A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

by Britton, Sally

Luca needed to change that—but how? Miss Arlen’s offer hovered at the forefront of his thoughts, and he easily pictured the woman’s kind smile. Yes, she had been amused by his attempts. But she had cared enough about her friend to extend her help to Luca.

  What kind of man would he be, to accept such a thing from her? Did it make him weak, that he would consider her offer for more than a moment? At the moment, Miss Arlen presented the most attractive offer.

  Chapter Eight

  One of Emma’s favorite rooms in the castle was not the largest or most lavishly decorated, but it possessed a peaceful quality she quite loved. The chapel at Clairvoir, longer than it was wide, had a ceiling which stretched the room upward to two levels. The vaulted ceiling, with woodwork gilded in gold by masters, drew her eyes heavenward every time she entered, as she imagined cathedrals must do.

  The chapel was a cathedral in miniature. Tapestries purchased from the King of France lined the wall, depicting the miracles of Christ healing the ten lepers on one side and the Sermon on the Mount on the other.

  Padded benches, large enough to hold three, ran down both lengths of wall. Today, for the wedding, the gardeners had brought in boughs of autumn flowers to decorate the small pulpit where the young rector held the service for the ducal family and guests.

  Most of the time, when the duke did not have guests, the family took the carriage to Lambsthorpe for services. Today, they sat in the box at the second level of the chapel, looking out over their guests and the betrothed pair sitting near the front of the room.

  Emma sat beside Alice instead of in her usual place in the family balcony.

  Though several of Alice’s far-flung relations had attempted to obtain an invitation to the wedding—in reality, an invitation to visit the castle of the Duke of Montfort—Alice had not extended a welcome to any of them.

  “They couldn’t be bothered with me before I became friends with the ducal family,” she had admitted to Emma the day before. “I am not about to subject Their Graces to any of my family’s hypocritical behavior.”

  Quite right. Emma smirked to herself, then glanced up at the balcony to exchange a triumphant smile with Josephine. They had subtly encouraged Alice’s match to Mr. Rupert Gardiner. While neither of them would take credit for the couple’s happiness, they certainly enjoyed seeing it first-hand.

  Before she turned forward, lowering her eyes from the balcony, Emma’s gaze caught on Lord Atella’s dark stare.

  He sat behind her. Staring boldly at her with his lips pressed tightly together.

  She didn’t flinch, but slowly lifted one corner of her mouth in a smile.

  He frowned more deeply.

  The rector called for everyone to join in song to close the sermon, requiring Emma to face forward once more. Alice’s hand trembled, so Emma took hold and gave her friend a reassuring glance. Outside, the clouds broke, and the already bright white of the room glowed more warmly. Gold accents on the windowpanes shone, and the candlesticks near the altar did the same.

  Alice let out a trembling breath and added her voice to the hymn. Emma nodded her approval, then she faced forward.

  What must the former governess feel, moments away from joining her life to another? To the man she loved?

  Emma let her eyes wander across the aisle to where Mr. Rupert Gardiner sat with his parents, all three in a row, singing with bright eyes and vigor. None could doubt the happiness of the family when it came to welcoming Alice among them. Given the way the younger Mr. Gardiner kept stealing glances at Alice, respectability alone kept him from crossing the room and sweeping her up in his arms.

  At last, the time came for the wedding sacrament. As Alice left Emma alone on the bench, a chill swept around Emma. Someone had likely left a door open somewhere in the hall behind, causing a momentary draft. She reached down to the bench to pick up her shawl, only to discover it gone. She frowned and peered down near her feet.

  The shawl settled on her shoulders—along with the brief weight and warmth of a pair of hands.

  Emma’s breath caught. The shawl had fallen behind her, and Lord Atella had seen her stretching about looking for it. Presuming to cover her shoulders for her, while kind, also struck Emma as bold. She said nothing to him, pulling the Indian wrap tighter about her shoulders. But she sat straighter. Lifted her chin a touch.

