Because of Miss Bridgerton

He hadn’t really been paying attention to her at all, or at least he’d been trying not to. She was – and always had been – rather difficult to avoid.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Your freckles.” He saw no reason to lie.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “They’re there.”

Her lips pursed, and he thought that would be the end of the conversation. But then she said, somewhat abruptly, “I don’t have very many of them.”

His brows rose.

“Sixty-two,” she said.

He almost stopped walking. “You counted?”

“I had nothing else to do. The weather was beastly, and I couldn’t go outside.”

George knew better than to inquire about embroidery, or watercolors, or any of a dozen other indoor pursuits commonly taken up by ladies of his acquaintance.

“Probably a few more now,” Billie admitted. “It’s been a prodigiously sunny spring.”

“What are we talking about?” Andrew asked. He’d got a bit ahead of them and they’d only just caught up.

“My freckles,” Billie said.

He blinked. “My God, you are boring.”

“Or bored,” Billie countered.

“Or both.”

“Must be the company.”

“I’ve always thought George was dull,” Andrew said.

George rolled his eyes.

“I was talking about you,” Billie said.

Andrew only grinned. “How’s the foot?”

“It hurts,” she said plainly.

“Better? Worse?”

Billie thought about that for a moment, then answered, “The same. No, better, I suppose, since I’m not putting weight on it.” She looked back up at George. “Thank you,” she said. “Again.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, but his voice was brusque. He didn’t really have a place in their conversation. He never had.

The path forked, and George turned off to the right, toward Crake. It was closer, and with Andrew’s arm in a sling, he was going to have to carry Billie the entire way.

“Am I too heavy?” she asked, sounding a touch sleepy.

“It wouldn’t really matter if you were.”

“Gad, George, no wonder you’re starved for female companionship,” Andrew groaned. “That was a clear invitation to say, ‘Of course not. You are a delicate petal of womanhood.’”

“No, it wasn’t,” Billie said.

“It was,” Andrew said firmly. “You just didn’t realize it.”

“I’m not starved for female companionship,” George said. Because really.

“Oh, yes, of course not,” Andrew said with great sarcasm. “You’ve got Billie in your arms.”

“I think you might have just insulted me,” she said.

“Not at all, m’dear. Just a statement of fact.”

She scowled, her chestnut brows drawing down hard toward her eyes. “When do you go back to sea?”

Andrew gave her an arch look. “You’ll miss me.”

“I don’t believe I will.”

But they all knew she was lying.

“You’ll have George, at any rate,” Andrew said, reaching up and swatting a low-hanging branch. “You two make quite a pair.”

“Shut up,” Billie said. Which was a lot tamer than what came out of George’s mouth.

Andrew chuckled, and the three of them continued on toward Crake House, walking in amiable silence as the wind whistled lightly through the newly budded tree leaves.

“You’re not too heavy,” George suddenly said.

Billie yawned, shifting slightly in his arms as she looked up at his face. “What did you just say?”

“You’re not too heavy.” He shrugged. For some reason, it had seemed important to say it.

“Oh. Well.” She blinked a few times, her brown eyes equal parts puzzled and pleased. “Thank you.”

Up ahead, Andrew laughed, although for the life of him, George didn’t know why.

“Yes,” Billie said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yes,” she said again, answering the question he didn’t think he’d asked, “he’s laughing at us.”

“I had a feeling.”

“He’s an idiot,” she said, sighing into George’s chest. But it was an affectionate sigh; never had the words he’s an idiot been imbued with more love and fondness.

“It’s nice to have him home, though,” George said quietly. And it was. He’d spent years being annoyed by his younger brothers, Andrew most especially, but now that they were grown and pursuing a life beyond the ordinariness of Kent and London, he missed them.

Almost as much as he envied them.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Billie gave a wistful smile, then she added, “Not that I’d ever tell him so.”

“Oh no. Definitely not.”

Billie chuckled at their shared joke, then let out a yawn. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She couldn’t very well cover her mouth with her arms around his neck. “Do you mind if I close my eyes?”

Something odd and unfamiliar lurched in George’s chest. Something almost protective. “Of course not,” he said.