A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

by Britton, Sally

  The small landing opened up to a circular room with arrow-slit stained-glass windows facing each of the cardinal directions. If Josephine and Emma touched fingertips in the center of the room, they could then each touch the wall with the other hand with little effort. It wasn’t very tall, either. The duke would likely have to keep his head bent to remain upright in the room.

  The sun coming through the windows made the air warm, and Emma could see her lady’s domestic skills put into practice with two small rugs layered atop each other, a large plump cushion against one wall, and a traveling writing desk in the center of the floor. A small trunk stood open against the wall, with shawls dripping out one side and a stack of cut paper resting neatly on the other.

  There was a lamp, too, and a little tinder box. A small mantelpiece clock with a crack in the glass rested outside the box, showing the time.

  “A cozy nest,” Emma said, folding her legs beneath her. “What have you been doing up here? Besides hiding.”

  Josephine sat on the cushion and pulled her legs up close, resting her chin on her knees. “I have been writing.”

  “Writing?” Emma blinked at the paper in the box again. “Writing what? Letters?”

  “A book.” Josephine made the admission quietly, the way one might admit to favoring a mongrel over a gently bred lapdog. “A book about a gentleman’s daughter living in the country.”

  Emma’s mouth opened and shut, the words she first thought to say not suitable for her friend’s admission. No one of Josephine’s standing could publish a book without being laughed at or ostracized. Her father’s enemies and political opponents would use anything she wrote as ammunition against the duke.

  “It isn’t finished,” Josephine admitted softly. “It’s barely started, but the words are coming quickly and are better than I expected.” Her cheeks took on a rosy hue, visible even in the yellow-blue light of the stained glass. “I have told no one else about this.”

  Rather than admonish her friend or point out all the ways in which writing a book might prove more painful than fulfilling, Emma forced herself to be cheerful for her friend’s sake. “That is marvelous, Josie. I did not know you wanted to be an author. I, who have known you nearly your entire life! How did you keep such a secret?”

  “You know how much I enjoy reading novels, and so many of them have endings that I cannot like. Usually because there is someone who does not get their happy ending, or I wish to know more about what happens next. I started jotting down my own ideas in my diary some months ago about how I’d like this or that story to have one more chapter, a slightly different ending.” She lowered her eyes to the floor between them, her expression solemn. “Then I started writing more. And I worried someone would find out and tease me for it. Or tell me I had no business writing fiction. I am a duke’s daughter. It is beneath me.” One corner of her mouth tilted upward, like a sadly curling vine. “But I enjoyed it. And when I found this place, I thought it perfect. Tucked away and secret, I can write here without fear of discovery. I can almost forget I’m Lady Josephine.”

  Emma’s heart went out to her friend. “Are you going to try to publish your stories?”

  “Oh,” Josephine laughed, a sad squeak. “I haven’t any ambition in that direction. You know as well as I do that my grandmother would have fits, and I cannot think Papa would approve. It is best I keep it to myself. But you are my dearest friend—almost a sister.”

  Emma reached out to put her hand on Josephine’s knee. “Thank you for telling me. If you ever want someone to read your work…” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

  “Maybe when I finish,” Josephine said, her expression more cheerful than before. “Thank you, Emma. It is a relief to tell someone.”

  “I am glad to finally know. I cannot think of any secret you have kept from me before.” They had told each other everything, large and small, for more than a decade.

  That knowledge made Emma squirm somewhat. “I might need to speak to you about something, too. Not a secret. But—well.” She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “The ambassador. I think we may have been too severe upon him.”

  Josephine leaned back against the stone wall, her nose wrinkling. “I have seen nothing to change my opinion of him. Even that business with the Italian and Sicilian food he presented. Mama thought it charming, but I think he meant to draw attention to himself rather than do the family any kind of honor.”

  “That isn’t true at all.” Emma stared at Josephine in shock. “I told you how much it meant to him, to share those traditions with everyone.”

