Chapter Eleven
The mount Luca had borrowed from Lord Farleigh danced impatiently to the side, not fond of the slow pace Luca and Sir Andrew had set. They rode across the duke’s lands, up one rolling hill and down another, passing sheep and orchards both. The baronet had invited Luca out to enjoy the crisp fall air, and the trees in the surrounding land had filled more of their branches with orange and gold than Luca had seen in the previous week.
They had spoken little, despite how close they rode to one another. Luca’s thoughts lingered on Torlonia’s frustrated conversation after dinner the previous evening. His secretary had sputtered indignantly when he’d learned Luca had taken the advice of a mere woman over his trusted advisor, appointed by the king himself. Never mind how sound the advice had seemed in the moment Miss Arlen had given it.
Luca paused at the crest of a hill, looking out over farmland rolling away from their location, most of it empty, though some fields bore wheat meant to be harvested later in the season.
Sir Andrew brought his horse to a halt as well. The baronet wore an unusually sober countenance, his jaw tight, as though he contemplated weighty matters of his own.
Riding along in silence, and at a tortoise’s pace, couldn’t keep up all afternoon.
“My cousin is unusually fond of you.”
Luca’s horse flinched at the sound of the baronet’s voice. Luca nearly did the same.
“Miss Arlen?” Luca spared himself a moment’s thought by calming the horse with a pat along its powerful neck. “She is kind to a man who is a stranger among you. I am most grateful.” He had no intention of sharing the fact that he had won her help in his pursuit of another lady. What man would admit to such a thing?
“Excessively kind,” Sir Andrew muttered, adjusting his seat on the horse. “Did you know I am her closest kin? Her mother was sister to my father. I think, had I not lost my own mother, Emma would’ve come to live with us when her parents died, instead of joining the duke’s household. But my father felt unequal to raising both a son and a niece without a woman in his home.”
The personal revelations were unwarranted. Yet, when Luca thought of the vulnerability of his own sisters when it came to gentlemen, he understood. Every gentleman with a female relative ought to do his duty in protecting them. Sir Andrew’s invitation came into the appropriate perspective at last.
“You are close to her.” Luca spoke gently. “I understand. I must reassure you that my intentions are—how do you English say it?—honorable. I want nothing more than friendship, which Miss Arlen has offered. She pities me, I think.”
Sir Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Pities you? I doubt it. Emma might seem all sweetness and contentment, but that woman has ambition of her own. And a mind sharper than most. If she has befriended you, then I am willing to wager she has reasons beyond friendship.”
Although the other man’s suspicion likely had root in knowing his cousin well, Luca had to shake his head. “I cannot think what she would gain from helping me that she could not do without our association. Her mind, as you say, is sharp. I have seen ample evidence of this already. If anything, she only wishes to support the duke’s efforts to see me comfortable during my stay.”
Sir Andrew grunted a grudging agreement. “Perhaps.” Then he pointed his horse back toward the castle, which rose high enough on its hill for them to see it above the trees. “Fancy a race back to the stables? Your horse certainly does.”
“I have barely kept this beast in check.” Luca wheeled his mount around, too. “Lord Farleigh likes his animals spirited.”
“Lord Farleigh is competitive and likes to win races.” Sir Andrew’s countenance lightened somewhat. “Shall we make a wager on ours?”
“I am not a gambling man.” Luca made the admission somewhat reluctantly. Every English lord he’d met placed wagers on the oddest things. He’d even heard of gambling books kept in London clubs filled with wagers on everything from drops of water falling down windowpanes to how long a man would court a woman before proposing. Luca’s time among the monks had taught him a stricter morality and an aversion to excess that his English contemporaries did not practice.
“A prize, then?” Sir Andrew’s horse nickered impatiently, and Luca’s mount responded in kind.
That was acceptable. Luca nodded. “What sort of prize?”
“A favor, to be named by the winner and be paid by the loser, at the victor’s pleasure. We’ll add the stipulation that the favor can be nothing immoral or dishonorable. How does that suit?” The scheming gleam in the baronet’s eye clearly relayed his confidence in victory.
