Luca stepped inside, removing his hat and gloves and handing them to a waiting servant.
The duke’s black hair turned silver above the temples, and he boasted broad shoulders despite being in his mid-fifties. His duchess, the very picture of sophistication and elegance, greeted Luca with a warm smile.
Luca bowed deeply before the duke, and the Englishman’s deep voice echoed off the tall ceiling and hanging shields.
"Welcome to Castle Clairvoir, Count Atella. We are honored to host the ambassador of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and look forward to strengthening the ties between our countries. Allow me to present to you my wife, the Duchess of Montfort. My mother”—an older woman with graying hair and a nose remarkably similar to the duke’s held her hand out to Luca for him to bow over it—“Sarah, Duchess of Montfort.”
Next in line was a tall man near Luca’s age. The duke’s heir. “My eldest son, Lord Farleigh. My eldest daughter, Lady Josephine.” The woman next to the heir took after her mother in appearance, tall and willowy in stature, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Brown hair, blue eyes. Pretty. But young.
This was the woman to whom his secretary objected, and his king would likely approve, if Luca wished to pay her court.
A movement behind Lady Josephine drew his attention to another young woman, a woman with dark hair, an impish nose, and brown eyes that met his briefly before her gaze dropped to the ground. She was a few inches shorter than Lady Josephine, dressed as finely, with a smile hiding at the corner of her mouth.
“Lord Atella, allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Emma Arlen. She is my dearest friend and has helped me devise all manner of entertainments for your stay with us.”
Miss Arlen curtsied, her smile disappearing completely, and her gaze did not raise to his again.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Josephine. Miss Arlen.”
The duke spoke again, his deep voice commanding. “My younger children, two daughters and a son, will meet with us in the garden for refreshment after you have recovered from your journey.”
Luca bowed again. “Of course.” He gestured to his secretary. “Allow me to introduce Signor Torlonia, my personal secretary. He will assist me in matters of state and correspondence with my king and His Royal Highness, Prince George.”
All the introductions made, the duke called the butler of the household to show Luca to his suite of rooms. Luca cast one last glance at Lady Josephine, determined to offer her his most charming smile, but she looked behind her at the same moment. His gaze skipped over her shoulder to Miss Arlen, who peered back at him with one eyebrow raised.
He forced his attention away, following the butler up a staircase, then another, and through a hall dominated by a painting of the duke.
Torlonia quickened his step to walk beside Luca, whispering so as not to be overheard by the butler. “The Lady Josephine. Che bella. And such eyes. She will be a distraction if you are not careful.”
Luca nodded once, sharply. But rather than think of blue eyes, he remembered a pair of brown beneath a skeptically raised eyebrow.
Chapter Two
Emma continued to feign reading while Josephine fretted at her side. The beautiful weather and scent of the last blooms of summer were not enough to deter the duke’s eldest daughter from her concerns.
“He is so old. At least a decade older than I am. What is Papa thinking?” Josephine asked, keeping her voice low enough that it would not carry to the other side of the terrace where her father and the Italian count sat in conversation.
Glancing up from her book, Emma first took in her friend’s deep frown and then the foreigner in their midst. “He is not yet thirty, I would wager.” Emma looked back down at her book and bit her lip to keep from laughing when Josephine groaned.
“I am nineteen, Emma. He is too old.”
“I am twenty, dearest Josie. He is not too old. You are simply determined not to like him.” Emma turned another page. She was rereading One-Thousand and One Arabian Nights, one of her favorite story collections. “You could give him a chance.”
“Stop teasing me.” Josephine sat down at last on the stone wall around the fountain, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “I haven’t any desire to marry at present. Especially someone who will take me far away from my family. Even if the count were the perfect man, I cannot think I would want him.”
“No one is making you do any such thing,” Emma reminded her, giving up on reading her book. She closed the pages and put it down on the stone beside her. “Your father asked you to help keep Lord Atella entertained. That’s all you must do, and I am here to help you.”
Isabelle and Rosalind, Josephine’s younger sisters, were sitting politely on a couch brought out to the garden for them to practice behaving themselves in company. Their mother, the duchess, and Miss Sharpe, their governess, sat in chairs on either side of the girls.
“Do you remember when your mother and our governess used to hover over us like that?” Emma asked, nudging her friend with a shoulder. “As though they were afraid we would start spouting nonsense or stand on our heads the minute they looked away.”
A brief smile appeared on Josephine’s face. “They had good reason with the two of us. Remember when the Swiss ambassador visited Papa, and we made all those horrid faces at his secretary?”
“The secretary was an ancient goat.” Emma did not bother hiding her gleeful grin at the memory. “He kept telling the ambassador, in French, how lovely we were. I am fairly certain he should not have noticed that girls of thirteen and fourteen were lovely.”
“I quite agree.” Josephine picked up Emma’s book. “Oh, are you reading this again? How can you like this story? I find the sultan horrid.”
“I find him rather amusing.” Emma didn’t bother hiding her smile. “And it isn’t just one story. I like them all. Arabian Nights is one of my favorite collections. Thank goodness your father has all the volumes. Even if he insists on hiding a few.”