  “I believe he had good intentions, but really.” Josephine smoothed the fabric over her knees, not quite meeting Emma’s shocked gaze. “He wanted all eyes on him and all the words of praise that came with debasing himself to cook for his hostess. Most would consider it indecent.”

  “Indecent? He was most humble and honorable in every word he said. In every gesture. Josephine, you cannot really think that—” Emma broke off at the beginning of her indignant tirade when she saw her friend peering up at her with a narrow-eyed look. She swallowed back what she had been prepared to say, the words of defense that had fallen into line like willing soldiers to do battle on behalf of Luca.

  Josephine’s eyebrows raised. “Go on. What else have you to say about His Excellency?”

  With her stomach plummeting dangerously toward the floor, Emma closed her eyes and gathered her thoughts. “I only meant to say you could be a little kinder to him. He is not an ogre.” In fact, Luca possessed a dignity and grace that marked him as a man of honor and true nobility. He was more like a knight errant than an ogre.

  “I never thought he was. I only thought him too old and an unsuitable match.” The light and indifferent tone did little to calm Emma’s unease. “Unsuitable for me.”

  “Only because you do not know him,” Emma said, her eyes still closed. Picturing Luca as he had looked with his arms covered in flour up to his elbows, his smile relaxed and genuine…endearing.

  The firmness of Josephine’s reply provided little comfort. “I am not ready for courtship and marriage.”

  “I cannot like misleading him and making him believe that if he does what I say he may win you as a bride—”

  “Why not?” Josephine’s tone had changed to one of challenge, and Emma opened her eyes to see her friend leaning forward with a strange expression—a knowing look—in the way she stared back.

  Emma wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, though she had been perfectly comfortable in the room moments before. “Because he is a good man. He is my friend.” She had imagined what might happen should Luca learn her ruse. If he discovered how she had agreed to help Josephine escape any and all attachment to him, it would hurt him and end their newly formed friendship. Josephine knew of Emma’s plan to distract the conte with her pretended help.

  “As am I. And I was your friend first. Which is why you ought to confide in me.” Josephine flicked her hand dismissively. “There is more to it, Emma. Isn’t there?”

  “I do not like to lie,” Emma insisted, hearing the uncertainty in her voice. “It is dishonorable.”

  “All right. Stop, then. Give him no more information on how best to win me. I will take care of myself. Does that satisfy you?” The way Josephine asked, her tone, made it sound as though she fully expected another denial to cross Emma’s lips.

  Instead, Emma nodded tightly. “Thank you.” Yet that feeling of sinking, of loss, continued to unnerve her. “He is a good man. He will not press you or be so petty as to let the situation between you influence his work with your father.”

  Josephine stood and brushed off the skirt of her riding habit. “I think we ought to change and meet Mother for tea. She is always lonely when father is away.”

  “Yes.” Emma rose, too, and looked around again at the little tower. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Josie.”

  “You are most welcome, Emma. You are my dearest friend.” Josephine started toward
the stairs, then spoke over her shoulder, “And I hope you will soon share your secret with me.”

  Emma paused. “What secret?”

  Josephine shrugged one shoulder and continued down the steps. “Oh, I merely have the feeling you will have one before long.”

  Puzzled, but unwilling to continue the uncomfortable conversation, Emma forced a laugh and followed Josephine back down the steps. They only parted ways when they came to their bedrooms, on the same side of the hall, only a few feet apart.

  When Emma entered her bedroom, she rang for her maid then went to the window overlooking the gardens. The trees were a riot of colors now, with only a few still green. Most were orange and yellow, red and gold. As the cold crept across the hills and dipped into the valley, autumn meant more than a change to the season. She could feel it but did not know why or what she expected.

  She chewed her bottom lip, catching her own expression of uncertainty in the window’s reflection. Would he even want to keep speaking with her, spending time with her, when he discovered Josephine wanted nothing to do with him even after he had heeded all of Emma’s advice?

