She glanced down at her foot as if she’d quite forgotten it was there. “Apparently not.”

“If I might interrupt,” Andrew said, bowing to Billie with a ridiculous sweep of his arm, “we are here to offer our assistance and succor in any way you deem necessary.”

She gave Andrew the sort of look George normally reserved for small, recalcitrant children. “Are you sure you want to make such a sweeping promise?”

George leaned down until his lips were at the same latitude as her ear. “Pray remember that he uses ‘we’ as a grandiose gesture, not as a plural pronoun.”

She grinned. “In other words, you want no part of it?”

“None whatsoever.”

“You insult the lady,” Andrew said without a hint of protest in his voice. He sprawled in one of the Bridgertons’ fine wingback chairs, his long legs stretched out so that the heels of his boots rested against the carpet.

Billie gave him an exasperated glance before turning back to George. “Why are you here?”

George took a seat at the table across from her. “What he said, but without the hyperbole. We thought you might need company.”

“Oh.” She drew back a touch, clearly surprised by his frankness. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you?” Andrew echoed. “Who are you?”

She whipped her head to face him. “Was I supposed to curtsy?”

“It would have been nice,” he demurred.

“Impossible on crutches.”

“Well, if that’s the case…”

Billie turned back to George. “He’s an idiot.”

He held up his hands. “You will find no argument here.”

“The plight of the younger son,” Andrew said with a sigh.

Billie rolled her eyes, tipping her head toward Andrew as she said to George, “Don’t encourage him.”

“To be ganged up upon,” Andrew went on, “never respected…”

George craned his neck, trying to read the title of Billie’s book. “What are you reading?”

“And,” Andrew continued, “apparently ignored as well.”

Billie rotated her book so that the gold leaf lettering faced George. “Prescott’s Encyclopaedia of Agriculture.”

“Volume Four,” he said approvingly. He had volumes one through three in his own personal library.

“Yes, it was only recently published,” Billie confirmed.

“It must have been very recently, or I would have purchased it when I was last in London.”

“My father brought it back from his most recent trip. You can read it when I’m done if you wish.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure I’ll need a copy of my own.”

“As a reference,” she said with an approving nod.

“This might be the dullest conversation I have ever beheld,” Andrew said from behind them.

They ignored him.

“Do you often read such tomes?” George asked, nodding at the Prescott book. He’d always thought ladies preferred slim volumes of poetry or plays by Shakespeare and Marlowe. It was what his sister and mother seemed to enjoy reading.

“Of course,” she replied, scowling as if he’d insulted her with the very question.

“Billie helps her father with the land management,” Andrew said, apparently bored of making fun of them. He pushed himself to his feet and wandered over to the wall of shelves, selecting a book seemingly at random. He leafed through a few pages, frowned, and put it back.

“Yes, you mentioned you’d been assisting him,” George said. He looked at Billie. “Very singular of you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“That was not meant as an insult,” he got in before she could open her rash little mouth, “just an observation.”

She did not look convinced.

“You will concede,” he said smoothly, “that most young ladies do not assist their fathers in such a manner. Hence, your singularity.”

“I swear, George,” Andrew said, glancing up from the book he was paging through, “you even give your compliments like a conceited ass.”

“I’m going to kill him,” George muttered.

“You’ll have to form a line,” Billie remarked. But then she lowered her voice. “It’s a little bit true, though.”

He drew back. “I beg your pardon?”

“You did sound a little…” She waved her hand in the air as a substitute for actually finishing her sentence.

“Like an ass?” George supplied.

“No!” She said this with enough speed and conviction for him to believe her. “Just a little bit…”

He waited.

“Are you talking about me?” Andrew asked, settling back in his chair with a book in his hand.

“No,” they said in unison.

“I don’t mind if it’s complimentary,” he murmured.

George ignored him, keeping his eyes on Billie. She was frowning. Two small lines formed between her brows, curving against each other like an hourglass, and her lips tightened into a curious pucker, almost as if she were anticipating a kiss.

He’d never watched her think, he realized.