The coiled muscles of the horse beneath him, its energy in every twitch of ear and stamp of hoof, gave Luca a matching faith in his borrowed mount. “Very well. I accept your challenge, prize, and stipulations. You may call the start.”
“On three.” Sir Andrew’s open expression as he called out the start was all eagerness. “One. Two. Three!”
The two of them gave their horses leave to leap forward at last, the animals snorting and tossing their heads before stretching their necks and stride into a gallop. The animals were well-matched, with neither pulling much ahead of the other as they dipped into small valleys and up again through the hills. The castle was nearly always in sight.
What had taken half an hour of a leisurely pace they covered again in mere minutes, clods of dirt flying up behind them, the men bent low over their horses.
Freedom from the confines of Luca’s former life felt like this. Riding with abandon, the ground speeding by beneath him and the wind tugging at his coat, reminded him to enjoy living. At least in that moment.
When they came to the winding drive leading to the castle stables, Luca encouraged a last burst of strength from his mount, shouting in Italian. “Dai, sbrigati!”
They pulled ahead of the baronet—and won.
Luca laughed, rubbing the horse’s neck while it whinnied and shook its head, its sides lightly coated in sweat.
Sir Andrew didn’t appear the least upset by his loss. He wore his usual grin, looking every bit as pleased as if he had won, and congratulated Luca before dismounting. The two of them left their horses in the care of the stables and started the walk up the hill, passing the practice ring and a flurry of grooms as they walked through one of the lower gardens.
The castle was practically its own village with the number of people constantly moving about the estate, working to ensure the duke’s home ran as it should, seeing to all things necessary for His Grace and the comfort of his guests.
Gardeners worked on trimming hedges and covering roots with mosses and straw, preparing the delicate plants for winter, while others planted flowers meant to bloom through the autumn and winter. The sheer size of it all made Luca’s home feel small by comparison. His family had a small estate on an unremarkable hilltop with a sleepy village at its base.
“Oh, Lord Atella. There you are.”
Luca had barely stepped inside, stripping off his gloves and hat to hand them to a footman. Sir Andrew did the same, and he responded before Luca could.
“And where is my greeting, cousin?”
Miss Arlen cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at Sir Andrew. “You probably do not deserve to be acknowledged today. You have a look of mischief about you that means I must be on my guard.” Despite her words, she came forward and tucked her hand through Sir Andrew’s arm. “Had you a good ride?”
“Yes, until Lord Atella bested me in a race. I owe him a forfeit now.”
“Poor you.” She turned her wide smile to Luca. “You must take full advantage of having my cousin in your debt, my lord. He is surprisingly useful.”
The footmen had left with their things, giving Luca little to do with his hands other than tug at the sleeves of his coat. He likely smelled of horse, though why that should bother him in Miss Arlen’s presence, he did not know.
Luca attempted to join their banter, though uncertainty made his posture taut. “Perhaps I will seek your couns
el before I decide how best to claim the debt.”
Sir Andrew laughed and started walking, guiding them all down the long hall of black and white marble, up to the first staircase. “I beg of you, my lord, do not encourage Emma’s tormenting ways.”
“Nonsense. I rarely ever torment you.” Emma raised her gaze to Luca on her other side. “Can you imagine I have any power over my cousin, my lord?”
Despite his awkward stiffness, Luca had to chuckle. He could picture the petite woman forcing her cousin into all sorts of trouble with nothing more than a few coaxing words. She had a talent, an air about her, that made him think her capable of achieving many feats through will and humor alone.
“I dare not contradict you, Miss Arlen. Nor give your cousin reason to think less of me by agreeing with you.”
“Ever the politician,” she responded with a dramatic sigh. “Very well. I will not force you to take sides.” She pulled Sir Andrew to a halt. “Here I must part ways with you both. I am to wait upon Her Grace, my lady’s grandmother.”
