A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance by Britton, Sally (story reading .txt) 📗

does it compare to your Catholic cathedrals in Italy?” She batted her eyelashes with more aggression than her daughters.

Had he been ten years younger, Luca would’ve squirmed in his seat and abruptly changed the subject. Catholics were still unpopular in England, with several laws in place which removed many of the rights of normal English citizenship. It was something his king had mentioned as a sensitive subject to address where and when Luca could.

Somehow, he didn’t think Mrs. Hepsworth would treat the political ramifications of being Catholic in England with any respect.

Luca cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I find that wherever I go, each country and even each city has their own traditions and cultures which make their buildings unique. It is impossible to compare them. That which is beautiful and perfect in London would be out of place in Italy, and the reverse is also true.”

A movement across the table caught his eye, and he met Miss Arlen’s gaze. She had that one eyebrow raised again, as she assessed his words.

“I see.” The woman at his side pursed her lips and frowned. “You are Catholic, I presume?”

He nodded once, a small dip of his head, and her eyes narrowed.

Did his religion disqualify him as a marital possibility? He hoped so, because even he could not have misunderstood the pointed attentions of first the daughters and then the mother. A foreign count, even if he was Catholic, might be a temptation to more than one English mother.

“Lord Atella,” Miss Arlen said, bringing his attention to her. “I wonder if you would like to play a game at our table? Mrs. Hepsworth has come close to winning.”

Luca caught a laugh-turned-cough from somewhere down the table, and he did not miss the way the duchess feigned disinterest in the turn in conversation.

What was this?

Miss Arlen smiled benignly at Mrs. Hepsworth. “Do tell him about the game, Mrs. Hepsworth.”

The matron flushed with pleasure. “Oh, I would not presume to take that honor—I know how His Grace enjoys presenting it to his guests as something of a challenge.”

Miss Arlen looked to the duchess, who finally raised her gaze from her plate. “His Grace will not mind, Mrs. Hepsworth, and it is only fair after your unflagging attempts that we allow you to explain the game to another honored guest.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I am most honored.” She fluttered a hand over her chest and made a deep bow with her head—the feather in her turban nearly falling into a soup tureen with that movement. “Lord Atella, the game is quite simple. You see the tiles above? There are two that match, but only two. I have tried to find them a few times without success—dinner always ends before I can check them all carefully. Perhaps you will have better fortune.”

Luca narrowed his eyes at Miss Arlen, whose expression had turned far too innocent. If the search would prevent the continuance of the previous topic, he meant to devote his time to it. No matter his suspicions.

The plan proved sound. Mrs. Hepsworth did not wish to distract him from his purpose, and he could sneak bites of the delicious meal and immediately return again to matching tiles. The amount of detail in the designs was astounding, considering how rarely most looked upward.

Miss Arlen had told him during their first dinner that the duke played a game with his guests and those tiles. He hadn’t thought it so simple a thing as matching, like a child’s game.

Except he couldn’t find the matches. When the ladies rose from the table to go to the sitting room, Luca had to admit defeat. Mrs. Hepsworth was all kindness and disappointed on his behalf, but she left the room with her daughters and very few words.

The duchess had led the ladies out, but Miss Arlen lingered a moment longer to brush invisible crumbs from her gown. She met his gaze only after the other ladies had withdrawn, and the duke had already called for a stronger drink for the men to enjoy in private.

“I hope that was helpful, my lord.”

“The game? It was diverting.” And yes, helpful. But he didn’t want to admit it with her standing there, wearing that secretive smile.

She nodded, but then leaned slightly across the table to whisper to him, “There is no matching pair, my lord.” Then she turned and went to the door, looking over her shoulder once before a footman closed it behind her.

Luca’s jaw fell open. The game was a ruse—one which it seemed the whole family took part in. One that Miss Arlen had begun for his benefit. Surely, she would not tell him the truth if she meant to mock him. What had she said before? That the duke had commissioned the panels especially for some sort of amusement…

It wasn’t a cruel prank. Instead, Luca thought it incredibly useful.

He finally sat back in his chair and released a relieved laugh.

Miss Arlen had rescued him, and she wanted him to know it. But why?

Chapter Six

A woman skulking outside of a man’s bedchamber, no matter his rank or hers, would certainly beget gossip, if not ruin a lady’s reputation entirely. Therefore, Emma did not stand outside the conte’s rooms. Instead, she sat in a window seat at the end of the corridor, sketching the scene outside the window and not staring at his doors.

The ambassador’s half-hearted efforts at flirting, painful as they were to watch, left Emma embarrassed on his behalf. She had left a note for Josephine, excusing herself from going down to breakfast with Josephine as she usually did. Emma hoped to obtain the visiting nobleman’s good opinion, and perhaps enough trust that she might be honest with him when it came to Josephine. How honest could she be without giving him offense?

After half an hour of waiting down the corridor, she wondered if he would rise as late in the day as his English counterparts. The duke always rose early. Why she thought the ambassador