Almost as much as he envied them.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Billie gave a wistful smile, then she added, “Not that I’d ever tell him so.”

“Oh no. Definitely not.”

Billie chuckled at their shared joke, then let out a yawn. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She couldn’t very well cover her mouth with her arms around his neck. “Do you mind if I close my eyes?”

Something odd and unfamiliar lurched in George’s chest. Something almost protective. “Of course not,” he said.

She smiled—a sleepy, happy thing—and said, “I never have trouble falling asleep.”

“Never?”

She shook her head, and her hair, which had long since given up any attempt to remain confined with pins, crept up and tickled his chin. “I can sleep anywhere,” she said with a yawn.

She dozed the rest of the way home, and George did not mind it at all.

Chapter 5

Billie had been born just seventeen days after Mary Rokesby, and according to their parents, they had been the best of friends from the moment they’d been placed in the same cradle when Lady Bridgerton called upon Lady Manston for their regular Thursday morning visit.

Billie wasn’t sure why her mother had brought along a two-month-old baby when there had been a perfectly able nanny back at Aubrey Hall, but she suspected it had something to do with her rolling over from front to back at the improbably early age of six weeks.

The Ladies Bridgerton and Manston were devoted and loyal friends, and Billie was quite sure that each would lay down her life for the other (or for the other’s children), but it had to be said, there had always been a strong element of competition in their relationship.

Billie also suspected that her stunning prowess in the art of rolling over had less to do with innate genius and more to do with the tip of her mother’s forefinger against her shoulder, but as her mother pointed out, there were no witnesses.

But what was witnessed—by both their mothers and a housemaid—was that when Billie had been placed in Mary’s spacious cradle, she had reached out and grabbed the other baby’s tiny hand. And when their mothers tried to pull them apart, they both started howling like banshees.

Billie’s mother told her that she had been tempted to just leave her there at Crake House overnight; it was the only way to keep both babies calm.

That first morning was surely a portent of things to come. Billie and Mary were, as their nannies like to say, two peas in a pod. Two very different peas that happened to be quite fond of each other.

Where Billie was fearless, Mary was careful. Not timid, just careful. She always looked before she leapt. Billie looked, too; she just tended to do it in a somewhat more perfunctory manner.

And then she leapt high and far, often outdoing both Edward and Andrew, who had been more or less forced to befriend her after they realized that Billie would A) follow them to the ends of the earth except that B) she’d probably get there before they did.