The duke had purchased every volume of the Jonathan Scott translation for Emma and Josephine years before, thinking them something his children would enjoy. Of course, after he read the stories himself, a few of the volumes disappeared from the schoolroom. Apparently, the tales were not all appropriate for young readers.
“Do you think he’s handsome?” Josephine asked, idly turning the pages of the book in her hands.
“The sultan? Or the goat? Or your father?” Emma asked, leaning back enough to trail her hand through the cool water of the fountain. “You know I have always thought the duke quite refined.”
Josephine scowled at her. “The ambassador, Lord Atella.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Emma glanced in the direction of the duke and ambassador again. The duke sat at his ease, while the ambassador, dressed all in black except for his white cravat and green waistcoat, sat stiffly.
When Josephine had made introductions an hour before, Emma had studied the man closely. He wasn’t so tall as the duke or Simon, but his average height still made him taller than her. His eyes were striking, too. They were brown, but darker than hers. And his hair was as black as his coat and hat.
His angular jaw and wide-set cheekbones made his face rather interesting and, yes, handsome. But there was something about him, and it wasn’t just how stiffly he sat on the terrace. An air of seriousness enclosed him. He hardly appeared capable of smiling, let alone laughing. Were all Italians so somber?
At that moment, he looked up toward the fountain, his gaze meeting hers. Catching her scrutiny, his eyes widened a moment before his eyebrows knitted together.
Emma, not one to allow anyone to intimidate her, tilted her chin upward and smiled. Not a flirtatious smile, but an expression of easy happiness. Then she pointedly turned her attention back to Josephine. “He caught me looking.”
“Oh, bother.” Josephine shoved the book back into Emma’s hands. “And now he’s coming this way.”
Indeed, the man had excused hims
elf from the duke’s company and now walked across the short-cropped grass and paving stones to their perch on the fountain’s edge.
They rose when he came within bowing distance, returning his courtesy by slightly bending their knees.
When the Sicilian ambassador spoke, his words had a lilting quality to them that made them charming. “Ladies, I have told His Grace that I find the gardens quite beautiful. I understand there are some statues here that are excellent copies of the ancient statues in Rome. I hope it will be possible to tour the gardens soon.”
“Yes, of course.” Josephine hardly smiled, wearing her most polite social mask as she always did when she entered an uncomfortable situation. “I believe we planned a tour of the gardens for tomorrow afternoon, after you are rested from your journey.”
“That would be excellent, yes.” He glanced briefly at Emma before focusing his attention on Josephine again. “I must express my gratitude for your efforts on my behalf. The duke said there are many entertainments planned.”
The man did not smile even once, though he was all politeness.
What a shame such a handsome man, with such a charming accent, would prove so excessively dull.
Josephine suddenly hooked her arm through Emma’s and started prattling. “Yes, my dear Emma and I have spent a great deal of time planning a welcome for you, my lord. If you like, we can present you with a full itinerary tomorrow morning. I know my father will need some of your time to discuss the relationship between our two countries, but between those important conversations, we will ensure that you do not grow bored.”
“Thank you for your kind consideration, my lady.” He bowed again.
Emma had the distinct impression that he actively avoided looking at her. Poor Josephine. If the man dedicated such focus to her in a simple conversation, Emma had little chance of distracting him should his attentions grow too pointed.
Nevertheless, she had promised her friend to try.
“Conte Atella, what is something you hope to accomplish during your time in England?” An ambassador would show an interest in discussing politics, surely.
He tore his stare away from Josephine to meet Emma’s bright smile, and she saw the way his eyes widened slightly again. Was he not used to young ladies smiling at him? It was no wonder, given the way he kept his expression as inscrutable as a sphinx.
“Besides the betterment of the relationship between our nations?” he asked, his black eyebrows lifting.
Emma clasped her hands together at her waist, refusing to look away from his deep brown eyes. “Yes. Let us assume that goal is achieved, thanks to your great talent at negotiation. What more would you like to do?”
He stared at her another moment, then put his hand to his chin as he considered her. It took a great deal of control to maintain her patient smile before he answered, “I should like to see a play by William Shakespeare. I have read his work in Italian translations and the original English, of course, but I have seen none of his plays performed in his native language.”
Emma’s lips parted in surprise. She had expected him to say something more about trade negotiations, or meeting an important member of Society, or a dozen other things that would fall under a political classification.
“Oh, there is at least one performed every Season in London,” Josephine said airily. “Emma and my mother always attend them. What did you see last spring, Emma? All of his plays blend together for me, except for that horridly long tragic one wherein everyone dies.”
“Hamlet, you mean,” Emma said, somewhat absently. Then she returned her gaze to the count. “Last year we attended a performance of The Tempest. Are you familiar with that one?”
“Ah, the one on the island. Yes. It is one of my favorites.”
And then he did something that quite changed Emma’s initial opinion of him.
He smiled. A small, polite smile. But it changed enough about him, making a brief glimmer of light appear in his dark eyes, to make her reconsider her initial impression of him.
Before she could respond to his words, or the smile, Josephine tugged Emma down into another curtsy. “It was lovely to speak to you, Your Excellency. But you must excuse us now. Emma and I have to see to this evening’s entertainment, you see.”
