BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 3

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Billie almost squealed.

George jumped to his feet at a very dangerous speed, and now the man looked at the end of the roof with a frown full of calculations on his forehead.

Really, it looks like he's working on a complicated mathematical equation.

“Try down from this godforsaken roof,” furious George.

“You will kill yourself.”

“Maybe,” the man agreed grimly.

“Well, I feel so special,” reply Billie.

George turned around, looking at Billie with half-closed eyes that shone with superiority. “Do you say you want to marry me?”

Billie shudder. “ Never will be.” But at the same time, a woman does not want to think men prefer to throw themselves off the roof just to avoid the possibility.

“In that case, Madam, we agreed,” said George.

And it hurts. Oh, how painful. Ah, ironic. Billie doesn't care if George Rokesby doesn't want to marry her. He doesn't even like that guy most of the time. And he knew that when the man decided to choose a partner, that very lucky girl would not be like him at all.

But still, it hurts.

Candidate Lady Kennard must be gentle, feminine. He must have been trained to take care of the stately house, not the estate in the estate. She must have been wearing the latest model dress, her hair was draped and styled elaborately, and even if she had a backbone as strong as steel, she would have hidden it behind a gentle aura of helplessness.

Men like George like to think of themselves as masculine and strong.

He watched as the man ruffled his waist. Well, George is masculine and strong. But he was like the others; he definitely wanted a woman who teased from behind a fan. Amit-amit if he marries someone who is capable.

“It's a disaster,” said the man was upset.

Billie refrained from saying ketus. “You've only realized it now?”

The man's answer was an immature whimper. “Why can't you be nice?” billie Spray.

“Good?” reset George.

Oh my God, why did he say that? Now he has to explain. “Like your other family members,” Billie explained.

“Good,” said George again. He shook his head, as if he did not believe in Billie's courage. “Good.”

“I'm good,” said Billie. Then he regretted his words, for he was not a good man. At least not most of the time, and he has a hunch that he is not currently being kind. But of course he's not to blame right now, because what he's up against is George Rokesby, and Billie can't help himself.

And it seemed like the man couldn't help himself either.

“Did it occur to you that I was kind to everyone but you?” george said in a voice that was clearly deliberately coloured in a harsh tone.

That's hurtful. It shouldn't hurt, because they don't like each other, and it shouldn't hurt because Billie doesn't want those words to hurt her.

But he won't show his feelings.

“I think you tried to insult me,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

George looked at her, waiting for a follow-up sentence.

Billie puts her shoulders down.

“But...?” fishing rod George.

Billie rolled her shoulders again, pretending to observe her nails. Which meant that he was actually looking at his nails, which turned out to be very dirty.

One more thing that sets her apart from the future Lady Kennard.

Billie counted to five in her heart, waiting for George to demand an explanation in a sharp tone that the man had perfected before she was old enough to shave. But he says nothing, and eventually Billie loses in whatever stupid contest is churning between them. He raised his head.

George didn't even look at her.

Godforsaken.

And curse Billie, for she can't help herself. He knew anyone with a little self-control would know when to shut his mouth, but no, he had to open his mouth very stupidly and say, “If you can't collect—”

“Do not say,” George warned.

“—spirit generosity for—”

“I warn you, Billie.”

“Really?” his reply. “I thought you were threatening me.”

“I'll do it,” George almost snapped, “if you don't close—” The man stopped himself with a slow mock, and turned his face the other way.

Billie picked up the thread that slipped from her stockings, her lips pursed trembling with anger. He should have said nothing. He knew even as he spoke, for though George was haughty and obnoxious, he was the one who got the man stuck on the roof, and he had no right to be so obnoxious and arouse the man's anger.

But there's something in George—a special kind of talent that only he has—that stripped Billie of the experience and maturity she had for years and made her act like a six-year-old. If George were someone else— anyone—Billie would be hailed as the most sensible and light-handed woman in Christian history. The story will seba-r-as soon as they manage to get off the roof—about his courage and ingenuity. Billie Bridgerton is so resourceful, so thoughtful. People have reason to say it, because he is resourceful, and he is wise.

Just not with George Rokesby.

“I'm sorry,” murmured slowly.

Slowly George turned away, as if his muscles did not trust his hearing.

