“Or a compliment.”

“No,” she said, pretending to give it serious thought, “I don’t think there is.”

He laughed, full and throaty, and it was only when his mirth had subsided to a light chuckle that he realized how unfamiliar it had felt. It had been a long time since he had given himself over to laughter, allowing it to tickle through his body.

It was a far cry from the social titters one encountered in London.

“I have received a compliment before,” Billie said, her voice softening when she added, “but I will own that I am not well-skilled in accepting them. At least not for the color of my gown.”

George slowed his pace yet again as he turned a corner and the door to the dining room came into view. “You never did go to London for a Season, did you?”

“You know I didn’t.”

He wondered why. Mary had done so, and she and Billie usually did everything together. But it didn’t seem polite to ask, at least not now, just as supper was about to commence.

“I didn’t want to,” Billie said.

George did not point out that he had not asked for an explanation.

“I’d have been dreadful at it.”

“You’d have been a breath of fresh air,” he lied. She would have been dreadful at it, and then he’d have been conscripted to be her social savior, making sure her dance card was at least halfway filled, and then defending her honor every time some brainless young lord assumed she was lax of morals because she was a bit too loud and free.

It would have been exhausting.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, pausing to ask a footman to find her an ottoman. “Shall I hold you until he returns?”

“Hold me?” she echoed, as if she had suddenly lost her command of English.

“Is something wrong?” his mother asked, watching them with undisguised curiosity through the open doorway. She, Lady Bridgerton, and Georgiana had already taken their seats. The gentlemen were waiting for Billie to be set down.

“Sit,” George told them, “please. I’ve asked a footman to bring something for under the table. So that Billie may elevate her foot.”

“That’s very kind of you, George,” Lady Bridgerton said. “I should have thought of that.”

“I’ve turned an ankle before,” he said, carrying Billie into the room.

“And I have not,” Lady Bridgerton returned, “although one would think I’d be an expert on them by now.” She looked over at Georgiana. “I think you might be the only one of my children who hasn’t broken a bone or twisted a joint yet.”

“It’s my special skill,” Georgiana said in a flat voice.

“I must say,” Lady Manston said, looking over at George and Billie with a deceptively placid smile, “the two of you make quite a pair.”

George speared his mother with a stare. No. She might want to see him married, but she was not going to try this.

“Don’t tease so,” Billie said, with exactly the right amount of affectionate admonishment in her voice to put a halt to that line of thinking. “Who else would carry me if not George?”