Because of Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #1)(94)

“Why was he here, anyway?” Lady Manston asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” George said. Then he looked at his fiancée.

“It doesn’t matter,” she agreed.

“Well,” Lady Manston declared with a beaming smile, “I can hardly wait to tell everyone. The Billingtons are hosting a ball next week and —”

“Can we just go home?” Billie interrupted.

“But you had such a wonderful time last night,” Lady Manston replied. She looked over at George. “She danced every dance. Everyone loved her.”

He smiled indulgently. “I am not surprised in the least.”

She turned back to Billie. “We can make the announcement at the Billington ball. It will be a triumph.”

Billie reached over and squeezed George’s hand. “It already is.”

“Are you sure?” he asked her. She had been so apprehensive about making her London debut. He would like nothing more than to go home to Kent, but Billie deserved to revel in her success.

“I am,” she said. “It was a heady thing. And it’s lovely to know that when I have to attend such functions that I can do it well and have a good time. But it’s not what I love. I would rather be home.”

“In breeches?” he teased.

“Only if I’m out in the fields.” She looked over at Lady Manston. “A future countess must behave with some propriety.”

Lady Manston chuckled at that. “You will be an excellent countess, although not too soon, I hope.”

“Not for years and years,” Billie said warmly.

“And you,” Lady Manston said, looking at George with watery eyes, “my son. You look happier than I have seen you in a very long time.”

“I am,” he said. “I only wish…”

“You can say his name,” his mother said softly.

“I know.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Edward is going to have to resign himself to missing the wedding, because I’m not waiting for him to get home.”

“No, I expect you ought not,” Lady Manston said, in just the right tone to make Billie blush ferociously.

“We will find him, though,” George said. He was still holding Billie’s hand, so he brought it to his lips and kissed his vow to her skin. “I promise.”

“I suppose we’re off to Kent, then,” his mother said. “We could even leave today if that is your wish.”

“Oh, that would be brilliant!” Billie exclaimed. “Do you think my mother will be surprised?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“What?” Billie’s mouth fell open. “But I hated him!”

“No, you didn’t,” George said.

She gave him a look. “You vexed me immensely.”

“You were like a boulder in my shoe.”

“Well, you —”

“Is this a competition?” Lady Manston asked in disbelief.

George looked at Billie, and when she smiled, it filled his soul. “No,” he said softly, drawing her into his arms, “we’re a team.”

Billie looked up at him with such love it nearly stole his breath. “Mother,” he said, never taking his eyes off his fiancée, “you might want to leave the room now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to kiss her now.”

His mother let out a little shriek. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m fairly certain I can.”

“George, you’re not married yet!”

He studied Billie’s lips with the hot gaze of a connoisseur. “All the more reason to hurry things up,” he murmured.

“Billie,” his mother said firmly, transferring her attention to what she clearly considered to be the weaker link, “let’s go.”

But Billie just shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s as he says. We’re a team.”

And then, because she was Billie Bridgerton and she’d never minded taking charge, she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

And because he was George Rokesby, and he was going to love her for the rest of his days, he kissed her right back.



Epilogue

Several months later

Crake House

“The results are final,” Billie said, adding up the last column with a flourish. “I win.”

George glanced up at her from his position on their bed – a large, lovely, four-posted piece that Billie had redressed in green a few weeks into their marriage. He was reading a book; Billie hadn’t caught the title. He always read before they went to bed. She loved that about him. He was such a creature of habit. Another reason they were a perfect match.
“What is it this time?” he murmured.

She knew he was being indulgent, but she was so pleased by the numbers in front of her that she decided she didn’t care. “The barley harvest,” she said. “Aubrey Hall outdid Crake by a factor of… hold on one moment…” She chewed on her lower lip as she worked out another computation. “One point one!”
“Such a triumph.”

She pursed her lips, trying for an unamused expression.

“Did you factor in Aubrey’s greater barley acreage?”