“You must always be looking for a husband, Billie,” Lady Manston said, then turned right back to George. “What about Ashbourne’s son? Not the oldest, of course. He’s already married, and as delightful as you are,”—this, she said over her shoulder to the still-aghast Billie—“I don’t think you could snag the heir to a dukedom.”

“I’m fairly certain I don’t want to,” Billie said.

“Very practical of you, my dear. It’s quite a lot of pomp.”

“So says the wife of an earl,” George remarked.

“It’s not at all the same thing,” his mother said. “And you didn’t answer my question. What about Ashbourne’s son?”

“No.”

“No?” his mother echoed. “No, as in you don’t have an opinion?”

“No, as in no. He is not for Billie.”

Who, George could not help but note, was watching the mother-son exchange with an odd mix of curiosity and alarm.

“Any particular reason?” Lady Manston asked.

“He gambles,” George lied. Well, maybe it wasn’t a lie. All gentlemen gambled. He had no idea if the one in question did so to excess.

“What about the Billington heir? I think he—”

“Also no.”

His mother regarded him with an impassive expression.

“He’s too young,” George said, hoping it was true.

“He is?” She frowned. “I suppose he might be. I can’t remember precisely.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in the matter,” Billie put in.

“Of course you do,” Lady Manston said, patting her hand. “Just not yet.”

Billie’s lips parted, but she appeared not to know what to say.

“How could you,” Lady Manston continued, “when you don’t know anyone but us?”

Billie put a piece of bacon in her mouth and began to chew with impressive force. George suspected this was to stop herself from saying something she’d regret.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Lady Manston said.

George took a sip of his tea. “She doesn’t look worried to me.”

Billie shot him a grateful look.

His mother ignored him completely. “You will get to know everyone soon enough, Billie. And then you can decide with whom you wish to pursue an acquaintance.”

“I don’t know that I plan to be here long enough to form opinions one way or another,” Billie said, her voice—in George’s opinion—remarkably even and calm.

“Nonsense,” Lady Manston said. “Just leave everything to me.”

“You’re not her mother,” George said quietly.

To which his mother raised her brows and said, “I could be.”

To which both George and Billie stared at her in openmouthed shock.

“Oh, come now, you two,” Lady Manston said, “surely it can be no surprise that I have long hoped for an alliance between the Rokesbys and Bridgertons.”

“Alliance?” Billie echoed, and all George could think was that it was a terrible, clinical word, one that could never encompass all that he had come to feel for her.

“Match, marriage, whatever you wish to call it,” Lady Manston said. “We are the dearest of friends. Of course I should like to be family.”