  She rested her forehead against the window’s cool surface, uncertainty making her sick with worry. All she could do was wait.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Five days spent roaming woodlands and valleys, tromping through bushes, and following barking hounds, ought to have exhausted Luca beyond the point of thought. But there were deals to make while waiting to mount horses, and politics to discuss over brandy, and introductions made and accepted between every activity.

  Luca’s intellectual reserves were stretched to their limit as he smiled in the face of men who claimed his nation was too new and weak to have much bargaining power. It took all his bureaucratic finesse to remind such men of Rome’s age and the cultural greatness of the former empire’s lands.

  Yet another letter had come to Luca from his father. A letter full of concern for their country, hinting that it might fall yet further from glory. His father had named one of the secret societies. The Carbonari. A group whose leaders comprised the descendants of Italy’s most famous citizens.

  And despite the taxing of his body and mind, every night when he turned in to sleep in his room—with Bruno in a cot at the foot of his master’s bed snoring loudly—Luca didn’t immediately fall into his well-earned rest. Instead, he thought of a vivacious woman with dazzling brown eyes and a ready smile.

  Not the blue-eyed Lady Josephine, but her companion. Emma.

  On the final day of the hunt, when the duke insisted Luca join him in the carriage instead of on a borrowed mount, Luca’s thoughts remained occupied by the smudge of flour on her cheek, her laughter, and her kindness. The way she discussed politics and books with such ease and how she held herself with the same grace and dignity as the noblewomen around her.

  They had not been in the carriage long when the duke began a conversation with his son, the only other gentleman in the box with them. No one else who had made up the large hunting party was returning to Castle Clairvoir.

  “Were you able to talk any sense into Sir Andrew?” the duke asked, arms folded and head tilted back.

  Lord Farleigh had kindly taken the rear-facing bench, though Luca doubted the younger man could know of Luca’s carriage-inspired weakness of stomach. “He insists he will not discuss the matter with Emma. He says she is of an age to make up her own mind.”

  Luca’s interest stirred, and he forbid his stomach to interfere while he listened.

  “That is a shame. I had hoped he would add his influence to mine this Season in London. As much as we all enjoy Emma’s place in our home, it isn’t fair to her to defer her future to Josephine’s.” The duke noticed Luca’s attention and offered an apologetic smile. “Do forgive us, Atella. I do not mean to bore you with our family’s concerns.”

  “Not at all, Your Grace.” Luca ignored a bump in the road in favor of trying to work his way into the conversation rather than ending it. “Your family has taken me in, welcomed me more warmly than I could have hoped. I would never presume to interject myself into personal concerns.” Except that was exactly what he was about to do. “Miss Arlen has become a particular friend. She has a very sharp mind. That is the right way to say it in English, yes?”

  “Yes, she is immensely intelligent.” The duke tapped one finger upon his elbow before gesturing broadly with both hands. “Despite this cleverness, she will not listen to reason when it comes to her future.”

  Luca tried to sound only mildly interested, not too eager to know more about the woman who had remained in his thoughts for far too many days. “How so, Your Grace?” He glanced at Lord Farleigh, inviting him back into the conversation.

  “Her position in our family is more than it seems,” the duke said, also looking to his son. “How did you explain it to that friend of yours?”

  The young lord shrugged. “She is only a companion voluntarily.”

  With some confusion, Luca put a hand to his temple. “You must forgive me. Voluntarily? She chooses to be a companion?”

  “Precisely.” The duke’s dark eyebrows pulled downward. “A clever thing, when the girls were much younger. She did not have to answer so many questions, and she helped Josephine learn true and false friends with her ability to be partially ignored by others of rank. But the girls are now women, and even though my daughter insists indifference to courtship, we should not force Emma to do the same.”

  “I am still confused,” Luca admitted, wondering if the pounding in his head was because of the nature of their conversation or the swaying of the coach. Likely the latter, influenced in part by the former.

