A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

by Britton, Sally

  Luca closed the book, the snap of the sound breaking him out of his memories. He dropped the slim notebook into a drawer, then twisted the supplied key to secure it. During the day, the book would stay with him.

  He rolled the pencil in his hand, marveling at the simple instrument. The machine-made wood-cased pencils had been impossible to get hold of during Napoleon’s reign, and in the years to follow, as trade negotiations faltered because of Italy’s uncertain future. He examined the sharpened end, then the exposed graphite core of the other side. He twirled it in his fingers, a smile upon his lips.

  The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies had stabilized under King Ferdinand’s rule, and Luca would be as this pencil. A simple tool, an implement in the hand of his monarch, writing a new future for his people. Less uncertainty, more growth. The end of unrest, the beginning of modernization.

  If he performed his duties well in England, he could accomplish much. An English wife with the backing of a powerful father would strengthen his influence and open doors for his people.

  He had time. Rumor was that Parliament would not open again until January, after the Twelfth Night celebrations ended. He was a guest in the duke’s home until the family quitted the country for London. Three and a half months was plenty of time to court a young woman.

  Luca stood from the desk and rubbed at his lower back, his muscles still aching from the carriage ride. A good stretch of the legs was in order for the next day. The walk through the gardens with Lady Josephine, Miss Arlen, and the naturalists ought to help.

  He went to bed with a barely formed idea of strolling through gardens and dazzling Lady Josephine with his sophistication and charm.

  Gaining a lady’s favor couldn’t be too difficult.

  Chapter Four

  Emma walked through the garden a step behind Josephine and the conte, while they walked several steps behind Mr. Rupert Gardiner and Miss Sharpe. With the most animated gestures, Mr. Gardiner pointed out the different species of flora in the Clairvoir gardens, noting which were native to England and which had been imported to the duke’s lands.

  The late September afternoon, verging into October, boasted more sun than usual for that time of year. The breeze rustled through the leaves, now changed from green to yellow and orange, with reds and browns scattered throughout the gardens, too.

  Mr. Gardiner stopped beneath a particularly bright-hued tree. “Here you can see this maple, imported from Norway, thrives in the garden. I noted in the summer that the magpie moth favored this tree, despite its lack of ability to disguise itself among the leaves.”

  The ambassador frowned up at the tree and asked a few polite questions about tree and moth both before they continued on their walk. He appeared far too serious every time he spoke, which made Emma wonder if she had imagined his smile from the day before when he had returned her book.

  He held himself too stiffly, though perhaps his posture had something to do with walking next to the mostly silent Josephine.

  The scene they made, Emma reflected to herself, would likely be a pretty one if put on paper or canvas. Here a gentleman and lady walking, with obvious affection for one another. Behind them a man and woman not touching, dressed elegantly, and uncertain of one another.

  Of course, the picture would not be complete without Emma bringing up the rear of the party in her smart rose-hued walking gown and pelisse.

  Traditionally, when a lady walked with a gentleman, the companion’s role kept her several steps behind. Given that Emma didn’t receive financial compensation for her role and acted out of long-standing friendship and sisterly affection, she rarely confined herself to what others expected.

  Today, she thought only to observe the conte and give Josephine an opportunity to form an opinion of him.

  Thus far, Josephine appeared unimpressed.

  Josephine had cast several glances over her shoulder during the quarter-hour of the walk, ostensibly to check that Emma remained well walking behind them. In reality, she had sent Emma many subtle signals only the two friends would understand.

  The overall message was quite clear. Josephine was not enjoying her time with the Italian nobleman, and her patience wore thin.

  Emma quickened her step enough to come to the conte’s free side. When he acknowledged her with a dip of his head, she smiled up at him. “Are you interested in the study of botany, Signore?”

  He wore a diplomatic, unemotional mask that afternoon, giving no hint of his thoughts. “I enjoy learning of the natural world, Miss Arlen.”

  “I quite enjoy the gardens, but I cannot say that I wish to know as much as our friends.” She gestured to Mr. Gardiner and Alice, both of whom had wandered off the path to peer down into a bush, likely forgetting for the moment that they had others with them. “His Grace is an amateur naturalist.”

  The conte glanced at Josephine, his tone far too formal when he spoke. “Do you share that interest with your father, my lady?”

  Josephine blinked, appearing momentarily confused by the question.

  Oh dear. Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing. She wasn’t even listening.

  “I beg your pardon; I am afraid my mind was on other matters.” Josephine did not even blush when she admitted her inattention. “Upon what subject are we speaking?”

  Emma gestured to the conte. “His lordship wonders if you are interested in the science of naturalism.”

  “Heavens, no.” Josephine laughed airily, wrinkling her nose. “I love flowers and gardens, of course, but I am content to appreciate them informally. Once you start bothering with the scientific terms and debating the merits of introducing one sort of plant over another to a garden, I am decidedly uninterested.”

  Though not the most diplomatic of answers, given Josephine knew nothing of the ambassador’s feelings on the subject, at least it was honest.