  The conte hadn’t spoken to her since she’d made her offer to help him the day previous. Granted, there had not been a lot of opportunity for him to do so. But he had glared at her once or twice from across the dinner table. Perhaps he had found her idea insulting. Given that she had practically said he lacked the ability to flirt with Josephine, his offense was fair.

  Even if Josephine had an interest in courtship and marriage, a man as solemn as the conte had no hope of winning her. Josie had too much vivacity and energy. She needed someone to match those things in her. And as much as Josie delighted in playing hostess to her father’s guests in tandem with her mother, the young woman had no interest in politics. An ambassador’s wife would never escape the discussion of national laws, tariffs, taxes, borders, and treaties.

  Obviously, Lord Atella knew none of those things.

  Emma could help Josie by helping Lord Atella. Fulfilling her friendly obligation to Josephine without causing an embarrassing incident for the visiting dignitary.

  If he’d only let her.

  The rector placed Alice and Rupert Gardiner under their wedding vows and pronounced them husband and wife. Alice’s pink cheeks and bright eyes swept upward to where the duke and duchess sat with their family, and she offered them a deep curtsy while her husband bowed. Then they walked down the aisle together, arm-in-arm, past all the guests and the small organ in the back. Everyone else rose to follow the happy couple into the dining hall, where a wedding breakfast fit for a king and his bride had been laid out at the duchess’s command.

  It was a generous gesture from the duke and duchess, bestowing that honor upon a friend and his new bride. It immediately set up Alice, the new Mrs. Gardiner, for great social success. Should she wish it.

  Emma walked along behind the other guests filtering out of the chapel, watching the people ahead of her and trying to ignore the man behind her.

  Except they somehow wound up seated at the table together. The seating arrangements were informal, with everyone present for the wedding taking the place that pleased them best. Alice glanced over at Lord Atella, watching as he lifted lids off of platters to ascertain their contents.

  “Miss Arlen. We have some sort of jelly here, sweet rolls, baked ham…?” He glanced at her, uncertain of something in one of the dishes.

  Perhaps he hadn’t learned all the English words for different foods. “A little of everything except the jelly, please.”

  He served her before filling his own plate with a light repast. Then he ate quietly, the elderly gentleman at his other side more inclined to talk to his neighbor than give the ambassador much notice. Emma glanced to her other side to find Lady Rosalind and Lady Isabella had settled next to her and were talking rapidly to each other about their future weddings.

  Though tempted to join in their conversation—as unrealistic as they were in their plans for lace-trimmed gowns of blue and pink—she gave her attention to the ambassador. If she had made him uncomfortable, that would reflect poorly upon the duke’s hospitality.

  “Lord Atella? I wonder—have I given you offense? I hope you know such was not my intent.”

  He stared at his plate without making an immediate answer, frozen with his fork mid-stab in a piece of ham. When he spoke, his tone was most subdued. “I have done nothing except think on our last conversation, Miss Arlen.” He lowered his fork and kept his eyes trained upon his plate. “And I would like to accept your offer.”

  * * *

  One of the best ways to forge bonds with people of foreign countries and cultures was to make a sincere effort to learn their ways. If Luca could do that for an entire nation of people, he could take the time to foc
us that ability to learn of one woman. A young woman, of marriageable age, completely suited to the role of ambassador’s wife, and of high enough rank to impress his peers at home and abroad.

  He hadn’t ever learned how, exactly, to gain the favor of a woman who wasn’t already impressed by his title or position. If he merely wanted a wife—without care of her status or suitability for the role—he could have had one long since.

  Luca stared down at his plate, his humiliation making his ears burn. Spending years in a monastery and kept close to home, there hadn’t been time to learn the social art of flirtation. And English women were quite different than Italian women. The majority of his country remained Catholic, which meant strict observation of maidenly modesty in most circles. Not to mention how desperate families were merely to survive as their fledgling country fell under the rule of another Hapsburg monarch.