  “Emma—Miss Arlen—is my father’s ward,” Lord Farleigh said with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “She is more of a sister to me—and daughter to him—than she is a servant or companion.”

  “She has received the same education, treatment, and even love from our family as my children,” the duke added, looking out the window. “Her father was a dear friend of mine. We grew up together. When Emma’s mother and father died, she was left in my care. When she and Josephine left the schoolroom, Emma insisted she take up the role of companion.”

  Another bump in the road did nothing to lessen Luca’s sudden lightheadedness.

  Lord Farleigh narrowed his eyes at Luca, a clear challenge in them. “Father tried to tell her it was nonsense. That she ought to be treated according to her station. Her family’s lines go back nearly as far as our own, though through the gentry and minor nobility.”

  The duke waved a hand to silence his son, and he gave Luca a stern stare. “You will say nothing of this to others, I trust. Though I hope she changes her mind, I will respect Emma’s wishes on the matter.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. None of this is my concern.” Luca suddenly understood a great deal more about Emma Arlen than he had before. If her position as companion meant she acted as a self-appointed guard to Lady Josephine, it was no wonder she had made a point of inserting herself into his attempted wooing of the noblewoman. She served as a gatekeeper to her friend, keeping the unworthy out of Lady Josephine’s company and friendship.

  An admirable task, and many a conniving person had likely been thwarted by Emma’s discerning mind.

  Had he been one of those deemed less worthy, and so kept away? Yet Emma had spent enough time in his company, had counted him a friend. When he returned to the castle, what would she say? What would her next move be?

  The carriage tilted as they went down an uneven road, and that was all Luca could stand. He wrapped the top of the coach in something of a panic. “Stop the carriage!”

  The duke’s eyes widened. “Atella, you have turned green!”

  Lord Farleigh shoved the carriage door open and backed away, allowing Luca to jump out into the lane and stumble into the woods where he promptly cast up his accounts.

  Blasted enclosed carriages. Horrid English roads with their bumps and roots and muddy hills.

  Bruno
and Lord Farleigh were both on the road when Luca returned, with several of the duke’s men on horseback ahead and behind watching Luca emerge from the trees. With handkerchief in one hand and bottle of ginger-tea in the other, Bruno came forward to help Luca.

  “Since you were un ragazzino, Signore.” Bruno smiled sadly, just as he had when Luca had been that little boy. “And you had to be an ambassador, which requires so much travel.”

  With a sharp laugh, Luca took the handkerchief to wipe at his forehead and mouth, then he accepted the tea his valet had thoughtfully prepared hours before. It was cold, and didn’t delight the tongue, but the ginger would settle his stomach.

  “Would you like a horse, Atella?” Lord Farleigh asked, a painful smile in place. “Or a place atop one of the carriages?”

  Again, Luca looked at the two carriages—the duke in one and manservants in the other—and the horsemen all staring. Torlonia had his head sticking out of the second carriage, and his expression was coldly disapproving.

  Luca sighed. “I would like to vanish into the air, Farleigh, never to be seen again.” He took another drink of the tea. “But a horse will do for now.”

  “Cheer up, man.” Lord Farleigh chuckled. “We all have our weaknesses. A poorness of stomach is better than a poorness of character.”

  “Very true.” Luca followed the young lord back to the carriage, and after a few minutes he had a horse beneath him, and they moved forward again. Away from the northern woods and back to the duke’s lands.

  Once in the fresh air and with the steady gait of the horse beneath him, Luca’s stomach calmed and his mind cleared. Though his ears burned from embarrassment, his mind sorted the facts he had learned before he shamed himself on the side of the road.

  Doubtless, Torlonia would spend some time trying to lecture Luca on that miserable occurrence. But how did one control one’s vital organs?

  Better to focus on what the duke and Lord Farleigh had said about Emma Arlen. The protective friend, a duke’s ward as well as his daughter’s companion, with familial connections to one of the most powerful families in England. In Europe, too, given the duke’s rumored wealth and the amount of land he owned at home and abroad.