She sighed, and not elegantly. “I am so bored.”

“Just the sort of thing one says to company,” Andrew quipped.

She gave him the side eye. “You don’t count as company.”

“Does George?”

George looked up from his newspaper.

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“I count,” he said.

Billie blinked. She had not realized he’d even been listening.

“I count,” he said again, and if Billie hadn’t been looking at him she would have missed it. She would have missed the blaze of fire in his eyes, hot and intense, burning for less than a second before he banked it and returned his attention to his newspaper.

“You treat Andrew like a brother,” he said, turning a page with slow, deliberate movements.

“And I treat you . . .”

He looked at her. “Not like a brother.”

Billie’s lips parted. She couldn’t look away. And then she had to look away, because she felt very strange, and it was suddenly imperative that she get back to the sour mulch.

But then George made a noise, or maybe he just breathed, and she couldn’t stop herself, she was looking at him again.

He had nice hair, she decided. She was glad he didn’t powder it, at least not for everyday. It was thick, with just a hint of a wave, and it looked like it would curl if he grew it long. She gave a little snort. Wouldn’t her maid love hair like that? Billie usually just tied her hair back in a queue, but sometimes she had to fancify herself. They had tried everything with her hair—hot tongs, wet ribbons—but it just wouldn’t take a curl.

She liked the color of George’s hair, too. It was like caramel, rich and sweet, tipped with strands of gold. She would wager he sometimes forgot to wear his hat in the sun. She was the same way.

It was interesting how all the Rokesbys had the exact same color eyes, but their hair ran the gamut of browns. No one was blond, and no one ginger, but even though they were all brunet, no one had quite the same coloring.

“Billie?” George asked, his voice somewhere between confused and amused.

Oh, bloody hell, he’d caught her looking at him again. She winced out a smile. “I was just thinking how you and Andrew resemble each other,” she said. It was sort of the truth.

Andrew glanced up at that. “Do you really think so?”

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

“As does half of England,” Andrew said dryly. He shrugged and got back to work, his tongue catching between his teeth as he pondered his next move.

“My mother has always said that we have the same ears,” George commented.

“Ears?” Billie’s jaw fell about an inch. “I’ve never heard of anyone comparing ears.”

“As far as I know, no one does, aside from my mother.”

“Dangling lobes,” Andrew put in. He didn’t look at her, but he did use his good hand to tweak his lobe. “Hers are attached.”