  He released a deep sigh.

  Miss Arlen’s hand delicately rested on his wrist, with just the slightest pressure to alert him to her presence.

  He let his gaze travel from her fingers up to her warm brown eyes. Rather than appear smug, as he had feared she might, Miss Arlen’s expression was gentle.

  “I will help you, Lord Atella. Perhaps you would like to meet me in the conservatory this afternoon? Then we can talk.”

  Luca nodded his acceptance of the invitation, then made himself focus on his meal. Having a little help wouldn’t be the end of the world, nor would it result in his humiliation. Miss Arlen struck him as a friendly enough sort, and she would do nothing to give insult to a guest of the family. Trusting her felt safe.

  Perhaps all he needed to know were a few little things, like Lady Josephine’s favorite flower or book, or her favorite music.

  Cheered by this thought, Luca looked forward to his brief afternoon meeting with Miss Arlen. All would be well in short order.

  Chapter Nine

  Luca paced between the potted plants of the conservatory, noting the large basins full of green vines and long-stemmed flowers. He glanced upward at the ceiling which was half-covered in paned windows. The room felt much warmer than the outdoors and functioned as both a greenhouse and salon for the duchess, he’d been told.

  He smoothed a loose curl back from his forehead, then adjusted the cuffs of his coat. His plan to grow closer to Lady Josephine through her companion had taken an unexpected turn, but that did not mean he needed to abandon it all together. If Miss Arlen liked him well enough to help his efforts with her lady, did that not accomplish much the same goal he’d had before her offer?

  The castle felt far too quiet at this hour. He hadn’t seen any servants coming or going from the warm, humid room. Most of the guests had retired to their rooms to rest, he supposed. There were few entertainments to be had in the country on a Sunday afternoon.

  At home, his family would rest to prepare to attend evening mass together.

  Luca prodded a broad-leafed fern of some kind, trying to remove his thoughts from home and bring them back to the present moment.

  “Mr. Gardiner would be able to tell you exactly what that bit of green is.” Miss Arlen’s tone sounded as bright and cheerful as ever, and when he turned to face her, he saw that she still wore her cream-yellow gown from morning services, as well as the slippery blue shawl that kept trying to escape her shoulders.

  He bowed. “Miss Arlen. Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Atella.” She curtsied from where she stood, a dozen feet away from him. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I felt certain after our last conversation that things needed to be mended between us.”

  “Not at all. You merely caught me off guard at the picnic.” He took a few steps toward her, then tucked his hands behind his back. “But after some consideration, I do believe you have your mistress’s best interests at heart.”

  “That is always true,” she said with a firmness that surprised him. “Lady Josephine is like a sister to me, and the duke and duchess have looked after me as one of their own for many years.”

  “Your loyalty to them is a high compliment,” he murmured, measuring the determined glint in her eye by what he already knew of her. “I wonder, Miss Arlen, if we might begin the conversation on what has brought us both here. You say you have observed my attempts to get to know your mistress. You find them wanting.”

  She had made that clear enough.

  “I am afraid so.” Her tight-lipped smile showed her reluctance to embarrass him, as did the way she turned from him. “You will never endear yourself to Lady Josephine by following on her heels. She will only think you intrusive. The best way to win her interest will be to bring her notice to you.”

  Luca stepped away from her, bending over a potted fern as though to examine its leaves. Hopefully, she did not notice his discomfort with the subject. Growing up among monks and then men at university hadn’t prepared him for this. “That is what you believe? And how does a man go about such a thing if he is not already in the woman’s company?”

  Miss Arlen spoke kindly, but with conviction. “A woman like Josephine will notice a man who is happily himself, a man who is not trying to impress her. She has had gentlemen and nobility alike vying for her attention since she was a girl of fourteen.”

  Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Luca that she would be used to more eloquent suitors than himself. And from such a young age. “The duke permitted that?” he asked, somewhat at a loss.

