“He would not mind in the slightest, since I am an independent woman in his employment,” Emma said with a wave of her hand.
Luca’s head tilted back. His expression changed rapidly from confusion to disappointment. He lowered his gaze to the table. “His employment? As Lady Josephine’s companion, you mean.”
“Of course.” Emma studied the woodgrains in the table between them, the dark lines and a single knot worth the lingering observation. She shouldn’t remind him of her low place in Society. Daughter of a gentleman, but still a paid companion. But then, it was for the best. A man of his standing would not wish to risk anything by courting someone who supposedly held such a low position in Society.
But she could tell him—she could mention the other position she held in the family. A ward, the duke her guardian, the duchess as much a mother to her as the one she had lost as a child. If she told Luca those things, would it change things?
Would he wish to be more than her friend?
The innkeeper’s daughter brought the tea and left it with a small service upon their table. Emma removed her gloves to pour out the tea. She put milk and the smallest lump of sugar in hers, then did the same for the conte. When had she learned they took their tea the same way?
She put her hand around her cup—it was the old-fashioned kind, without a delicate handle that would be likely to break in the rough usage an inn must surely see from time to time.
Luca’s gloveless hand curled around hers.
“Emma. Once more, you appear distressed.” Luca kept his tone too low for others to hear, and almost too quiet for her to make out his words.
“I have a lot to think upon, is all.” She studied his hand, enjoying its warmth, how large it was compared to hers, how strong it must be given the shape of his fingers—narrow except at the joints.
His fingertips brushed across her knuckles as he withdrew it, taking his own teacup in hand. He said nothing else while they drank their tea. The room around them provided enough noise to make their silence notable. Though Luca said no more, she knew he kept his gaze upon her, studying her.
Something troubled her. Something she did not want to examine or admit to. The tea granted her a few moments’ peace to fortify herself again. The unexpected wave of emotion she had felt at the Punch and Judy show had been sad and bitter both, and she knew at last what name to give it. Jealousy. Josephine had given Luca no more than a little kind attention, the same sort she would give anyone, and Emma had wanted to keep Luca all to herself. Like a spoiled child.
She would do better. She could share her friendships. The lapse had been strange, but she recognized it now, and all would be well.
Emma smiled around the rim of her teacup. “Is there anything in particular you wish to see today, my lord? The market is not grand, but the people are very enthusiastic about their wares.”
Luca’s smile seemed forced. “I will go wherever you lead, Miss Arlen. You must be my guide.”
They left the inn without any further discussion on her thoughts, and Emma found their party had lost interest in Punch and Judy and had begun to wander freely through the stalls. They went from one to the next, with the ladies purchasing ribbon and thread, apples and buttons. The men with them spoke to one another of the race, of the price of a good horse, and occasionally consulted with the ladies about their purchases.
Rupert Gardiner showed himself an attentive husband, always ready with a word for Alice when she looked for it. Their obvious care for one another made Emma smile, relieved her friend had found such a wonderful match. Not everyone had such luck.
They finished with the market, and despite the amount of time they had wandered about, decided to walk back to the castle instead of taking one of the duke’s carriages. He had several guests staying for a large dinner party, including the Gardiners.
They walked through the shortcut with Simon and Andrew leading the way, while Alice and Rupert took up the middle position, and Josephine, Luca, and Emma made up the rear of the party. Luca took responsibility for removing troublesome branches from the path, holding them aside as a footman might open a door or hold a curtain.
Josephine kept a steady stream of words flowing as they went, talking as much to the people ahead as the people with her. “You need to visit for a day of painting, Alice. We can ask for Isabelle and Rosalind to join us. They miss you terribly already. I know no one with as much talent as you when it comes to drawing.”
“You are too kind. I happily accept your invitation. When shall we arrange it?”
“Tomorrow, of course. You are staying the night, are you not? My father said you were welcome.” Josephine sounded eager, but Alice shook her head.