“Said I'm sorry,” reset Billie, this time harder. It feels like an antidote to poison, but it's the right thing. But if the amit-amit until the man made him say it again, because only that much self-esteem can Billie swallow before she chokes. And the man should know.

Because George is the same.

Their eyes met, and they lowered their heads, then after a while George said, “We are not in the best state at the moment.”

Billie gulps. He thought maybe he should say more, but his judgment so far did not benefit him, so instead he nodded, vowing he would keep his mouth shut until—

“Andrew?” george said lirih.

Billie jerks.

“Andrew!” George almost shouted.

Billie's eyes twitched frantically towards the trees at the end of the field, and sure enough.. “Andrew!” he screamed, and by reflex he began to stand up before recalling his ankle.

“Aduh!” he screamed, and fell down.

George did not even glance at her. The man was too busy on the edge of the roof, waving both hands excitedly.

There's no way Andrew could miss them, screaming like a pair of crazy banshees, but if Andrew quickens his pace, Billie can't see it. But it's Andrew. Maybe he should have been glad the man wasn't uproarious to see how they were.

Andrew wouldn't let them forget something like this.

“Halo who is there!” call Andrew as soon as it's half the distance between them.

Billie turned to George. He could only see the side of the man's face, but George was relieved by his younger brother's appearance. And strangely it looks so grim too. No, it's not weird at all, Billie realized. Whatever Billie would take from Andrew, George would take it a hundredfold.

Andrew approached, there was a spirit in his step even with arms wrapped in a buffer cloth. “From all the pleasant surprises,” he announced, his face almost split with a grin. “If I think and think and think.”.

He paused, lifting one index finger elegantly, a universal sign to ask for a moment, Billie realized. Then he tilted his head as if back to the original conversation, and said, “and think again—”

“Oh, for God's sake,” furious George.

“Down us from this fucking roof,” snapped George.

Billie sympathized with the tone of the man's voice.

“I always thought you two would be a great couple,” comments Andrew sneaky.

“Andrew,” growled Billie.

He was presented with a smile. “Really, you don't have to do something this extreme to get some privacy. We will be happy to help.”

“Stop,” Billie's orders.

Andrew looked up, laughing even as he frowned. “Do you really want to use that tone of voice, Billie-goat? I am the one above the ground.”

“Please, Andrew,” said Billie, trying as much as possible to sound civilized and reasonable. “We would really appreciate your help.”

“Well, because you asked so sweetly,” murmured Andrew.

“I'll kill him,” growled Billie slowly.

“I'll break his other hand,” grumbled George.

Billie chokes holding back laughter. There was no way Andrew could hear them, but he kept his head down, and just then he realized Andrew's forehead was wrinkled, his healthy hands were ruffled.

“What else now?” sue George.

Andrew was stunned looking at the stairs, his mouth wrinkled curiously. “I'm not sure what the two of you think, but this is not something that can be done easily using one hand.”

“Keep out one more hand from the buffer cloth,” said George, but his last words drowned Billie's screech, “Don't take it out of the buffer cloth!”

“Do you really want to stay on the roof?” hiss George.

“And made his arm hurt again?” reply Billie. Maybe they were just joking about breaking Andrew's healthy arm, but really. The man was a sailor in the Navy. It was important for his bones to heal perfectly.

“You will marry me to save her hand?”

“I won't marry you,” reply Billie ketus. “Andrew knows where we are. He can go get help if we need him.”

“By the time he came back with a person who could help, we've been in this place for hours both.”

“And I think you have such a high opinion of your masculine abilities that you think people will believe you managed to ruin my good name on the roof.”

“Trust me, any reasonable man knows your good name cannot be tampered with at all,” sizzled George.

Billie's forehead momentarily wrinkled in confusion. Does the man praise his morality? But—

Oho!

“You're so annoying,” he's bubbling with rage. Because that's the only answer choice. Somehow he thinks—You have absolutely no idea how many men who want to ruin my good name won't give him points for ingenuity and dignity.

And honesty.

“Andrew,” call George, with his most haughty, me-boy-at-old voice, “I'll pay a hundred pounds so you'll take off the buffer cloth and put the ladder back into place.”

Hundred pounds?

Billie turned towards him in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

“Come on,” thought Andrew amused. “Maybe seeing you two killing each other is worth a hundred pounds.”

