BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"

chapter 9

Four days later

 .

IT WAS AMAZING—NOT, inspire—Billie decided, how quickly she stopped using her stick. Obviously, it all depends on the mind.

The powers. Steadfastness.

Determinedly.

And, the ability to ignore taste is also useful.

It didn't feel that bad, he reasoned. Just slightly. Or it may approach a nail hammered into the ankle following its walking speed.

But not a very good nail: Just a small nail. Like a tug, actually.

She's a strong woman. Everybody says so.

After all, the pain in his ankle was not at all as bad as the abrasions in the armpit due to the stick. And Billie doesn't plan to hike nine kilometers. He just wants to be able to move around the house with both feet.

After all, his step speed was much slower than usual when walking into the sitting room a few hours after breakfast. Andrew was waiting for him, Thamesly said. This was not too surprising; Andrew had come every day since his accident.

So sweet of her.

They build a house of cards, Andrew's typical evil choice, whose dominant arm still cannot be moved and bandaged. She said as long as she came to accompany Billie, she would do something useful.

Billie did not bother to point out that building a house of cards could possibly be defined as useless.

And being able to use only one arm, Andrew needed help balancing the first few cards, but afterwards he was able to set up the rest as well as Billie.

Or better, actually. Billie forgot how clever the man built the— card house and how obsessed he became during the process. Yesterday was the worst. As soon as they finish the first level the man drives Billie out of construction. Then he kicked her out of the whole area, saying that Billie was breathing too hard.

That certainly gave Billie no other choice but to sneeze.

He might as well kick the table.

For a moment there was regret when everything collapsed spectacularly, but the expression on Andrew's face was comparable to that, even if the man went straight home following the collapse of his card house.

But it was yesterday, and knowing Andrew, he would want to start again, bigger and better for the fifth time. So Billie collected two more packs of cards on her way to the sitting room. It should have been enough for Andrew to add a level or two to his new architectural masterpiece.

“Good morning,” he said as he entered the sitting room. Andrew was standing on a plate of biscuits that someone left at the table behind the sofa. Maid, maybe. One of those silly waiters. They always giggled in amusement when they saw Andrew.

“You have removed your sticks,” Andrew nodded in agreement. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Billie looked around the room. There is no George. He had not come since that first morning in the library. Not that Billie expected it. He and George were not friends.

They are not enemies either, of course. Just not friends. Never does. Although they may be a little friends now.

“What's up?” ask Andrew.

Billie gnashing. “No.”

“You frown.”

“I don't frown.”

Andrew's expression changed and looked disdainful. “You can see your own face?”

“And you're here to cheer me up,” Billie commented slowly.

“Yeah, no, I came for a shortbread.” biscuit Andrew reached out and took a portion of the card from Billie. “And maybe build a house.”

“Finally, a little honesty.”

Andrew laughed and dropped to the sofa. “I have absolutely nothing to hide my motives.”

Billie admitted it with a blink of an eye. In the past few days the man had eaten so many shortbread biscuits.

“You'd be better off with me if you knew how terrible the food was on board,” Andrew continued.

“Skala one to ten?”

“Twelve.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Billie said with a grimace. He knew how much Andrew loved sweet food.

“I know what I will experience.” Andrew paused for a moment, his forehead wrinkled as he thought. “No, actually I don't think I know.”

“You won't be in the Navy if you realize there won't be any biscuits there?”

Andrew was dramatic. “Sometimes men have to make their own biscuits.”

A few cards slide out of Billie's grasp. “What?”

“I think he replaced the biscuits with destiny,” came a sound from the direction of the door.

“George!” exclamation Billie. By surprise? With pleasure? What's in his voice? And why can't he, of all people, know?

“Billie,” George muttered and bowed respectfully politely.

Billie was stunned to look at the man. “What are you doing here?”

George's mouth moved with a flat expression that honestly could not be called a smile. “You are always polite.”

“Well”—Billie bent down and collected the cards she dropped earlier, trying not to stumble the lace of her skirt decoration—”four days you are not here.”

Now George smiled. “You missed me, then.”

“No.” Billie swiped and snatched the heart jack card.******that annoying little*it slid half way down the couch. “Do not be foolish. Thamesly didn't say anything about your arrival. He just offended Andrew.”

“I take care of the horses,” George said.

Billie immediately turned her head towards Andrew, a shocked expression coloring her face. “You're riding here?”

“Well, I tried,” I'm Andrew.

“We rode very slowly,” George confirmed. Then his eyes narrowed. “Where are your sticks?”

“Lost,” replied Billie, smiling proudly.

“I can see it.” George's forehead creased as he scowled. “Who said you could stop using it?”

