Then he realized what a staggeringly odd observation that was.

“You did sound a little conceited,” Billie finally said. Her voice was quiet, meant for their ears only. “But I think that’s understandable?”

Understandable? He leaned forward. “Why are you saying that like it’s a question?”

“I don’t know.”

He sat back and crossed his arms, quirking one brow to indicate that he was waiting for her to continue.

“Fine,” she said, less than graciously. “You’re the eldest, the heir. You’re the brilliant, the handsome, oh, and we must not forget, the eligible Earl of Kennard.”

George felt a slow smile spread across his face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Brilliant, too,” George murmured. “I had no idea.”

“You’re acting like Andrew,” Billie muttered.

For some reason, this made him chuckle.

Billie’s eyes narrowed into a glare.

George’s smile stretched into a full-fledged grin. By God, it was fun to needle her.

She leaned forward, and in that moment he realized just how well people could speak through clenched teeth. “I was trying to be considerate,” she ground out.

“I’m sorry,” George said immediately.

Her lips pressed together. “You asked me a question. I was trying to give you an honest, thoughtful answer. I thought you deserved as much.”

Well, now he felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time it was more than an ingrained bit of polite manners.

Billie let out a breath, and she caught the inside of her lower lip between her teeth. She was thinking again, George realized. How remarkable it was to see another person think. Was everyone this expressive as they pondered their ideas?

“It’s how you were brought up,” she finally said. “You’re no more to blame than…” She exhaled again, but George was patient. She would find the right words.

And after a few moments, she did. “You’ve been raised —” But this time she stopped herself quite suddenly.

“To be conceited?” he said softly.

“To be confident,” she corrected, but he had a feeling that his statement was a lot closer to what she had been about to say. “It’s not your fault,” she added.

“Now who’s being patronizing?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Me, I’m sure. But it’s true. You can’t help it any more than I can help being a…” She waved her hands again, which was apparently her all-purpose gesture for things that were too awkward to say aloud.

“What I am,” she finally finished.

“What you are.” He said it softly. He said it because he had to say it, even if he didn’t know why.

She looked up at him, but only with her eyes. Her face remained tipped slightly down, and he had the oddest notion that if he did not meet her gaze, if he did not hold it with his own, she would return hers to her tightly clutched hands, and the moment would be lost forever.

“What are you?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Is anyone hungry?” Andrew suddenly asked.

George blinked, trying to snap himself out of whatever spell had been cast over him.

“Because I am,” Andrew continued. “Famished. Utterly. I ate only one breakfast this morning.”

“One breakfast?” Billie started to say, but Andrew was already on his feet, bounding over to her side.

He set his hands on the table, leaning down to murmur, “I was hoping I’d be invited to tea.”

“Of course you’re invited to tea,” Billie said, but she sounded just as off-balance as George felt. She frowned. “It’s a little early, though.”

“It’s never too early for tea,” Andrew declared. “Not if your cook has been making shortbread.” He turned to George. “I don’t know what she puts in it, but it’s divine.”

“Butter,” Billie said absently. “Quite a lot of it.”

Andrew cocked his head to the side. “Well, that makes sense. Everything tastes better with quite a lot of butter.”

“We should ask Georgiana to join us,” Billie said, reaching for her crutches. “I’m meant to be helping her plan the entertainments for the house party.” She rolled her eyes. “My mother’s orders.”

Andrew let out a bark of laughter. “Does your mother even know you?”

Billie threw an irritated look at him over her shoulder.

“Seriously, Billie-goat, what will you have us do? Head out to the south lawn to plant barley?”

“Stop,” George said.

Andrew swung around. “What was that?”

“Leave her alone.”

Andrew stared at him for so long George could not help but wonder if he’d been speaking in tongues.

“It’s Billie,” Andrew finally said.

“I know. And you should leave her alone.”

“I can fight my own battles, George,” Billie said.

He glanced over at her. “Of course you can.”

Her lips parted, but she seemed not to know how to respond to that.