And she did. She’d been up half the night—well, twenty minutes at least—berating herself for her practically ensuring that he would not ask her to marry him. If she’d had a hair shirt (and any inclination for useless gestures), she’d have donned it.

George’s brow furrowed, and of course her mind whipped into triple-speed. Was he wondering why she’d made a comment about her near-spinster status? Trying to decide how to respond? Debating her sanity?

“She did help me pick out a lovely gown for this evening,” she blurted out.

“My mother?”

Billie nodded, then summoned a mischievous smile. “Although I did bring a pair of my breeches to town just in case I needed to shock her.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Did you really?”

“No,” she admitted, her heart suddenly lighter now that he’d laughed, “but just the fact that I pondered it means something, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” He looked down at her, his eyes so blue in the morning light, and his humor was replaced by something more serious. “Please allow me to apologize for my mother. I don’t know what’s come over her.”

“I think perhaps she feels”—Billie frowned for a moment, choosing the best word—“guilty.”

“Guilty?” George’s face betrayed his surprise. “Whatever for?”

“That neither of your brothers ever offered for me.” Another thing she probably should not have said. But as it happened, Billie did think that Lady Manston felt this way.

And when George’s expression slid from curiosity to something that might have been jealousy . . . well, Billie could not help but feel a little pleased.

“So I think she’s trying to make it up to me,” she said gamely. “It’s not as if I was waiting for one of them to ask me, but I think she thinks I was, so now she wants to introduce me—”

“Enough,” George practically barked.

“I beg your pardon?”

He cleared his throat. “Enough,” he said in a much more evenly tempered voice. “It’s ridiculous.”

“That your mother feels this way?”

“That she thinks introducing you to a pack of useless fops is a sensible idea.”

Billie took a moment to enjoy this statement, then said, “She means well.”

George scoffed audibly at this.

“She does,” Billie insisted, unable to suppress a smile. “She just wants what she thinks is best for me.”

“What she thinks.”

“Well, yes. There’s no convincing her otherwise. It’s a Rokesby trait, I’m afraid.”

“You may have just insulted me.”

“No,” she said, maintaining an impressively straight face.

“I’ll let it pass.”

“Very kind of you, sir.”

He rolled his eyes at her impertinence, and once again, Billie felt more at ease. Perhaps this wasn’t how the more refined ladies flirted, but it was all she knew how to do.

And it seemed to be working. Of that she was certain.

Maybe she did have a touch of feminine intuition after all.

Chapter 21

Later that night

At the Wintour Ball

Ninety minutes in, and still he had not seen Tallywhite.