“I am afraid we are leaving again tomorrow morning. Rupert has business with a beekeeper he will not miss.”
“It is fascinating—the beekeeper is preparing the hive for the colder weather. His methods are entirely unique to any other I’ve heard of,” Mr. Gardiner said with obvious delight. “Alice accompanies me to help with notes and sketching.”
“Sometimes he is too caught up in the moment to actually write anything down,” Alice said, sounding as though this was an endearing trait in her husband rather than a wearisome one.
“It sounds as though you are a well-matched pair,” Luca said, surprising Emma out of her quiet disinterest. She hadn’t realized he’d been paying much attention to the conversation, either. “You both have an interest in science, the husband in insects and botany, the wife an artist and student of both. What does that mean for your work, Gardiner?”
“It makes it a greater joy than ever,” Mr. Gardiner said immediately, slipping his hand around his wife’s. “I accomplish more than I ever thought possible with Alice’s help, and she lends her talents to my studies with a generosity of heart that makes me most grateful. You have seen her sketches? Her ability to capture color with no more than pencils and a few watercolors?”
“I have. Your talent is impressive, Mrs. Gardiner.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Alice blushed prettily.
Emma glanced at Josephine to see what she made of the conversation, but her friend appeared as cheerful as ever.
Luca didn’t allude to the fact that a duke’s daughter and ambassador would complement one another in marriage, did he?
Stop it, Emma. She squashed the confusing storm of emotions again. “I cannot think of many couples better matched,” she said aloud. “Lady Josephine and I used to speak of how well-suited Alice and Mr. Gardiner would be, given their mutual enjoyment of the outdoors and Alice’s unnatural tolerance for things like spiders and frogs.”
Alice laughed, and the conversation turned to the early days of Mr. Gardiner and Alice’s acquaintance, with the couple teasing one another as they went.
Emma slowed her steps, watching Luca and Josephine walk side by side.
Hours later, tucked up in her bed after a long evening of entertaining the duke’s guests, Emma fiddled with a tassel on one of her bed cushions and stared up into the semi-darkness of her bed.
Perhaps she had been too hasty to give up her attempts at redirecting Luca’s interest away from Josephine. But then, Josie hadn’t seemed to mind conversing with him in such a casual manner all that day. Had she given up avoiding him, or had she such confidence of deflecting an offer of courtship that she no longer cared?
Emma hugged the cushion to her chest and rolled over, staring at the narrow slit in her bedroom curtains which allowed the faint light of the moon to enter her bedroom.
Luca had behaved perfectly, of course. Not showing too much interest in Josie. Not even flirting with the duke’s daughter. He had only been friendly. And not as friendly as he was with Emma.
Why had he insisted on following her about? Why had he covered her hand while they took tea, that earnest look in his eyes? Perhaps she had appeared more haggard than she thought, if he felt the need to be demonstrative in his friendly attention to her.
Emma blushed and put the pillow ov
er her face, thinking over every conversation they had shared since his return from the hunting lodge the week past.
She and Luca had bumped into one another in corridors, taken tea in the conservatory, and sat near one another at meals. They had spoken of books and what he read in the newspaper. She had shared one of his Italian poetry books with the dowager duchess and told him of the esteemed woman’s rather emotional reaction to one poem that Emma barely understood. He had translated the tragic love poem for her, then hadn’t laughed when she’d wiped away a tear.
They had spoken of the Arabian fairy tales again, comparing wishes they might ask of a djinn and how they would avoid being tricked.
Come to think of it, she had spoken to Luca every single day, at least once privately and then several times in a room full of other people.
Each time they parted, all she had thought on was what they had discussed. And she had yearned for their next meeting, so they might speak again.
He talked to her as though she mattered and her ideas mattered. He treated her with such an open affection that she wished, very much, that it meant more than mere friendship.
