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

“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. The 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