Billie flashed a scowl at her sister that was, all things considered, rather immature.

“Sybilla Bridgerton,” came her mother’s brook-no-dissent voice. “You are a perfectly nice person.”

Billie opened her mouth to speak, not that she had anything intelligent to say.

“If you’re not,” her mother continued, her voice leaping into the moment with a don’t-you-dare-think-of-contradicting-me punch of volume, “it reflects badly upon me, and I refuse to believe I am so derelict a mother as that.”

“Of course not,” Billie said quickly. Very quickly.

“Therefore I will repeat my question,” her mother said. She took a delicate sip of her tea and gazed upon her elder daughter with remarkable impassivity. “What do you plan to do today?”

“Well,” Billie stalled. She glanced over at her sister, but Georgiana was no help. She just lifted her shoulders in a helpless little shrug that could have meant anything from I-have-no-idea-what’s-got-into-her to I-am-enjoying-your-discomfort-immensely.

Billie scowled. Wouldn’t it be lovely if people just said what they thought?

Billie turned back to her mother, who was still regarding her with a deceptively placid expression. “Well,” she stalled again. “I might read a book?”

“A book,” her mother repeated. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “How delightful.”

Billie eyed her cautiously. Any number of sarcastic retorts sprang to mind, but despite her mother’s serene demeanor, there was a gleam in her eye that told Billie she’d be wise to keep her mouth shut.

Lady Bridgerton reached for the teapot. She always drank more tea at breakfast than the rest of the family combined. “I could recommend something, if you like,” she said to Billie. She also generally read more books than the rest of the family combined.

“No, that’s all right,” Billie replied, cutting her sausage into rounds. “Father bought the latest volume of Prescott’s Encyclopaedia of Agriculture when he was in London last month. I should have already started it, but the weather has been so fine I haven’t had the chance.”

“You could read outside,” Georgiana suggested. “We could put down a blanket. Or drag out a chaise.”

Billie nodded absently as she stabbed a sausage disc. “It would be better than remaining in, I suppose.”

“You could help me plan the entertainments for the house party,” Georgiana said.

Billie gave her a condescending look. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not, darling?” Lady Bridgerton put in. “It might be fun.”

“You just told me I didn’t have to take part in the planning.”

“Only because I didn’t think you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Of course not,” her mother said smoothly, “but you do want to spend time with your sister.”

Oh, hell. Her mother was good. Billie pasted a smile on her face. “Can’t Georgie and I do something else?”

“If you can convince her to read your agricultural treatise over your shoulder,” her mother said, her hand flitting delicately through the air.

Delicately like a bullet, Billie thought. “I’ll help with some of the planning,” she conceded.