Emma groaned and covered her head with the pillow, trying to focus on her frustration instead of the way her eyes filled with tears. A horrible realization had formed, and the truth of it wounded her deeply.
Never had Emma intended to fall in love with Luca, but that was precisely what she was in the middle of doing.
Chapter Eighteen
“Sir Andrew,” Luca said, storming into the other man’s guest room two weeks after the race. “I am calling in that favor.”
The baronet rose slowly from his chair and looked at the clock on the mantel. “At this hour? Please don’t tell me you need a second for a duel. It’s already one o’clock in the morning, and that would give me only a few hours to gather the essentials.”
Luca froze in the middle of the room and blinked. “A duel? No. Are those not illegal?”
“They are highly illegal, but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone.” Sir Andrew dropped back into the chair and stretched his legs out before him. “Have a seat, Atella. Might as well be comfortable when you collect on favors.”
“I am sorry it is so late.” Luca looked at the clock. He hadn’t realized what he was doing when he left his suite of rooms to search out the baronet. But he’d worked himself into something of a frenzy in an attempt to determine what he had done wrong.
“Usually, people in this country knock before they enter another person’s bedchamber.” Sir Andrew hunkered down in his chair again, folding his arms over his chest and directing his stare into the fire.
Luca went to a chair and sat, then rubbed at his face. “I understand, and I apologize. I have not been thinking clearly since dinner ended.”
Sir Andrew came and went as a guest nearly every week, which apparently no one found unusual. As far as Luca could tell, the baronet was considered as much a part of the family as Emma. Emma, who still hadn’t told Luca the full nature of her relationship to the ducal family. Emma, who had taken to avoiding him, going so far as to unexpectedly enter a room if she saw him approach from the other side of a long corridor. Emma who—Luca strongly suspected—had used secret passageways to completely disappear from his sight.
She had been all politeness in company but had ceased to even try to hold a private conversation with him.
“I have done something wrong,” Luca said, hardly aware of how long the two of them had sat silent before the low-burning fire in the hearth. “But I do not know what.”
A laugh and then a hasty clearing of his throat was Sir Andrew’s first response. “And you think I can help? Why? I am not involved in politics at the same scale as you are. My advice holds little weight. The duke would surely be a better advisor.”
The end of the month drew near, and October had grown cold and damp. The hiss and crack of a log in the fire momentarily stole Luca’s attention as he tried to form his explanation. “It has nothing to do with politics.”
“What, then? You will excuse me for saying so, Lord Atella, but you are well-traveled and highly educated. What problem could you possibly face that I would be suited to solving?”
“I have done something wrong,” Luca repeated, but raised his head as he added, “and I need your help because Emma is involved in the situation.”
Sir Andrew’s gaze swung from the fire to meet Luca’s, a sudden blaze of interest in their depths. He sat up in his chair, his feet squarely beneath him, and narrowed his eyes at Luca. “What do you mean, Emma is involved? What has my cousin to do with anything?”
There was no mistaking the protectiveness in Sir Andrew’s tone, and that did more to reassure Luca than he could express. He had come to the right person. “Whatever I did has caused Emma to withdraw her friendship from me. To some degree. She isn’t the same as she was before the harvest market.”
“Why are you calling her Emma? Did she give you leave to use her Christian name?” Sir Andrew demanded.
Luca leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his temple where a fierce tempo began to beat, threatening to drown out rational thought. “Yes, I have her permission to use her Christian name. We are—or were—friends. Friends with enough in common that proper address felt strained rather than necessary. Sir Andrew, please do not look as though you wish to commit murder. It is disturbing and makes explanation difficult.”
The baronet didn’t appear repentant but grumbled instead. “This is the first I’ve heard of your friendship. Though my cousin did seem concerned for you when you first arrived. She even asked me to help if you needed anything.”
“She did?” Luca couldn’t keep the cheer out of the question. “That long ago?”
