George wanted to shake her off, but there was that damned gentlemanly nature of his, so instead he gave a tight smile and said, “I will of a certain come to watch.”

Lady Frederica leaned forward and beamed. “Lord Northwick very much enjoys observing archery, too.”

“Of course he does,” George said under his breath.

“Did you say something?” Lady Alexandra asked.

“Merely that Miss Bridgerton is a very accomplished archer,” he said. It was the truth, even if that hadn’t been what he’d said. He looked over at Billie, intending to motion to her with his head, but she was already staring at him with a ferocious expression.

He leaned to the right to see her better.

Her mouth tightened.

He cocked his head.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Sir Reginald.

George blinked. What the hell had that been about?

And honestly, why did he care?

BILLIE WAS HAVING a marvelous time. Truly, she wasn’t quite certain just what she’d been so nervous about. Andrew was always an amusing dinner companion, and Sir Reggie was so kind and handsome; he’d put her right at ease even if he had started speaking in French when they had been introduced.

She hadn’t understood a word of it, but she’d figured it must be complimentary, so she’d nodded and smiled, and even blinked a few times the way she’d seen other ladies do when they were trying to act particularly feminine.

No one could say she wasn’t trying her best.

The one fly in the proverbial ointment was George. Or rather George’s predicament. She felt desperately sorry for him.

Lady Alexandra had seemed like a perfectly pleasant sort of lady when they had been introduced in the drive, but the moment she arrived in the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks, the little shrew had latched on to George like a barnacle.

Billie was appalled. She knew the man was rich and handsome and going to be an earl, but did the grasping little wench need to be quite so obvious about it?

Poor George. Was this what he’d had to contend with every time he went to London? Perhaps she ought to have had more compassion for him. At the very least she should have taken a peek into the dining room before the guests filed in to check on the seating arrangement. She could have saved him from a full evening of Lady Alexandra Four-handed-Endicott.

Blergh. She could come up with something better than that.

Formidable . . . For-heaven’s-sake . . . For-the-last-time . . .

Fine. She couldn’t come up with something better. But really, the woman might as well have had four hands with the way she kept clutching on to George in the drawing room.

At dinner she was even worse. It was difficult to see George across the table with her mother’s monstrous fruit epergne blocking the way, but she had a clear view of Lady Alexandra, and it had to be said—the lady was displaying a highly impractical expanse of bosom.