Chapter 7

A party?

Billie carefully set down her napkin, a vague sense of alarm washing over her. ���Mother?”

“A house party,” her mother clarified, as if that had been what she’d been asking about.

“This time of year?” her father asked, his soupspoon pausing only briefly on its way to his mouth.

“Why not this time of year?”

“We usually have one in the autumn.”

Billie rolled her eyes. What typically male reasoning. Not that she disagreed. The last thing she wanted right now at Aubrey Hall was a house party. All those strangers tramping around her home. Not to mention the time it would take to play the part of the dutiful daughter of the hostess. She’d be stuck in her frocks all day, unable to tend to the very real responsibilities of running the estate.

She tried to catch her father’s eye. Surely he realized what a bad idea this was, no matter the season. But he was oblivious to anything but his wife. And his soup.

“Andrew won’t be home in the autumn,” Lady Bridgerton pointed out. “And we should celebrate now.”

“I do love a party,” Andrew said. It was true, but Billie had a feeling he’d said it more to smooth the tension at the table. Because it was quite tense. And it was oddly clear to her that no one knew why.

“It’s settled, then,” her mother said. “We shall have a house party. Just a small one.”

“Define small,” Billie said warily.

“Oh, I don’t know. A dozen guests, perhaps?” Lady Bridgerton turned to Lady Manston. “What do you think, Helen?”

Lady Manston surprised no one when she replied, “I think it sounds delightful. But we shall have to act quickly, before Andrew is sent back to sea. The admiral was quite explicit that his leave was for the duration of his convalescence and not a moment longer.”

“Of course,” Lady Bridgerton murmured. “Shall we say in one week’s time?”

“One week?” Billie exclaimed. “You can’t possibly ready the house in one week.”

“Oh, pish. Of course I can.” Her mother gave her a look of amused disdain. “I was born for this sort of thing.”

“That you were, my dear,” her father said affectionately.

He would be no help at all, Billie realized. If she was going to put a stop to this madness, she was going to have to do it herself. “Think of the guests, Mama?” she persisted. “Surely you must give them more notice. People lead busy lives. They will have plans.”

Her mother waved this away as if it were of no consequence. “I’m not planning to send invitations across the country. We’ve plenty of time to reach friends in the nearby counties. Or London.”

“Who will you invite?” Lady Manston asked.

“You, of course. Do say you’ll come and stay with us. It will be so much more fun to have everyone under one roof.”

“That hardly seems necessary,” George said.

“Indeed,” Billie agreed. For the love of God, they lived only three miles apart.