eyes shone that he always managed to survive.”

Andrew jumped up and leaned over Georgiana's shoulder. “Always land on his four legs, the cat.”

“Oh, stop!” Georgiana hit Andrew, but obviously he wasn't angry with the joke. No one ever got angry at that guy. Not for a long time, at least.

“Is there any news about Edward?” ask Billie to Lady Manston. The eyes of Lady Manston turned grim as she shook her head. “Nothing since last letter. Which we received last month.”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Billie said. “He's such a talented soldier.”

“I'm not sure how much talent comes into play when someone points his gun at your chest,” said George darkly.

Billie turned towards him and glared. “Don't listen to him,” he told Lady Manston. “He was never a soldier.”

Lady Manston smiled towards Billie, her facial expression sad and sweet and loving, simultaneously. “I think he wants to be a soldier,” he said, and looked up at his eldest son. “True, right, George