Sir Andrew released her arm before crossing his own. “Ah, the dowager. What lessons has she to teach you today?”
Luca raised his eyebrows, wondering why Miss Arlen would have an audience with the dowager duchess. She hadn’t seemed overly fond of Her Grace when they spoke of the woman. She met his gaze and laughed.
“You needn’t worry, my lord. She is not such a dragon all the time. Today, I am to read to her. While this would normally be a duty for Lady Josephine, the dowager says she does not like how my lady fidgets when reading.”
Sir Andrew snorted, though whether the situation annoyed or amused him was difficult to tell. “Josephine never can sit still for long.”
“I do not blame her. Her Grace’s suite has the most uncomfortable chairs.” Miss Arlen met Luca’s gaze. “And they have vastly different tastes in books. Her Grace much prefers titles written by noble pens. Her current favorite is a French tale, La Belle et la Bête, by a noblewoman.”
“A fairy tale?” Luca had heard of it. A French masterpiece, popular with the court in the prior century.
She grinned at him. “Oui, Lord Atella. In this one thing the dowager duchess and I share our taste. We are excessively fond of stories with wicked fairies and princes in disguise.”
“Lady Josephine much prefers modern tales and comedic romances,” Sir Andrew said with a grimace. “Give her a silly heroine and she is all the more pleased.” He shook his head, then bowed to his cousin. “Good luck, Emma. I hope the dragon finds your reading favorable enough that she puts off eating you for another day.”
Miss Arlen waved her cousin away, and he left without caring that Luca remained behind.
The woman looked up at Luca, her smile smaller, though by no means less pleasant. Her expression softened, and she may have spoken had he not blurted his question first.
“Is she unkind to you?” Luca shifted, uncomfortably aware the answer wasn’t any of his business. “Her Grace?”
Miss Arlen blinked at him, her expression turning to one of confusion. “Not at all, though she is certainly disapproving of me from time to time. When I was much younger, she accused me of only being kind to Lady Josephine because of my lady’s money. She thought I manipulated Lady Josephine to spend her pocket money on me.”
That made Luca wince. “An insulting accusation, no matter your age.”
“Indeed. I became aware of that accusation, though it wasn’t made to me directly, and confronted her. I did feel like I faced a dragon on that occasion.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” She shrugged one shoulder, letting the past discomfort fall from her, given the way her expression brightened. “I told her I used my own pin money for everything I wanted, as His Grace gave me a most generous allowance, and that I would sooner swallow a bee than have anyone think I did not love Josephine for her own sake.”
“Did she believe you?”
Miss Arlen tilted her head to one side, and a loose curl fell from behind her ear to brush her neck. “She never spoke of it again. I rather hope she was ashamed of herself, accusing a mere child of such a thing. Doubtless there are those who would take advantage of a position like mine, but one would hope she would better assess my character before voicing such horrid thoughts to others.”
Luca had faced similar accusations in the past. Many in King Ferdinand’s court had supposed him to curry favor of their monarch for his own benefit rather than out of a sincere desire to improve the kingdom for the sake of all its inhabitants.
“That you bear her no ill will after she questioned your honor is commendable,” he muttered, thinking of the snide expressions his peers had worn when he’d been made an ambassador. He hadn’t forgiven any of them. Only determined that he would stop at nothing to prove them wrong.
“She was not the first to question my position in the household. Nor will she be the last. Until Lady Josephine weds or has no more use for me, I will always face that censure.” The flicker in her eyes, the determined tilt of her chin, tugged yet more admiration from him.
Before he could say another word on the subject, she composed her expression to something bordering on business-like. “When I looked for you earlier, I had hoped to arrange a walk with you through the garden. I should like to tell you more about Josephine. But the day is nearly over. Perhaps we may take a walk tomorrow morning?”
“I am afraid I am scheduled to accompany His Grace to visit a member of the House of Commons. A Mr. Hart.”
