This is, up until this point, the least clothing he has ever seen the Count in, outside of...the dream.

The dream that he is struggling not to think about now, mouth going very dry, face steadily going red.

"Oh, it's- I-I am glad you like it," he stumbles over himself to say, drawing a little closer to hold out the stack of laundry for Georg to pick from and trying, TRYING not to stare.

He is not succeeding very well.

"It's - it's just knowing how to apply heat to stiffen...them...."

Oh dear.