“A month is not that long, Atella.” Sir Andrew rose and took up a log in the curved bin beside his fireplace, then added it to the low blaze. “You need to start at the beginning, I think. If you and my cousin are such friends, why are you here claiming wrongdoing?”
“Because she will not speak to me,” Luca said, trying not to sound too pathetic. “We have always spoken freely to each other, on many subjects, but for days she has avoided me. Are there secret passages in this castle?”
Sir Andrew quirked an eyebrow upward in a manner very similar to his cousin. “Secret passages? You think Emma is using secret passages to avoid you? Have you heard the term irrational before, my lord?”
Luca threw his hands up and rose from his chair. He paced the length of the carpet before the hearth. “I am in earnest, Sir Andrew. I grew close to Emma. We spoke of things in a way I have never experienced with another person.” He kept pacing, though his steps slowed, as did his words. “She is a woman of remarkable intelligence. She grasps new concepts with speed, and her conversations are always agile. Fluid, in fact. She has a natural understanding of topics, and the ability to discuss an opinion with reserve even if she disagrees with it.”
Quiet descended, the only sound Luca’s footfalls and the snapping fire.
Until Sir Andrew muttered, “Confound it, Atella. You’re in love with my cousin.”
Luca stopped his pacing and turned slowly on one heel, pivoting to face the baronet. Sir Andrew wore a look of mingled shock and amusement. While Luca could appreciate the latter, the former made him draw up proudly. “A man would be a fool if he didn’t see all that is good and lovely in Emma Arlen.”
Folding his arms again, Sir Andrew leaned against the mantel. “You love her. Admit it.” He sounded less shocked now and more entertained by the prospect. “And I thought you were after Josie when we first met.”
Heat crept up Luca’s throat, but thankfully the darkness and cravat would hide that telling reaction. “I admired Lady Josephine, I will not deny that. Yet it did not take long for Emma to gain my full attention. I have debated for some time what to do about it, but this last week has made everything more difficult. If her feelings have changed, and she no longer wishes to consider us friends, what am I to do?”
“Wh
y do you think you’ve done something wrong? It could just be a female thing. One hears how changeable a lady’s mind can be.” Sir Andrew shrugged, his concern having apparently melted away once he realized Luca posed no threat to his cousin’s well-being.
Shaking his head, Luca took up pacing again. “This is not that.”
“Then you need to ask her directly what you’ve done, and I would suggest you apologize for it.”
“Ask directly? How? When I cannot even speak to her alone…”
“I might be able to help you with that.” A devious smile spread across the other man’s face. “If Emma isn’t in the usual public rooms, or the personal suites that belong to the dowager, the duchess, or Josephine, she’s in the duchess’s Japanese garden.”
Luca rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the way those garden walls had protected them from the stiff wind. Despite the chill in the air, she might be comfortable in such a place. Especially while the sun shone to warm the stones.
When he asked, he no longer cared that he sounded desperate. “When is she normally there?”
“Every morning when Josephine is taking lessons with her grandmother. I would think around eleven you would find her, if the weather is dry enough.”
“Thank you.” Luca’s shoulders fell. “I will try to find her. I am sorry to have disturbed your rest.”
“Not at all. I look forward to seeing how things play out between you.” Sir Andrew walked Luca to the door, far too cheerful for Luca’s liking. “I really did think you meant to pursue Josephine. Nearly everyone does, you know. I cannot think that Emma has ever had a suitor. Most men aren’t interested in the companion.”
“Most men are stupid, then,” Luca muttered as he stepped out the door. “Good evening, Sir Andrew.”
“I hope so, Lord Atella.”
The door shut behind Luca, leaving him in darkness. He made his way back to his own quarters and fell into bed, planning what amounted to ambushing Emma. While planning a confrontation wasn’t exactly what he wanted, it would be for the best if he could clear the misunderstanding between them and determine if they might continue in their friendship—or possibly make it into something more.
A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance Page 18
