“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.

George gave her a look.

“Oh, please,” she said impatiently. “You can’t possibly take offense.”

“I can,” Andrew said with a grin. “In fact I think I will, just for the fun of it.”

“Mary and Felix,” Lady Bridgerton said. “We cannot possibly have a celebration without them.”

“It would be nice to see Mary,” Billie admitted.

“What about the Westboroughs?” Lady Manston asked.

George groaned. “Surely that ship has sailed, Mother. Didn’t you just tell me that Lady Frederica has become engaged?”

“Indeed.” His mother paused, delicately lifting her soupspoon to her lips. “But she has a younger sister.”

Billie let out a choked laugh, then quickly schooled her face into a frown when George threw her a furious scowl.

Lady Manston’s smile grew positively terrifying. “And a cousin.”

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

Billie would have expressed some sort of sympathy, but of course that was the moment her own mother chose to say, “We shall have to find some nice young men, too.”

Billie’s eyes widened in horror. She should have known that her turn was coming. “Mother, don’t,” she cautioned.

Cautioned? Ordered was more like it.

Not that this had any effect on her mother’s enthusiasm. “We’ll be uneven if we don’t,” she said briskly. “Besides, you’re not getting any younger.”

Billie closed her eyes and counted to five. It was either that or go for her mother’s throat.

“Doesn’t Felix have a brother?” Lady Manston asked.

Billie bit her tongue. Lady Manston knew perfectly well that Felix had a brother. Felix Maynard was married to her only daughter. Lady Manston had likely known the names and ages of his every first cousin before the ink was dry on the betrothal papers.

“George?” his mother prompted. “Doesn’t he?”

Billie stared at Lady Manston in fascinated amazement. Her single-minded determination would do an army general proud. Was it some kind of inborn trait? Did females spring from the womb with the urge to match men and women into neat little pairs? And if so, how was it possible that she’d been skipped?

Because Billie had no interest in matchmaking, for herself or anyone else. If that made her some kind of strange, unfeminine freak, so be it. She would much rather be out on her horse. Or fishing at the lake. Or climbing a tree.

Or anything, really.

Not for the first time Billie wondered what her Heavenly Father had been thinking when she’d been born a girl. She was clearly the least girlish girl in the history of England. Thank heavens her parents had not forced her to make her debut in London when Mary had done so. It would have been miserable. She would have been a disaster.

And no one would have wanted her.

“George?” Lady Manston said again, impatience sharpening the edge of her voice.

George started, and Billie realized he’d been looking at her. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he had seen on her face… what he’d thought he’d seen there.

“He does,” George confirmed, turning toward his mother. “Henry. He’s two years younger than Felix, but he’s —”

“Excellent!” Lady Manston exclaimed, clapping her hands together.