“Oh, I see.” Her enthusiasm momentarily dimmed. “Beware of his eldest daughter. She is only sixteen, but she is a most determined flirt. You will take dinner with the Hart family, I assume?”
“Yes.” He blinked at her. “Do you know all your neighbors so well, Miss Arlen?”
Her smile reappeared with a crooked bit of mischief to it. “Of course, my lord. Here and in London. People fascinate me, so I make it a habit to study them.”
“And me?” he asked, trying her trick of raising a single eyebrow, but failing to do more than wince with one eye. “What do you find in studying me?”
She took a step backward, tapped her bottom lip with one finger, and raised that single eyebrow with perfect natural ability. “I cannot share my findings yet, Lord Atella. But I will continue to observe and let you know my discoveries another time. As it is, I am late to meet a dragon.” She curtsied. “We will have our walk another day.”
He instinctively bowed, and she strode away down the long corridor before he could think of anything clever to say.
Chapter Twelve
Emma couldn’t decide how best to approach the next step in her plan to lure the ambassador out of his staid and stiff posture. She had caught enough glimpses of his wit and humor to know that he had a spirit more playful than stern. The poor conte had obviously been trained by life to act the part of a man several times his own age.
She finally managed to schedule a walk with him a few days into October. That in itself was a feat, considering she never found him alone.
The day’s weather didn’t prove ideal for such a rendezvous, given the icy wind coming down from the north. She bundled up in her favorite winter dress with its long sleeves and added a pair of boots and a lined straw bonnet. For good measure, she wrapped a thin blue scarf around her neck.
Though she might not look the part of a fashion plate, Emma couldn’t help but be pleased as she examined herself in the mirror prior to her walk.
A knock on the door interrupted her perusal of her curls. Ought she to tug one or two loose to frame her face more prettily? Not that it mattered much to anything other than her own vanity. She wasn’t trying to impress the conte the least bit.
“Come in,” she called.
Josephine came through the door, a light skip to her step. “You aren’t going outside,” she exclaimed. “The weather is positively ghastly. That wind could lift your bonnet off your head.”
“I plan to stay in the hedge garden. Th
e shrubbery will take the brunt of the breeze.” Emma turned to take in Josephine’s comfortable dress and shawl. “I am walking with Lord Atella today, since I know your grandmother intends to keep you on display in the duchess’s salon.”
“Oh, thank you.” Josephine fell into a chair, heaving a grateful sigh. “I cannot tell you how much I want to make my escape, but Mama has noticed my scarcity and says it is not polite to our guests. If she were more insistent, I would think her in league with Papa or Grandmama in trying to marry me off.”
Rather than protest—again—that no one had any such designs at present, Emma turned back to the mirror. “What would you rather be doing?”
“Nothing special.” Josephine picked at the edges of a cushion, her eyes lowered most suspiciously so that Emma could not see them in the mirror’s reflection. Her interest immediately piqued.
“I know you are avoiding the conte, quite successfully I might add. But even I am having a difficult time finding you when I wish. Where have you been sneaking off to lately?”
“Sneaking off? Me?” Josephine’s voice rose in her innocent denial, which Emma marked as a sure sign of deceit. “I have been nowhere other than where I’m supposed to be.”
“Mm.” Emma turned and put both hands on her hips. “I know you better than anyone, Josie. You aren’t doing anything inappropriate, are you? No meetings with stable boys or gardeners?”
Josephine laughed freely at that. “No! Can you imagine? Father would send me away to a convent—and we aren’t even Catholic.” She snuggled into the chair, plucking up the cushion to hold it over her middle. “There are no men involved in my secret—and yes, I do have a secret. I promise I will tell you all about it soon. I only wish to keep it to myself a little longer.”
Although tempted to nettle her friend until Josephine revealed all, Emma let the matter rest with that promise. She trusted Josephine. That would be enough for the time being.
She found her gloves in her bureau and tugged them on. “You had better be on your way. I will only be able to keep Lord Atella at bay for so long, especially given the wind outside.”
A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance Page 11