“No,” says Billie exasperated. Who does George think he is? Her dad? No, definitely not his father. That's too…

Uh.

“I got out of bed, stepped up, and decided myself,” he replied with contrived patience.

George grunting.

Billie. “What does that snort mean?”

“Let me translate,” said Andrew from the sofa, where he was still straining his body after lying down like a child.

“I know what that means,” snapped Billie ketus.

“Oh, Billie,” Andrew sighs.

Billie turned to glare at him.

“You have to get out of the house,” he said.

That's right, like Billie doesn't know that. He looked back at George. “Please, forgive my impoliteness. I didn't expect you to come.”

The man's eyebrows shot up, but he accepted his apology with a nod and sat down as Billie sat down.

“We have to feed him,” Billie said, tilting her head towards Andrew.

“Give him a drink too?” murmured George, as Andrew the horse.

“I'm here!” Andrew protest.

George gestured to the London Times newspaper, which had just been ironed and placed on a table beside it. “Do you mind if I read it?”

“Not at all,” replied Billie. It was not the place to hope that the man would comfort her. Even if that's the indirect purpose of George coming here. It advanced the body, giving Andrew a small pat on the shoulder. “You want me to start it for you?”

“Please, but after that you can't touch it,” Andrew replied.

Billie turned to George. The newspaper still folded in his lap, and the man observed them curiously and amusedly.

“In the middle of the table,” says Andrew.

Billie looked at him sharply. “Autocratics as usual.”

“I artist.”

“Architect,” says George.

Andrew looked up, as if he had forgotten his brother was there. “Ya,” muttered. “True once.”

Billie slid off the chair and knelt down in front of the low table, adjusting the position so that her weight did not press on her still sore leg. He chose two cards from a messy stack on the edge of the table and shaped them into a balanced T. Carefully, he removed the fingers and waited to see if the cards were safe.

“How good,” murmured George.

Billie smiled, very happy to receive the man's praise. “Thank you.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“I swear, Andrew,” said Billie, using the third card to change the shape of the T earlier to H, “you turned into the most annoying person while doing this.”

“But I always manage to finish this game.”

Billie heard George chuckle, followed by the rustling sound of the newspaper being opened and folded into a readable shape. Billie shook her head, decided Andrew was very lucky to have himself as a friend, then put a few more cards in his place. “Is this enough for you to start?” he asked Andrew.

“Ya, thank you. Be careful with the table when you stand.”

“Are you like this when you were at sea?” billie asked, limping across the room to pick up her book before she sat down. “Amazing how people hold facing you.”

Andrew squinted— in the direction of the card structure, not in the direction of Billie— and put a card in his position. “I always finish my work,” rework.

Billie turned to George. The man observed Andrew with a strange expression. His forehead is wrinkled, but not scowled. His eyes were too bright and confusing. Every time she blinked, her eyelashes swept down like a fan, graceful and—

“Billie?”

Oh, my God, that guy caught Billie wet looking at her.

Wait, why is he staring at George?

“Sorry,” murmured. “Magical.”

“I hope your daydreams are interesting.”

Billie chokes before answering, “Not really.” Then he felt bad, for insulting George without the man even knowing it.

And without really intending to do so.

“He was like a different person,” he said, pointing towards Andrew. “I found it very confusing.”

“You've never seen it like this?”

“Enter.” Billie looked from chair to sofa and decided to pick a sofa. Andrew was now on the floor, and it was likely that he would not want his place back immediately. Billie sat down, leaned against the arm of the chair and straightened both legs forward. Without thinking about what he was doing he grabbed the folded blanket behind the sofa and spread it over his legs. “I still find it confusing.”

“The speed is very unexpected,” said George.

Billie thought. “Tunexpected because..?”

George put his shoulders and pointed at his sister. “Who would have thought that from him?”

Billie thought about it for a moment, then decided she agreed with George. “There's something awkward in that.”

“I can still hear you guys, know,” Andrew said. He had already put up about a dozen cards and retreated a few inches to check his house from several angles.

“We did not try not to be heard,” comments George lightly.

Billie smiled and slipped a finger into the right place in her book. That's one of the volumes that has a ribbon for the page divider.

“Originally you know,” said Andrew, moving to the other side of the table, “I'll kill you if you tear this one down.”

“Dik, I barely even breathe,” said George in an imposing serious tone.

Billie is holding back a laugh. He rarely saw this side of George, seductive and flat. Usually the man was so exasperated with all of them because he had no humor at all.

“What is the encyclopedia Prescott’s?” ask George.

Billie looked back. “True.”

“You made good progress.”

“But I don't like it, believe me. It is very flat.”

Andrew didn't look up, but he said, “You read the agricultural encyclopedia and you complain it's flat?”