  Emma watched Mr. Gardiner and Alice step further away, still studying the plants with interest. She couldn’t help her amusement as she noted, “Those two could spend all day discussing flowers and butterflies in terms most of us would not understand.”

  “Indeed. Thank goodness they found each other.” Josephine grinned in their direction and then pointed down the path. “Let us continue. Perhaps they will notice and rejoin us, but I rather think they will like being left to themselves.”

  The conte’s eyebrows raised as he looked from Josephine to Emma. “They are unmarried. Is it done, to leave the two of them alone?”

  “You will find all manner of rules in English Society are only followed when it is convenient,” Josephine answered primly, her eyes twinkling. “And they are to marry this coming Sunday. I imagine a few moments to themselves would be appreciated.”

  The conte appeared to think on this for a moment, though he continued walking with them. “You are pleased by their match, true?”

  “Yes.” Josephine kept her hands at her side as she walked, her chin up and posture regal. “They complement each other nicely.”

  They said nothing for a time, the man walking in silence between the two women. Emma tried to study the conte from the corner of her eye. If he hoped to catch Josephine’s interest, he did not appear to know how to go about such a thing. Over the years, Emma had seen a number of admirers seek Josephine’s approval.

  None had ever held themselves quite so stiffly in her presence.

  Though the duke’s daughter held no interest in the ambassador as a suitor, the duke would wish their guest to be comfortable. With her promise to assist Josephine foremost upon her mind, Emma took it upon herself to guide the conversation.

  “Does your estate have gardens, Signore?”

  Conte di Atella’s eyes momentarily brightened, though he kept his gaze on the path ahead of them. “Yes. Though they are not like this. They are smaller. Along the hill where my house looks over the valley and the city, Atella. The gardens are walled in, with trees along one side and a fountain in the center. There are more vineyards on my family’s land, all along the hills. It do
es not rain there so much as in England.”

  Emma watched him speak, noting the careful way his lips formed the English words, and that his tone softened somewhat when speaking of his home. As an ambassador, he likely would not see it again for some time. That put her mind on another question.

  “Have you family still there, Signore?”

  “Sì, I do.” His shoulders relaxed, and he turned to look at her rather than Josephine as he spoke. “My parents are both still there, at the villa. As are my three sisters.”

  Emma tried to make eye contact with Josephine. But her friend appeared lost in thought again, not attending to the conversation. “Your parents are both living?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. “I assumed, since your title is conte, that your father had passed it to you.”

  His shoulders stiffened again, and his expression closed once more. “My father holds no title. I am the first of my line conferred the great honor, by the king himself, when he gave me the role of ambassador for our people.”

  The stern tone he used had apparently roused Josephine from her thoughts, and she cast a swift, confused look to Emma before speaking. “The first to bear your title? Really?”

  Emma glowered at Josephine. Her response did nothing to soften the man, who likely found the question impertinent. Emma hastened to speak. “That is a very great honor and responsibility. Titles are so rarely conferred in our modern era. At least here in England.”

  The ambassador nodded tightly. The newness of his rank appeared to make him uncomfortable, and Emma could not blame him. Bloodlines and ancient nobility were everything in the courts of Europe. A newly made nobleman didn’t have the pedigree most expected of one in his position. But then, most of Europe’s monarchies had changed or been challenged during Napoleon’s reign. Establishing new noble lines in many old countries had likely occurred out of necessity.

  Josephine shrugged one shoulder. “My family has possessed Montfort and its titles since the fourteenth century.” She apparently caught the somewhat aggravated glare Emma sent her direction, as she hurried on to say, “But they were only earls at first, and the title passed through one female line.”

  Why had Josephine allowed herself flights of fancy in the conte’s company? Emma knew well enough that Josephine possessed a great deal of finesse in social matters, if not political, and usually wielded her status as a duke’s daughter with grace.

  Emma’s glare must have pulled her friend back to her senses.

  Josephine tilted her chin upward and made a stronger effort to keep her attention on the man standing between them. “That is all ancient history, of course. Lord Atella, you must tell me about your sisters. Are they all younger than you? Are any of them my age?” She laughed and put a hand to her chest, perhaps wishing to remind the Italian lord that nearly a decade separated them in age.

  Emma barely kept from groaning aloud. The next several weeks—nay, the next three months—would prove challenging if the conte had any romantic intentions toward the duke’s eldest daughter.

  Chapter Five

  The day after the disastrous walk through the gardens, which had ended shortly after the ambassador revealed he had three younger sisters, Emma entered the library alone.

  Every morning, Josephine kept her grandmother company in the dowager’s apartments. Though Emma accompanied her friend to most of her lessons and entertainments, she did not mind missing the opportunity to sit beneath the dowager duchess’s eye for an hour or more for instruction. In recent years, she and the dowager had learned they had a common taste in reading, and little else. So, Josephine read to the duke’s mother, and skipped the etiquette lessons.

  Rather than peruse the shelves for a book—she had quite a few in her room she had yet to finish—Emma threw herself onto the most comfortable couch in the room. The large velvet couch, cream colored with dark green pillows heaped on each corner, had always proved a perfect place to pass the morning.