The smile vanished, replaced with an austere mask. “Of course, Lady Josephine.”
Josephine dragged Emma behind her, walking at a brisk pace for the door into the conservatory. “Quickly, quickly,” she muttered in a soft, urgent tone. “I think we slipped away before Papa noticed. He was speaking to Mama.” She tugged Emma behind a tall pedestal upon which a large fern rested, then peered around it. “There. I think we made good our escape, and now we needn’t see him again until dinner.”
Emma pulled at her arm to take the appendage back under her own control. “Josie, that was terribly rude.” She peered over the fern but realized she couldn’t see the count from that angle. “Even if your father didn’t notice, you can be certain he will ask where you slipped away to in such a hurry.”
“I’ll come up with a good excuse for that later.” Josephine grinned and straightened, brushing her hands together as though to remove dirt from her gloves. “Let’s go back to my room. We need to put together a copy of the itinerary for the count.”
“Very well.” Emma followed her dearest friend through the plants into the castle proper; they had reached the bottom of the main staircase when she remembered: “Oh, I left my book on the edge of the fountain.” She bit her lip and turned around. To leave a book, any book at all, in such a precarious place was as near to committing a sin as ever she had come. But to leave one of her favorite books? Had she lost her wits?
“Oh dear. You aren’t going back to get it?” Josephine asked the question with reluctance, then sighed when Emma frowned at her. “I know, I know. You cannot leave a book like that. Fine. You go fetch it; I will wait in my room. I cannot risk being trapped by the count again.”
“I understand. I will be quick.” Emma turned around, going back the way they had come. At the conservatory door, she rushed in and turned around a large pot containing a large shrub covered in purple leaves—and ran headlong into a sturdy black wall of wool and buttons.
* * *
Although Luca hadn’t expected an Englishwoman to throw herself into his arms, at least he didn’t topple over when it happened. He instinctively caught Miss Arlen with one arm around her, his hand landing between her shoulder blades, while still keeping her forgotten book in his other hand.
“Miss Arlen.” He peered down at her, the angle of his gaze awkward, unable to release the woman given that she leaned heavily against him.
“Oh dear.” She looked up, her eyes wide and her cheeks reddening. “I am terribly sorry, but I neglected to look where I was going. I beg your pardon.”
Her utterly charming appearance improved with her blush. “No, signorina. I am to blame. Mi scusi.” He tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but her eyebrows had drawn tightly together.
“You may release me now, my lord.”
She didn’t seem as dependent on him for stability as she had a moment ago, so he dropped his arm and stepped back. Then took another step away for good measure.
“Again, my sincere apologies.” He bowed, tucking the hand with the book behind his back. “You are alone? Is Lady Josephine not with you?”
“As you see, sir.” She gestured at the empty doorway behind her. “Lady Josephine had a—erm—pressing situation to see to for this evening’s entertainment.” Her blush had faded, and the engaging smile she had worn before suddenly reappeared. “I am to join her, but I realized I forgot my book by the fountain. I must retrieve it.”
Luca relaxed, rocking back on his heels. “That is not necessary. You see, I have your book here.” He produced the volume from behind his back with a flourish. “I see we have similar tastes in books as we do in plays, Miss Arlen. Arabian Nights. It is one of my favorites.” He held it out to her with a bow.
M
iss Arlen reached for the small volume with both hands, and one eyebrow tilted upward again. “You’ve read it? In Italian, I presume?”
“Yes. The work is stunning, is it not? I particularly enjoy the tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Though the voyages of Sinbad also entertain me.”
Her mouth fell open as she accepted the book, then folded her arms tightly over it, as though hugging the volume to her. “I agree. Sinbad’s travels are exceptional. I do wonder who wrote all the stories, originally. They cannot all have the same author.”
The spark of interest he had seen in her warm brown eyes when they spoke of Shakespeare returned.
“I have thought the same. It would be like trying to ascribe all the myths of the Romans to a single person. Doubtless the stories were known for centuries and someone finally thought to write them down.”
An idea flickered in his mind. The woman standing before him struck him as clever, and obviously she was close to her mistress. Perhaps if he could win the companion to his side she would help further his cause with Lady Josephine. Befriending the lady’s closest confidant might gain enough of Lady Josephine’s favor to allow him to court her. Surely, even the daughter of a duke could be won by someone as single-minded as Luca. If he courted, wooed, and wed her, that would fulfill his duty to his king and strengthen the fragile bond between nations.
Miss Arlen peered up at him with a charming tilt to her head.
His idea appealed to him more.
What had they been discussing?
“I haven’t read all of them yet,” she said. “I am afraid the duke has hidden several volumes from us, because there are things in some of the stories not fit for an unmarried woman’s consumption. At least, that is what His Grace said.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Someday, I’ll find where he hid them. Or obtain my own copies.”
Luca coughed and covered his mouth with a fist to fight back a smile. He had to maintain formality, given his position as an ambassador. “A worthwhile pursuit, though I must say, I agree with His Grace to some extent.”
A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance Page 2
