George snorted. She ignored him.

“It’s nothing, Mama,” Billie assured her. “I’ve certainly done worse.”

Andrew snorted. She ignored him, too.

“With a cane, she might have made it down on her own,” George said as he set her down on the settee, “but it would have taken her thrice as long, and neither of us has the patience for that.”

Billie’s father, who had been standing by the window with a glass of brandy, let out a hearty guffaw.

Billie gave him a bit of an evil eye, which only made him laugh with more vigor.

“Is that one of Mary’s gowns?” Lady Bridgerton asked.

Billie nodded. “I was in breeches.”

Her mother sighed but made no comment. It was an endless argument between them, and their truce was maintained only by Billie’s promise to always dress properly for dinner. And among guests. And at church.

There was actually a rather long list of events for which she was required to attire herself to her mother’s specifications. But in the matter of Billie wearing breeches while conducting business around the estate, Lady Bridgerton had acquiesced.

To Billie, it had felt like a victory. As she had explained to her mother – repeatedly – all she really needed was permission to dress sensibly when out and about. The tenants surely called her something more colorful than eccentric, but she knew she was well-liked. And respected.

The affection had come naturally; according to Billie’s mother, she’d emerged from the womb smiling, and even as a child, she’d been the tenants’ favorite.

The respect, however, had been earned, and for that reason it was all the more fiercely treasured.

Billie knew that her younger brother would one day inherit Aubrey Hall and all its lands, but Edmund was still a child, eight years her junior. Most of the time he was away at school. Their father wasn’t getting any younger, and someone had to learn how to properly manage such a large estate. Besides, Billie was a natural at it; everyone said so.

She’d been an only child for so many years; there had been two babies between her and Edmund’s births, but neither had lived past infancy. During those years of prayers and hopes and wishing for an heir, Billie had become something of a mascot to the tenants, a living, smiling symbol of Aubrey Hall’s future.

Unlike most highborn daughters, Billie had always accompanied her parents on their duties around the estate. When her mother brought baskets of food to the needy, she was right there with apples for the children. When her father was out surveying the land, she could more often than not be found at his feet, digging up worms as she explained why she thought rye would be a much better choice than barley in such a sun-starved field.

At first she’d been a source of amusement – the energetic little five-year-old who insisted upon measuring grain when the rents were collected. But eventually she became a fixture, and now it was expected that she would see to the needs of the estate. If a cottage roof was leaking, she was the one who made sure it was mended. If a harvest was lean, she went out and tried to figure out why.

She was, for all intents and purposes, her father’s eldest son.

Other young ladies might read romantic poetry and Shakespearean tragedies. Billie read treatises on agricultural management. And she loved them. Honestly. They were ripping good reads.

It was difficult to imagine a life that might suit her better, but it had to be said: it was all much easier to conduct without a corset.

Much as it pained her mother.

“I was out seeing to the irrigation,” Billie explained. “It would have been impractical in a frock.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Lady Bridgerton said, even though they all knew she’d been thinking it.

“Not to mention difficult to climb that tree,” Andrew put in.

That did get her mother’s attention. “She was climbing a tree?”

“Saving a cat,” Andrew confirmed.

“One might assume,” George said, his voice purring with authority, “that had she been wearing a frock, she would not have attempted the tree.”

“What happened to the cat?” Georgiana asked.

Billie looked to her sister. She’d almost forgotten she was there. And she had definitely forgotten the cat. “I don’t know.”

Georgiana leaned forward, her blue eyes impatient. “Well, did you save it?”

“If so,” Billie said, “it was entirely against its wishes.”

“It was a most ungrateful feline,” George said.

Billie’s father chuckled at the description and gave him a manly slap on the back. “George, m’boy, we must get you a drink. You’ll need it after your trials.”

Billie’s mouth fell open. “His trials?”

George smirked, but no one else saw it, the bloody man.

“Mary’s gown looks lovely on you,” Lady Bridgerton said, steering the conversation back to more ladylike pursuits.

“Thank you,” Billie replied. “I rather like this shade of green.” Her fingers flitted to the lace along the round neckline. It was really most becoming.

Her mother stared at her in shock.

“I like pretty dresses,” Billie insisted. “I just don’t like wearing them when it’s impractical to do so.”

“The cat,” Georgiana persisted.