  “He put a stop to some flirtations before the duchess presented Lady Josephine to the Queen. When he knew about them.” Miss Arlen released a humorless laugh. “I know he has also told a few men their suits were not welcome. Nor is he willing to arrange a marriage Lady Josephine will not consent to.” Affection colored her words about the duke. “He is a very loving father.”

  How did one woo a woman who had men from the highest echelons of England seeking her favor and her hand?

  For one awful moment, Luca’s ambitions wavered. Much of his planned success hinged upon an English bride with a rank high enough to command respect and breeding fine enough to impress upon his countrymen and hers his suitability for his position of ambassador. How had he begun this course without realizing how complicated it would be?

  Miss Arlen’s hand landed upon his sleeve, startling him out of his bleak thoughts. He hadn’t even heard her approach.

  “Take heart, my lord.” She wore a gentle expression with a softness in her eyes. As though she understood the difficult path he had laid for himself. “I will arm you as best I can for this battle.” Then her tone lightened. “No one knows my lady better than I do.”

  Luca relaxed, then looked down to where her bare hand remained upon his sleeve, contemplating her words. A thought occurred to him—strange, but he did not doubt the impression. “You are not really a companion, are you? You serve in that place, but there is more to it than that.”

  She withdrew her hand, but rather than appear offended, she took on the air of someone with a secret. Her chin raised, she turned from him to pace the width of the conservatory. “The important thing is that I have the insight you need. My first instruction to you remains the same. Stop trying to win Lady Josephine’s interest by interjecting yourself into her doings and conversations. Her whole life, people have come to her and blatantly attempted to win her favor. My lady will be won by someone who makes her come to him. I am certain of it.”

  Luca followed her to a padded bench against the glass wall, and after she sat, he took the opposite end for himself. “I submit myself to your instruction, Miss Arlen. What would you have me do?”

  “Be yourself,” she answered without pause, angling her body toward him. “In company, express your own thoughts rather than seeking after hers first. By all means, listen to what she says, but Lady Josephine cannot stand toad-eating.”

  Everything she said had made sense until that phrase. Luca stared at Miss Arlen, his mind taking her words and turning them over. Had he understood her correctly? What did eating amphibians h
ave to do with anything? Did anyone he knew eat frogs or toads?

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried once more to understand the English phrase.

  “Is something wrong, my lord? You appear confused.”

  “Did you say—I apologize—but did you say she does not like people who consume toads?”

  Miss Arlen had the grace not to laugh, though she momentarily pressed her lips together before speaking. “I suppose that is not a common phrase in Italian. In England, when someone is a false-flatterer, or pretends to agree with everything someone else says in order to win their favor, we call that ‘toad-eating.’”

  He stared. Considered her explanation. “I still do not understand what toads have to do with flattery.”

  She laughed then. “I suppose I’m not certain where the phrase came from, either. But that is how it is used.”

  He muttered a complaint against the English language in Italian, rubbing at his forehead. “I will keep that in mind. No false flattery or pretended agreement to win favor.”

  “Good.” Miss Arlen folded her hands in her lap. “I cannot tell you how often I have seen men and women both do that to Lady Josephine. She cannot abide it. Another thing you must never do is behave as though you have superior knowledge. I do not know a single woman who enjoys a man acting as instructor over her opinion or activities. Not unless she asks. I have watched men explain things to Lady Josephine that she learned in her infancy. Nothing makes her more impatient than someone setting themselves over her as a master.”

  Did anyone enjoy such arrogant behavior in others? “I can understand that irritation. When I first arrived in England, many spoke to me as though I had lived in the wilds of a forest instead of civilized society.”

  “As though a difference in primary language meant a difference in your intelligence. Yes, I am afraid it is the same for my sex as a whole.” She waved away the topic. “Now, as I said before, I think if you wish to gain Lady Josephine’s attention you need only show yourself to advantage.”