  The windows of the library lined one wall, their Gothic arches bearing stained glass fleurs-de-lis bathing the room in colored light. The duke had covered the walls in bookshelves twice her height, with busts of eminent historians and playwrights atop them. A table and practical chairs, along with comfortable high-backed chairs, and a writing desk furnished the room most comfortably.

  Emma stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the quiet.

  Until the hidden door between the duke’s personal study and the library opened behind her, the click so soft that most would not even notice the sound.

  Hastily, Emma sat up, correcting her posture.

  Men’s voices drifted into the library, and she belatedly remembered that the duke had scheduled an early meeting with the ambassador.

  The duke’s deep voice came from within the room, not the doorway. “I will think on what you have said, Lord Atella, and send for the requisite documents from London.”

  “Thank you for your attention to this matter, Your Grace.” The conte. He stood in the doorway.

  “We will meet you for the ride this afternoon, Your Grace.” And that was the secretary, Mr. Torlonia. “If you would excuse me, I will compile the notes of our meeting for you both.”

  “Grazie, Torlonia.”

  The secretary walked through the room at a fast clip, papers held to his chest, not even noticing Emma sitting in the couch’s corner. She relaxed. Perhaps the ambassador wouldn’t see her, either.

  The door between the library and study clicked closed, and the conte took a few steps into the room, then stopped. “Miss Arlen?”

  Emma rose from her place and turned toward him, making brief eye contact before bending her knee in a polite curtsy. “Good morning, Signore.”

  He wore a dark blue coat over an ivory waistcoat, colors rich and well suited to him. His hair had been combed to one side, but the wave at his forehead suggested it would not hold in that strict style for long.

  He bowed to her, then his gaze swept the room before settling on her again. “You are alone? Did you wish to see His Grace?”

  “No, I have no need to bother him at the moment.” She gestured to the couch. “I am enjoying the quiet. The duke took care that this room is always silent, for reading and contemplation, when he and the duchess built the castle.”

  For a long moment, the man said nothing. At last, he nodded. “It is near silent in this room, isn’t it?” He gestured to the couch behind her. “Please, do not let me disturb you. I know too well the value of quiet thought.” He almost sounded sad at the admission.

  Retaking her seat, Emma studied the conte with interest. “I suppose a man in your position needs time to organize his thoughts.” She gestured to the chairs. “Would you like to enjoy the quiet for yourself? I am perfectly capable of sitting without saying a word, so we may both enjoy a moment’s peace.”

  Rather than turn down the silly offer, the conte surprised her by taking one of the empty chairs situated several feet away from the couch. He did not look at her, but instead took in the room itself. “It amazes me how this castle and its rooms appear so old, when they have not stood even so long as I have lived.”

  Part of the charm of Clairvoir Castle for the duke and duchess had been filling the entire castle with ancient artifacts from other family holdings and the Continent.

  As the castle had been Emma’s home for half her life, she took pride in the building, too. Which meant she could not resist the topic. “The first day I stepped into the castle, it already had suits of armor lining the entrance passage.”

  “When did you join Lady Josephine?” The ambassador appeared as impassive as ever in his expression, but she noted the way he tapped the arm of his chair with his fingers—the only sign of possible restlessness. “I confess, I know little about the practice of introducing a lady’s companion to a household.”

  Emma studied his eyes, unabashedly attempting to read him and his interest in her. Did he make conversation with her out of politeness? Boredom? Or only to find out more about Josephine or
the family? Her first loyalty always fell to the Duke of Montfort. He had acted as a father toward her almost as long as she could remember.

  “I first came to the castle directly after the builders finished work, a decade ago. I was ten years old to Lady Josephine’s nine.” Of course, she had been a part of the family since her sixth birthday, when a tragic accident took her parents away forever.

  Had she not been paying attention, she would not have seen the slight widening of his eyes and the way his chin came up just a fraction. Most people either thought of companions as glorified servants or conveniently impoverished relatives.

  “I have surprised you, Signore.” Emma smiled at him and had the pleasure of seeing him shift in his seat when he dropped his gaze from hers.

  “You were very young when you began your work. The family has treated you well?”

  If she told him of her position as the duke’s ward, would that explain things to him? Not that it was any of his business. Best to answer his question and nothing more. “They have treated me with the best of care and understanding.”

  He nodded once. “Good.” Then he stood and went to one of the bookcases with an abruptness that made her blink.

  Hesitantly, Emma came to her feet again. “Do you need help finding something to read?”

  “You said you would introduce me to your favorite shelves.” He pivoted to face her again. “Are you available to do so now?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at him, and when she did so, his lips curled upward at last. The man wore propriety like a mask, and any break in that mask made him instantly more attractive. Or, Emma corrected herself, more approachable. She gestured to a set of shelves on the opposite side of the room. “My favorites are on that side of the room. The classic literature.”

  She crossed the room, skirting the enormous globe and a small table, and the ambassador followed on her heels until she stopped before a bookcase with rows of her favorite old tales.

  The ambassador leaned in to inspect the titles, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. “Ah. Shakespeare, Arabian Nights, and what else do you consider a classic?”