“Don't be so annoying,” George threw an angry look at his sister.

“You won't even be an heir,” Billie reminded, not that Andrew ever hoped to succeed his father as Earl of Manston. He was far too fond of his free life for such responsibilities.

“Ah, yes, Edward,” sighed Andrew excessively, referring to Rokesby's boy number two, who is two years older than him. “It does spoil the fun. It will look suspicious if you both die in a situation that provokes question marks.”

There was a clumsy pause when they all realized that Andrew had, perhaps, joked too far for it. Edward Rokesby took the proudest route for his second son and became captain in the 54th Army Regiment of the British Empire. He was sent to the American colonies more than a year ago and served valiantly in the Quaker Hill War. He continued to live in Rhode Island for several months before moving to British headquarters in New York Town. News of his health and safety arrived too rare for everyone.

“If Edward dies,” says George stiffly, “I think his circumstances will never be described as ‘fishing curiosity’.”

“Oh, come on, stop being so serious all the time,” Andrew turned an eyeball towards his brother.

“Your brother risked his life for King and Country,” said George, and really, Billie thought, his voice sounded tense and stiff, even to her.

“So did I,” Andrew said with a cold smile. He raised his injured arm towards the roof, his folded and bandaged arm hanging onto the shoulder. “Or at least one or two bones.”

Billie gulped and turned her head hesitantly towards George, trying to gauge the man's reaction. As was common with the third boy, Andrew skipped university and went straight into the Royal Navy as a cadet. He was made a lieutenant a year ago. Andrew did not find himself in danger as often as Edward, but still, he wore his uniform proudly.

George, on the other hand, was not allowed to serve; as heir to the title of earl he was considered far too valuable to throw himself before the bullets of American rifles. And Billie wondered in her heart..What does that bother her? That her sisters serve for the country and she doesn't? Does he even want to go to war?

Then Billie wondered in her heart.Why had she never thought of this? True, he did not dedicate much time to thinking about George Rokesby unless the man stood before him, but the lives of the Rokesby and Bridgerton families were so closely intertwined. It seems strange that he did not know this.

His eyes slowly moved from one brother to another. They didn't say anything for a while. Andrew was still staring with his icy eyes full of challenges, and George was retaliating with. At least not anymore. But not regret either. Or self-respect. Or anything Billie could identify.

There's so much more to this conversation than there seems on the surface.

“Well, I've risked my life and feet for an ungrateful cat,” Billie announced, wanting to steer the conversation back to a less controversial topic. That is, his self-rescue.

“That's what happened?” murmured Andrew, who was bending up the stairs. “I guess you don't like cats.”

George turned to her with an expression that exceeded aggravation. “You don't even like cats?”

“Everyone likes cats,” says Billie quickly.

George's eyes narrowed, and Billie knew there was no way the man believed his friendly smile was not an attempt to reassure, but fortunately Andrew chose that moment to take out a slow mockery, made the two of them turn their attention to his struggle with the stairs.

“Are you okay?” call Billie.

“Wooden flakes,” replied Andrew ketus. He sucked the side of his little finger. “Sialan.”

“The flakes won't kill you,” George snapped.

Andrew took a moment to swerve angrily towards his brother.

George rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God's sake.”

“Don't make him riled up,” hiss Billie.

George let out an awkward growl, yet he continued to be silent, scapegoating while looking at his sister below.

Billie shuffled to the edge of the roof to see Andrew better as the man slipped one foot down the stairs and leaned over to hold the steps. He snarled loudly while lifting the stairs up. Andrew did it wrong, but there wasn't much a one-armed man could do.

But at least he was a strong one-armed man, with great effort as well as inappropriate language, he managed to put the stairs on the side of the building.

“Thank you,” George sighed, although from his tone Billie was not sure the man was thanking his sister or God.

With Andrew holding up the ladder—and no cat as a barrier—traveling down is much easier than the first attempt. But it hurts. For God's sake, the pain in Billie's ankle made her short of breath. And there's nothing he can do about it. He could not jump the stairs, so with each step he had to put a weight on his sprained ankle.

By the time she arrived at the third rung from below, Billie could barely hide her crying voice.

Strong hands landed on his waist. “I've got you,” said George quietly, and Billie let herself pass out