His lips curved, and his eyes took on an azure sparkle of amusement. “Ribbon?”

To her maid’s horror, Billie hiked up her overlong skirt and stuck out her foot, revealing an ankle bound in a length of festive pink ribbon.

“Very stylish,” George commented.

“I could not justify tearing up a bedsheet when this would do just as well.”

“Ever practical.”

“I like to think so,” Billie said, her jaunty voice giving way to a slight frown when it occurred to her that this might not have been a compliment. “Well,” she said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her arm, “they’re your sheets, at any rate. You should thank me.”

“I’m sure I do.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m mocking you. But only a little.”

Billie felt her chin rise an inch or so. “So long as it’s only a little.”

“I wouldn’t dare otherwise,” he replied. He leaned in, just a bit. “At least not in your presence.”

Billie stole a glance at the maid. She appeared thoroughly scandalized by the exchange.

“In all seriousness, though, Billie,” George said, proving that a sympathetic heart did beat somewhere in his chest, “are you certain you’re well enough to dine?”

She fastened an earring. Again, Mary’s. “I have to eat. I might as well do it in good company.”

He smiled at that. “It has been too long since we have had everyone – well, at least as many as we have tonight – together.”

Billie nodded, feeling wistful. When she was a child, the Rokesbys and Bridgertons had dined together several times each month. With nine children between the two families, suppers – or luncheons, or whatever odd holiday they’d elected to celebrate – could not be anything but loud and boisterous affairs.

But one by one, the boys left for Eton, first George, then Edward, and then Andrew. Billie’s two younger brothers, Edmund and Hugo, were boarding there now, along with the youngest Rokesby, Nicholas. Mary had found love and moved to Sussex, and now the only ones left in regular residence were Billie and her younger sister Georgiana, who at fourteen was perfectly pleasant but no bosom bow for a grown woman of three and twenty.

And George of course, but – eligible unmarried gentleman that he was – he split his time between Kent and London.

“Penny for them,” George said, crossing the room to where Billie sat at the vanity.

She shook her head. “Not worth even that, I’m afraid. It’s all quite maudlin, really.”

“Maudlin? You? I must learn more.”

She gave him a look, then said, “We are so diminished in number now. There used to be so many of us.”

“There still are,” he pointed out.

“I know, but we’re so rarely together. It makes me sad.” She could hardly believe she was speaking so frankly with George, but it had been such an odd, trying day. Perhaps it was making her less guarded.

“We shall all be together again,” he said gamely. “I’m quite sure of it.”

Billie lifted a brow. “Have you been assigned to cheer me up?”

“Your mother offered me three quid.”

“What?”

“I jest.”

She scowled, but with no real feeling behind it.

“Here, come now. I’ll carry you down.” He bent down to take her into his arms, but when he moved to the right, she moved to the left, and their heads bumped.

“Ooof, sorry,” he muttered.

“No, it was my fault.”

“Here, I’ll…” He made to put his arms behind her back and under her legs, but there was something inescapably awkward about it, which was the oddest thing, since he had carried her for over a mile just a few hours earlier.

He lifted her into the air, and the maid, who had been standing at quiet attention throughout the conversation, jolted out of the way as Billie’s legs swung around in an arc.

“A little less pressure on my neck, if you would,” George said.

“Oh, so sorry.” Billie adjusted her position. “It was just the same as this afternoon.”

He moved out into the hall. “No, it wasn’t.”

Maybe not, Billie conceded to herself. She’d felt so at ease when he had carried her through the woods. Far more at ease than she’d had any right to in the arms of a man who was not her relation. Now it was just plain uncomfortable. She was excruciatingly aware of his nearness, of the bold heat of his body, seeping through his clothing. His coat collar was properly high, but when her finger grazed the very top of it, a little lock of his light brown hair curled down over her skin.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked as they reached the top of the staircase.

“No,” she said quickly, then cleared her throat. “Why would you think so?”

“You haven’t stopped fidgeting since I picked you up.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t really think of anything to say to that. “It’s just that my foot hurts.” No, apparently she could think of something. Pity it was completely irrelevant.

He paused, gazing down at her with concern. “Are you sure you want to come to dinner?”

“I’m sure.” She let out an exasperated snuff of air. “For heaven’s sake, I’m already here. It would be ridiculous to quarantine myself in Mary’s room.”