And so he kissed her. He kissed her endlessly. He kissed her carefully, skirting the edge of his own desire, all too aware how close he was to the brink of reason.

And he kissed her tenderly, because this was Billie, and somehow he knew that no one ever thought to be tender with her.

“George,” she said.

He lifted his lips from hers, just a bit, just a breath. “Hmmm.”

“We have to… we have to stop.”

“Mmmm,” he agreed. But he didn’t stop. He could have done; he had a grip on his passion now. But he didn’t want to.

“George,” she said again. “I hear people.”

He drew back. Listened.

Swore.

“Open the door,” Billie hissed.

He did. With alacrity. Nothing sparked suspicion like a closed door. He looked at her. “You might…” He cleared his throat and made a motion near his head. “You might want to…”

He was no expert on ladies’ coiffures, but he was fairly certain her hair did not look as it should.

Billie blanched and frantically smoothed her hair, her nimble fingers tugging on pins and then jamming them back into place. “Better?”

He grimaced. There was a spot behind her right ear where a chestnut lock looked as if it was sprouting from her head.

They heard a voice from the hall. “George?”

His mother. Good God.

“George!”

“In the drawing room, Mother,” he called back, heading to the doorway. He could stall her in the hall for a few seconds at least. He turned back to Billie, sharing one last urgent glance. She took her hands from her hair and held them out, as if to say, “Well?”

It would have to do.

“Mother,” he said, stepping into the hall. “You’re up.”

She offered her cheek, which he dutifully kissed. “I can’t stay in my room forever.”

“No, although surely you are allowed time to —”

“Grieve?” she interrupted. “I refuse to grieve. Not until we receive more definite news.”

“I was going to say ‘rest,’” he told her.

“I’ve done that.”

Well done, Lady Manston, he thought. Funny how his mother still managed to surprise him with her resilience.

“I was thinking,” his mother began, walking past him into the drawing room. “Oh, hello, Billie, I did not realize you were here.”

“Lady Manston.” Billie bobbed a curtsy. “I was hoping I might be of some assistance.”

“That is very kind of you. I’m not sure what can be done, but your company is always appreciated.” Lady Manston’s head tilted to the side. “Is it very windy out?”

“What?” Billie’s hand flew self-consciously to her hair. “Oh. Yes, a bit. I forgot my bonnet.”

They all looked at the bonnet she’d left on a table.

“What I meant to say was that I forgot to put it on,” Billie said with a nervous chuckle that George dearly hoped his mother did not detect. “Or rather, truthfully, I didn’t forget. The air was so very fine.”

“I won’t tell your mother,” Lady Manston said with an indulgent smile.

Billie nodded her thanks, and then an awkward silence fell over the room. Or maybe it wasn’t awkward at all. Maybe George only thought it was awkward, because he knew what Billie was thinking, and he knew what he was thinking, and it seemed impossible somehow that his mother could be thinking of anything else.

But apparently she was, because she looked at him with a smile he knew was forced, and asked, “Have you given further thought to going to London?”

“Some,” he replied. “I know a few people at the War Office.”

“George was thinking of traveling to London to make inquiries,” his mother said to Billie.

“Yes, he’d told me. It’s an excellent idea.”

Lady Manston gave a tiny nod and turned back to George. “Your father knows people as well, but…”

“I can go,” George said swiftly, saving his mother the pain of having to describe her husband’s current state of incapacitation.

“You probably know the same people,” Billie said.

George glanced over. “Just so.”

“I believe I will go with you,” his mother said.

“Mother, no, you should stay home,” George immediately said. “Father will need you, and it will be easier for me to do what needs to be done on my own.”

“Don’t be silly. Your father doesn’t need anything but news of his son, and I can’t do anything to further that cause from here.”

“And you will in London?”

“Probably not,” she admitted, “but at least there is a chance.”

“I’m not going to be able to accomplish anything if I’m worried about you.”

His mother raised one perfectly arched brow. “Then don’t worry.”

He grit his teeth. There was no arguing with her when she was like this, and the truth was, he wasn’t even sure why he didn’t want his mother to come with him. Just this strange, niggling feeling that some things were best done alone.

“It will all work out,” Billie said, trying to smooth over the tension between mother and son. George shot her a look of gratitude, but he didn’t think she saw it. She was more like her own mother than anyone gave her credit for, he realized. She was a peacemaker, in her own inimitable way.