BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"
chapter 2
IT WOULD BE FAIR TO say that George Rokesby, the eldest son of the Earl of Manston and currently known by the honorable circles as Viscount Kennard, was a man of quiet character. He has a steady hand, a very logical mind, and a way of squinting in such a way that ensures his desire is met with cold efficiency, his desire is gladly welcomed, he said, dan—ini the most important part—all takes place according to the schedule he specified.
It would also be fair to say that if Miss Sybilla Bridgerton had known how close George was to strangling her neck, she would have looked far more afraid of the viscount than the darkness had begun to gather.
“It was unfortunate,” said Billie, sticking her head down looking towards the stairs.
George said nothing. He thinks it's the best.
“I know what you think,” said the girl.
George gritted his jaw long enough to say, “I'm not sure you know.”
“You're trying to decide which one of us you want to throw off this roof. Me or the cat.”
Billie is closer to the truth than she thought.
“I'm just trying to help,” he continued.
“I know.” It is said in a tone that is not intended to provoke further conversation.
Billie kept talking. “If I hadn't grabbed you, you would have fallen.”
“I know.”
Billie bit her lower lip, and for a moment of thanks George thought Billie would end the conversation.
Then the girl said. “That's your foot, you know.”
George shakes his head a little. Just enough to show that he was listening. “What?”
“Kakimu.” Billie turned her head towards the questionable foot. “You kicked that ladder.”
George stopped pretending to ignore the girl. “You can't blame me for this,” he hissed.
“No, of course not,” Billie said quickly, finally showing a little instinct to protect yourself. “I just meant to say—that you—”
George squinted.
“Forget,” muttered the girl. He let his chin rest on his bent knee and looked at the expanse of airy ground. Not that anything can be seen. The only thing that moved was the wind, declaring its presence through the leaves in the lightly rustling trees.
“I think we have another hour before sundown,” muttered Billie. “Maybe two.”
“We will not be here when the sky is dark,” George said.
Billie looked at him, then looked down at the stairs. Then it came back to him with an expression that made George want to leave the girl in the dark.
But he didn't do it. Because it seems he can't. Twenty-seven years is a long time for the teaching of attitude as a gentleman is embedded in his brain, and he can never be so cruel to women. Even to the girl.
“Andrew should arrive in less than thirty minutes,” he said.
“What?” Billie looked relieved, then exasperated. “Why didn't you say it? I can't believe you let me think we'd be stranded here all night.”
George looked towards the girl. In the direction of Billie Bridgerton, the curse in her life since the girl's birth 23 years ago. Billie glared as if George was doing a great humiliation, her cheeks were flushed red, her lips pursed like a wrathful rose.
In a stern and cold tone George said, “A minute has passed since the stairs fell to the ground until this moment, when these words came out of my mouth. Tell me, during your analysis that explains my footwork touching the stairs, when can I offer this information?”
The corner of the girl's mouth was raised, yet it was not a clear grin. It is not a grin that indicates sarcasm. If it was anyone else, George would have thought Billie was embarrassed, or perhaps blushed. But this is Billie Bridgerton, and she's never shy. He just did as he pleased without regard to the consequences. He had done so for a lifetime, and usually dragged half the Rokesby clan along with him.
And somehow everyone always forgives him. Billie has something in her—not a charm—but a crazy and reckless confidence that keeps people sticking by her side. His own family, George's family, the whole village—they all adored him. Her smile was wide, her laughter was contagious, and for God's sake how could George be the only person in England who seemed to realize how dangerous the girl was to mankind?
A sprained ankle? That's not the first. Billie once broke her arm too, in a way that was also spectacular. He was eight years old, and he fell off a horse. A horse that has not been fully trained that he should not have ridden, let alone that he carried over the bush. His bones healed perfectly—of course, Billie always had luck like satan—and within a few months she had already returned to her old habits, and no one had thought of scolding her. Not when he rides a horse like a man. In long pants. On the same horse passing through the same cursed bush. And when one of George's younger brothers followed and made his shoulders detach from the hinges…
Everyone laughs. George—'s parents and the girl's parents—d frown and laugh, and no one thought the wise course of action was to pull Billie off the horse, put her on a dress, or better yet, put her on a dress, pack her things and send her to one of the schools for girls who teach skills with needles and manners.
Edward's arm hung loose from his joints. The spoon! And a voice was issued as the stewards of their stables pushed the joint back in…
George shuddered. It's the kind of sound that's felt instead of heard.
“Are you cold?” ask Billie.
George shakes. Though Billie might be cold. The net was much thicker than the girl's. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
He looked at the girl closer. Billie is the kind of person who tries to look strong and refuses to let George behave the way he should as a gentleman. “Are you going to tell me you're cold?”
The girl raised her hand as if swearing. “I promise.”
That's pretty good for George. Billie wasn't lying, and she wasn't breaking a promise.
“What was Andrew to the village with you?” billie asked, narrowing her eyes at the skyline.
George nodded. “We have business with the blacksmith. He stopped to chat with the priest afterwards. I don't want to wait.”
“Of course not,” muttered Billie.
George's head jerked to the side. “What do you mean?”
Billie's lips opened, then rounded for a moment before saying, “I don't know, actually.”
George scowled at the girl, then turned his attention to the roof again, not that there was a single thing he could do right now. But it is not his nature to sit and wait. At least he can check this dilemma, reassess, and—
“Nothing can be done,” said Billie cheerfully. “No without stairs.”
“I realized it,” said George ketus.
“You look to and fro,” Billie shoulder to shoulder, “as—”
“I know what I'm doing,” George snapped.
