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

her face, causing her dark eyes to lighten. She spun the handle of her parasol and raised her gaze heavenward. “Oh, Lord Atella. A woman may change her mind as often as she wishes. Surely, with three younger sisters, you know this?”

Yes. Unfortunately, he did.

“No one knows Lady Josephine the way I do,” Miss Arlen continued, her matter-of-fact tone returned. “You know nothing of her likes or dislikes, or how best to approach her with your offer of courtship without frightening her away.”

That was a possibility?

“What are you proposing, Miss Arlen?” he asked, lowering his voice. The crowd was drifting their direction. “Nothing dishonorable—?”

Her eyes widened, and she raised one hand and hastened to assure him. “Not at all. Lady Josephine is as dear to me as a sister. I mean only to help your chances by educating you in how to approach my friend in a way that will gain you positive attention.” Given the wide-eyed way he gaped at her, the man wasn’t ready to take anyone’s advice or admit he needed the guidance. “You may take your time to consider my offer. You will be a guest in the duke’s home for many months. Perhaps you will not need me. If you change your mind, do let me know. My lady is my friend, but her tastes are…peculiar.” Miss Arlen’s smile returned, along with a hint of amusement in her tone. “I hope you enjoyed the lemonade.”

She stood and walked away without another word, and the other guests returned and began settling under trees and in chairs once more. The talk was of the race, with men retelling their part of it in excitement.

Luca hardly understood how anyone could work themselves into such a frenzy over rowing a boat. He let out a sigh at the same moment Miss Sharpe sat down next to him, Mr. Gardiner on her other side.

“You did well in the race, my lord,” the woman said, kindness in her voice and expression. She glanced around the rug as the other ladies settled. “Did Miss Arlen leave?”

“Yes, I believe so.” He adjusted his hat, settling it more firmly in place. Straight. Precise. Very English. He slid his coat on, too.

Miss Sharpe sighed and looked to her betrothed. “I wasn’t finished with her portrait.” She opened the book in her hands, revealing sketches. “Look, Rupert. What do you think?”

She held the book out before her.

Mr. Gardiner took her book, though he spoke to her with teasing words. “You know I am no judge of human form in art. Show me a beetle or a moth, and I will give you every bit of praise you deserve. Yes. She looks pretty in the sketch.”

“Oh, you horrid man.” She spoke with obvious affection rather than censure, then she took her book from him. “My lord, what do you think? Is it a good likeness?” Miss Sharpe pushed the book into his hands the moment they were through the sleeves of his coat. He caught the book somewhat awkwardly and looked down, his eyes falling upon Miss Arlen in repose.

He studied the lines of her cheekbones, the sweep of her eyelashes, the curve of her jaw. Her profile was perfect, but the look of vulnerability she wore in the sketch had never appeared on her face while in his presence. His gaze rested on the expression, trying to puzzle it out.

Gardiner’s voice interrupted his study. “Ah, Alice. The poor ambassador. He doesn’t know what to make of it, either.”

Luca felt his cheeks burn, as though he had been caught staring at the real Miss Arlen, and he handed the sketchbook back to Miss Sharpe. “No, no. It is most excellent, Miss Sharpe. Quite lifelike. You have a talent for more than drawing insects, I am certain.”

Miss Sharpe’s smile broadened. “There, Rupert. You see? That is how one compliments a lady’s drawings. Thank you, Lord Atella.” She stared up at him, her gaze behind her spectacles contemplative. “Miss Arlen is a most handsome woman, is she not?”

Perhaps he had put his coat on too soon. The discomforting warmth made him clear his throat. “I think I need another glass of lemonade.” He signaled one of the servants holding a tray.

Miss Arlen’s attractiveness was absolutely none of his affair. He needn’t speak on it to others. Especially when Miss Sharpe turned such speculative eyes upon him when she asked her question.

The only woman he needed to concern himself with was the duke’s eldest daughter. Lady Josephine. Even if she had spent most of the day acting as though he did not exist.

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