She supposed it was for the best that she was too sore to get back in the saddle. Her mother had made it explicitly clear that Billie was to remain at Aubrey Hall throughout the day. There were four Bridgertons currently in residence, she said, and there would be four Bridgertons standing in the drive to greet each and every guest.

And so Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at one o’clock, when the Duchess of Westborough arrived in her grand coach and four, accompanied by her daughters (one engaged, one not) and niece.

Billie stood between her mother and Georgiana at half two, when Henry Maynard drove up in his racy little curricle with his good friend Sir Reginald McVie.

And she stood between her mother and Georgiana at twenty minutes past three, when Felix and Mary arrived with their neighbors Edward and Niall Berbrooke, who were both of good family and, it just so happened, of marriageable age.

“Finally,” Lord Bridgerton grumbled, stretching a crick from his neck as they waited in their neat little row for Felix and Mary’s carriage to come to a halt, “someone I know.”

“You know the Berbrookes?” Georgiana asked, leaning forward to speak to him past her sister and mother.

“I know Felix and Mary,” he replied. He looked at his wife. “When do the Rokesbys arrive?”

“An hour before supper,” she said without turning her head. The carriage had come to a stop, and, consummate hostess that she was, her eyes were on the door, awaiting her guests.

“Remind me why they’re sleeping over?” he asked.

“Because it will be infinitely more festive.”

Lord Bridgerton frowned, but he very wisely chose not to question her further.

Billie, however, showed no such restraint. “If it were me,” she said, tugging on the sleeve of her printed cotton dress, “I would want to sleep in my own bed.”

“It’s not you,” her mother replied tartly, “and stop fidgeting.”

“I can’t help it. It’s itchy.”

“I think it looks lovely on you,” Georgiana said.

“Thank you,” Billie said, momentarily nonplussed. “I’m not so sure about the front.” She looked down. The bodice draped in a crisscross fashion, rather like a shawl. She’d never worn anything quite like it, although her mother assured her it had been in style for several years.

Was she revealing too much décolletage? She reached for the pin that secured the linen near her waist. It looked like she could adjust it with a little—

“Stop it,” her mother hissed.

Billie sighed.

The carriage finally came to a complete stop, and Felix alighted first, holding out his hand to assist his wife. Mary Maynard (née Rokesby) wore a chintz traveling jacket and shawl that even Billie could tell was the height of fashion. It looked absolutely perfect on her, Billie realized. Mary looked happy and jaunty from her light brown curls right down to the tips of her elegantly shod feet.

“Mary!” Lady Bridgerton gushed, striding forward with outstretched arms. “You are blooming!”