“Last Volume of brilliant contents,” protest Billie. “I can hardly take it off.”

Even from the back of his head, it was clear Andrew was rolling his eyeballs.

Billie turned her attention towards George, who, it must be said, never once ridiculed her reading choices. “Definitely because of the topic. Looks like this time the author stuck with the soil coating.”

“The soil layer is important,” said George, his eyes flickering over a face that impressively looks grim.

“Yes God, you two are enough to make me want to grab my own hair,” furious Andrew.

Billie patted his shoulder. “But you love us.”

“Do not touch me,” Andrew warned.

Billie turned to George. “She's easily offended.”

“Silent, Billie,” furious Andrew.

Billie laughed lightly and returned to the book in her hand. “Back to ground coating.”

He tried to read. Really am. But Prescott’s seemed so boring this time, and every time George moved, his newspaper let out a rustling sound and then he had to look up.

But then the man will look up. Then Billie had to pretend she was watching Andrew. Then he really watched Andrew, because watching the one-armed man build a house of cards was fascinating with his peculiarities.

Back to Prescott’s, his reprimand in heart. Although the soil coating was so boring, he had to pass through it. And he managed to do it, somehow. An hour passed in comfortable silence, he was on the couch with his book, George on the chair with his newspaper, and Andrew on the floor with his cards. Billie made it through the straw carpet, and passed through the half-rotting soil layer, but when she arrived at the anaerobic soil layer, she could not stand it anymore.

Billie sighed, not elegantly. “I'm bored once.”

“The right thing to say while being with someone,” Andrew chirped.

Billie. “You don't count as someone.”

“What is George including?”

George looked up from his newspaper.

Billie puts her shoulders down. “Trust no.”

“I included,” said the man.

Billie gnashing. He didn't realize George was listening.

“I'm included,” George said again, and if Billie hadn't seen him she would have missed it. He must have missed the blazing fire in George's eyes, hot and intense, burning in less than a second before the man extinguished it and returned attention to the newspaper.

“You treated Andrew like a brother,” said George, turning the page in deliberate slow motion.

“And I treated you..”

The man looked up. “Unlike brother.”

Billie's mouth is open. He can't turn his eyes away. Then he had to turn away, because he felt so strange, and suddenly it felt important for him to return to the anaerobic soil coating.

But then George made a noise, or maybe he was just breathing, and Billie couldn't stop herself, then looked at the man again.

She's got great hair, Billie decided. He's glad George doesn't bury him, at least, not every day. Her hair was thick, with few waves, and it looked like it would curl if she let it be long. Billie grunts small. Wouldn't her maid love that kind of hair? Billie usually only ties her hair back like a ponytail, but sometimes she has to dress herself. They've tried everything with her hair—hot clasps, wet tape—but her hair doesn't want to curl.

He also likes George's hair color. The color is like caramel, shiny and sweet, the top is decorated with golden strands. Billie would bet sometimes George forgot to wear a hat under the sun. It's like that too.

It is interesting how all Rokesby have similar eye color, but their hair is a variation of brown color. No one was blonde, and no one had red hair, but even though their hair was all brown, nothing was exactly the same.

“Billie?” george asked again, his voice sounding like a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Oh, shit, that guy caught her wet again. Billie grimacing. “I was just thinking about how you and Andrew resemble each other,” he said. This can be said to be true.

Andrew looked up at him. “Do you really think like that?”

No, Billie thought, but she said, “Well, you two have blue eyes.”

“Like half of the UK population,” says Andrew flat. He flicked his shoulders and went back to work, his tongue sticking out between his teeth while he thought of his next move.

“My mom always said we have the same ear shape,” George commented.

“Ear?” billie's mouth was a little gaping. “I've never heard of anyone comparing ears.”

“As far as I know there really isn't, other than my mom.”

“Daun ear dangling,” added Andrew. She did not turn her head towards Billie, but used her healthy hands to flick her ears. “Ear mom stick.”

Billie touched her own earlobe. Now he can't possibly not do it. “I didn't even realize there was more than one kind of earlobe.”

“Your gear is also sticking,” Andrew said without looking up.

“How do you know?”

“I pay attention to the ears,” said the man without feeling guilty. “I can't help it now.”

“I can't either,” I'm George. “This is my mother's fault.”

Billie blinked a few times, still pinching her earlobe. “I just don't...” Forehead Billie wrinkled and she swung both legs off the sofa.

“Awas!” snapped Andrew.

Billie threw a vexed look, not that the man noticed, then leaned forward.

Andrew turned around slowly. “Do you check my ears?”

“I'm just trying to see what the difference is. I told you, I wasn't even aware there was more than one type.”

