“Your brother risks his life for King and Country,” George said, and truly, Billie thought, his voice was clipped and tense, even for him.

“As do I,” Andrew said with a cool smile. He tipped his injured arm up toward the roof, his bent and bound limb hinging at the shoulder. “Or at least a bone or two.”

Billie swallowed and looked hesitantly over at George, trying to gauge his reaction. As was common for third sons, Andrew had skipped university and gone straight into the Royal Navy as a midshipman. He had been raised to the rank of lieutenant a year earlier. Andrew didn’t find himself in harm’s way nearly so often as Edward, but still, he wore his uniform proudly.

George, on the other hand, had not been permitted to take a commission; as the heir to the earldom, he had been deemed far too valuable to throw himself in front of American musket balls. And Billie wondered . . . did that bother him? That his brothers served their country and he did not? Had he even wanted to fight?

Then she wondered . . . why had she never wondered about this? True, she did not devote much thought to George Rokesby unless he was standing in front of her, but the lives of the Rokesbys and Bridgertons were thoroughly intertwined. It seemed odd that she did not know this.

Her eyes moved slowly from brother to brother. They had not spoken for several moments. Andrew was still staring up with a measure of challenge in his icy blue eyes, and George was looking right back down with . . . well, it wasn’t anger exactly. At least not any longer. But nor was it regret. Or pride. Or anything she could identify.

There was far more to this conversation than rose to the surface.

“Well, I have risked life and limb for an unappreciative feline,” she declared, eager to direct the conversation back to less controversial topics. Namely, her rescue.

“Is that what happened?” Andrew murmured, bending over the ladder. “I thought you didn’t like cats.”

George turned to her with an expression that went somewhere beyond exasperation. “You don’t even like cats?”

“Everyone likes cats,” Billie said quickly.

George’s eyes narrowed, and she knew there was no way he believed that her bland smile was anything but a placation, but thankfully Andrew chose that moment to let out a muffled curse, causing both of them to return their attention to his struggles with the ladder.

“Are you all right?” Billie called out.

“Splinter,” Andrew bit off. He sucked on the side of his little finger. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s not going to kill you,” George snapped.

Andrew took a moment to fix his brother with a livid glare.

George rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of God.”

“Don’t provoke him,” Billie hissed.

George made an odd, growly sound, but he remained silent, crossing his arms as he stared down at his younger brother.

Billie scooted a tiny bit closer to the end for a better view of Andrew as he wedged one of his feet against the bottom of the rail and then bent over to grasp a rung. He grunted audibly as he pulled the ladder upright. The physics of the maneuver were all wrong, but there was only so much a one-armed man could do.