The girl's lips docked together with her eyebrows, which were raised with the annoying Bridgerton arch, as if to say—Please, think as you please. I know better.
A moment of silent silence without a sound, then, in a voice smaller than George used to hear him use, Billie asked, “Are you sure Andrew will pass this way?”
George nodded. He and his sister walked into the village from Crake House— - not the usual way of traveling for them, but Andrew, who was recently appointed lieutenant in the Royal Navy, did, broke an arm while performing a foolish stunt on the coast of Portugal and was sent home to recuperate. Walking was easier for him than riding a horse, and it was an unusually sunny day in March.
“She walked,” says George. “How can he go home if not through here?” there are many walking trails in this area, but all of them add a kilometer and a half to the journey home.
Billie tilted her head, staring deep into the field. “Unless someone offers him a ride.”
Slowly George turned his head towards the girl, flabbergasted at the absence of anything in her tone. There was no superior tone, no argument, not even the slightest anxious tone. Just the tone of what is awkward—Hmmm, this is a disaster that could possibly happen.
“Well, he could have gotten the offer,” Billie said as she put her shoulder forward. “Everyone likes Andrew.”
That's right, Andrew has a carefree charm and uncaring attitude that makes him loved by many people, ranging from pastors in the village to bartenders in taverns. If someone wants to go in the same direction as him, they will offer him a ride.
“He will walk,” says George firmly. “He needs sport.”
Billie's facial features turned doubtful. “Andrew?”
“For broken arm?” billie's snort turned into a giggling laugh.
George glanced at. “Happy above the suffering of others?”
“Always.”
I don't want George to smile. It's hard to be offended, especially when he spent last week enjoying—no, pushing the frustration his sister felt.
Billie carefully changed positions, bending both legs so that she could lean her chin to her knees.
“Be careful with your feet,” says George, barely thinking.
Billie nodded, and together they spent time in silence. George looked straight ahead, but could feel every move Billie made by his side. The girl swept the strands of unraveled hair from the eyes, then straightened one arm forward, her elbow sounding like an old wooden chair. Then, with the persistence she showed in all aspects of her life, Billie spun back to their previous conversation and said, “Stay, she could have gotten a ride.”
George's smile was almost over. “Can only.”
Billie was silent for a few more seconds, then said, “It looks like the rain will not fall.”
George looked up, the sky was covered in clouds, but not too thick. The clouds are too pale to hold a lot of water.
“And of course people will look for us.”
George let himself grin. “At the very least, I'll be searched.”
Billie. Strenuous. Hard enough to make George laugh.
“You very annoying human being, George Rokesby.” But Billie smiled broadly as she said so.
George laughed again, surprised at how he enjoyed the light happy vibe in his chest. He is not sure himself and Billie can be considered friends—they are too often arguing to be friends—but Billie feels familiar. That's not always a good thing, but right now…
Yep.
“Well, I don't think there's anyone else I'd prefer to accompany stranded on the roof,” Billie announced.
George looked towards her. “Wah, Miss Bridgerton, what is a compliment?”
“You don't know?”
“From you?” he retaliated.
Billie commented on the adorable knotty smile. “I think I deserve it. But, you know, you're very reliable.”
“Dependable,” reset George.
Billie nodded. “Very.”
George felt his face scowl, though he had no idea what the reason was.
“If my ankle doesn't hurt, I'm sure I can find a way down,” Billie continued cheerfully.
George observed with a seemingly clear skeptical expression. Besides this fact it has absolutely nothing to do with her reliable self... “Didn't you say it was too far away to jump?”.
“Well, yes,” said the girl, shaking hands lightly in front of the face, “but I will definitely think of something.”
“Of course,” replied George, mostly because he did not have the energy to say anything else.
“Intinya,” continued Billie, “as long as I am here with you..”.
The girl's face suddenly turned pale. George had never, at all, seen Billie Bridgerton with such an expression.
He was scared to death.
“What's up?” sue George.
Billie. “You don't think..”
George waited, but Billie was speechless. “What?”
Billie's pale face looks green. “You don't think someone will think you are.. we..” He gulps. “If we disappear.... together?”
George's whole world suddenly faltered. “Gosh, no,” said. Immediately.
“I know,” Billie approve. Immediately. “I mean, you. And i'm. That's ludicrous.”
“Not reasonable.”
“Anyone who knows us..”.
“Know we will never..”
“Despite that..” This time Billie's words were not just interrupted, but sunk into a whisper of despair.
George looked at it with impatient eyes. “What?”
“If Andrew did not come as expected.. and someone was looking for you... and someone was looking for me..” The girl looked up at George, her eyes looked big and frightened. “At the end someone will realize we both don't exist.”
“You mean?” ask George ketus.
Billie looked over and looked at him. “Only how people will not assume..”.
“Because they have brains in their heads,” reply George ketus. “No one would think I was intentionally here with you.”
Billie staggered back. “Oh, well, thank you.”
“Are you trying to say you wish anyone thought that way?” reply George.
“No!”
George rolled his eyes. Womens. But this is Billie. The girl at least looks like the woman she knows.
Billie let out a long breath, calming down. “Despite what you think of me, George..”.
How could the girl make her name sound like an insult?
“...i have a reputation I have to think about. And even though my family knows me quite well, and”—ada tone reluctantly sounded in Billie—” voice I think trust you enough to know our disappearance at the same time does not mean anything.”.
Billie's voice slowly dissipated, and she bit her lips, looking uncomfortable, and, to be honest, faintly looked nauseous.
“Others may not be that good,” George finished that sentence.
Billie turned to him for a moment, then said. “True.”
“If we are not found until tomorrow morning.” said George, more to yourself.
Billie finished her horrible sentence. “You must marry me