Andrew shook his hand at his brother. “See George's ear if you have to. Here you are too close to the table.”

“I swear, Andrew,” said Billie, slowly shifting to the side until she came out of the space between the sofa and the table, “you are addicted.”

“Some men switch to liquor,” says Andrew haughty.

George stood up, watching Billie have stood up. “Or card,” he said with a small sly smile.

Billie grunts laughing.

“How much do you think he has compiled?” ask George.

Billie tilted her body to the right; Andrew covered her gaze. One, two, three, four…

“Snam,” he tells.

“It's amazing.”

Billie smile. “Is that what it takes to impress you?”

“Maybe.”

“Stop talking,” snapped Andrew.

“We move the air with our breath,” Billie explained, giving the statement an inappropriate seriousness.

“I understand.”

“Burn I sneezed.”

George looked at her in admiration. “Very good.”

“I need more cards,” said Andrew. He retreated from the table very slowly, inching on the carpet like a crab until far enough to stand up without risking nudging anything.

“I don't have,” said Billie. “I mean, I'm sure we have, but I don't know where to look. I've brought you the last two sets of the game room.”

“This can't happen,” grumbled Andrew.

“You can ask on Thamesly,” advice Billie. “If anyone knows, it must be him.”

Andrew nodded slowly, as if trying to break everything inside his head. Then he turned and said. “You should move.”

Billie stared at him. “What?”

“You can't stand there. You're too close.”

“Andrew,” said Billie briefly, “you've gone mad.”

“You'll knock it down.”

“Go away,” said Billie.

“If you—”

“Go!” yell at him and George together.

Andrew mcndelik got angry at them and left the room.

Billie looked at George. The man looked at her.

Their laughter spilled out.

“I don't know how about you, but I'll move to the other side of the room,” Billie said.

“Ah, but that means you admit defeat.”

Billie looked back while walking away. “I'd rather think of it as an attempt to keep myself.”

George chuckled softly and followed him to the row of windows. “The irony is Andrew sucks in card games,” he said.

“All games of luck, in fact,” George continues. “If you need a little money, he's the right target.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not gambling.”

“With card,” reply the man.

Billie felt the man meant to sound funny, but in her ear it sounded so patronizing. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

George looked a little surprised by the question. “Just you gamble happily all the time with your life.”

Billie felt her chin jerk backwards. “It's silly.”

“Billie, you fell from a tree.”

“To the roof.”

George almost chuckled. “How can it go against my argument?”

“You will do the same,” Billie insisted. “In fact, you did it.”

“Oh, that's right.”

“I climbed up a tree to save the cat.” He stabbed the man in the shoulder with his index finger. “You went up to save me.”

“First of all, I did not climb trees,” George replied. “And secondly, you compare yourself to a cat?”

“Yes. No!” For the first time Billie was grateful to have injured her leg. Otherwise he might have already clenched his feet.

“What will you do if I don't come?” sue George, “Really, Billie. What are you going to do?”

“I'll definitely be fine.”

“I'm sure so. You're a very lucky man. But your family will definitely panic, and chances are the whole village will be called to look for you.”

The guy was right, asshole, and it made it worse. “Do you think I didn't realize it?” he demanded, his voice dipped to hiss.

George watched her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “No,” said the man, “I didn't realize it.”

Billie took a breath. “Everything I do, I do for the people here. My whole life. I read the fucking farm encyclopedia,” his arm was jerked towards the book being talked about. “Jilid four. Who else do you know who—” Billie suddenly stopped when choked, and some time passed before she could continue. “do you really think I'm so uncaring?”

“No.” George's voice was so low and flat. “I don't think you think.”

Billie nodded back. “I can't believe I thought we were starting to be friends.”

George said nothing.

“You are a very terrible person, George Rokesby. You're impatient, intolerant, and—”

George grabbed his arm. “Stop.”

Billie pulled her hand again by force, but George's fingers were too tightly wrapped around her arm. “Why did you even come this morning? You only met me to find fault.”

“Do not be foolish,” scorn George.

“That's right,” reply Billie. “You don't see yourself when you're near me. All you did was frown and get angry and—and—all about you. Your attitude, your expression. You disagree so much with everything.”

“You're being silly.”

Billie shakes. He almost felt as if his mind was open. “You don't approve all the things about me.”

George stepped forward, his hands tightened on Billie's arms. “It's so far from the truth that it feels ridiculous.”

Billie's mouth was open.

Then he realized George looked as surprised as his own words like Billie.

And the man stood so close.

Billie's chin was raised, bringing her eyes to the man's eyes.

He stopped breathing.

“Billie,” George whispered softly, and the man's hand was raised, as if it were going to touch his cheek

don't forget the usual rich!!!