Billie’s mouth fell open. “His trials?”

George smirked, but no one else saw it, the bloody man.

“Mary’s gown looks lovely on you,” Lady Bridgerton said, steering the conversation back to more ladylike pursuits.

“Thank you,” Billie replied. “I rather like this shade of green.” Her fingers flitted to the lace along the round neckline. It was really most becoming.

Her mother stared at her in shock.

“I like pretty dresses,” Billie insisted. “I just don’t like wearing them when it’s impractical to do so.”

“The cat,” Georgiana persisted.

Billie flicked her an impatient look. “I told you, I don’t know. Honestly, it was a horrid little creature.”

“Agreed,” George said, raising his glass in salute.

“I can’t believe you’re toasting to the possible demise of a cat,” Georgiana said.

“I’m not,” Billie replied, glancing around to see if someone might bring her a drink. “But I’d like to.”

“It’s all right, darling,” Lady Bridgerton murmured, giving her younger daughter a reassuring smile. “Don’t fret so.”

Billie looked back at Georgiana. If their mother used such a tone on her, she would likely go mad. But Georgiana had been sickly as a child, and Lady Bridgerton had never quite learned to treat her with anything less than solicitous concern.

“I’m sure the cat survived its ordeal,” Billie told Georgiana. “He was quite a scrappy fellow. Had the look of a survivor in his eye.”

Andrew loped over and leaned down near Georgiana’s shoulder. “Always lands on its feet, that one.”

“Oh, stop!” Georgiana batted him away, but it was clear she wasn’t angry about the joke. No one was ever angry at Andrew. Not for long, at least.

“Is there any news of Edward?” Billie asked Lady Manston.

Lady Manston’s eyes clouded as she shook her head. “None since the last letter. The one we received last month.”

“I’m sure he’s well,” Billie said. “He is such a talented soldier.”

“I’m not sure how much talent plays into it when someone is aiming a gun at your chest,” George said darkly.

Billie turned to glare. “Don’t listen to him,” she said to Lady Manston. “He’s never been a soldier.”

Lady Manston smiled at her, an expression that was sad and sweet and loving, all at once. “I think he would like to have been,” she said, peering up at her eldest. “Wouldn’t you, George?”

Chapter 6

George forced his face into an impassive mask. His mother meant well; she always did. But she was a woman. She could never understand what it meant to fight for one’s king and country. She could never understand what it meant not to do so.

“It doesn’t matter what I wanted,” he said gruffly. He took a large gulp of his brandy. Then he took another. “I was needed here.”

“For which I am grateful,” his mother declared. She turned back to the other ladies with a determined smile, but her eyes were overbright. “I don’t need all of my sons going off to war. God willing, this nonsense will be over before Nicholas is of an age to take a commission.”