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

“I suppose they must. How else do they command the respect of all the other creatures?”

“I generally thought it would be through roaring and gnashing teeth.”

“Hardly polite. Not at all befitting an ambassador.”

She shook her head. “An ambassador lion would be rather ridiculous.”

He chuckled and faced forward again. “I cannot think they have the ability to compromise, which is necessary for one in my position.”

“Ah. So you are the first of your kind. A politically intelligent lion. I would not tell the Regent. I have heard he rather likes adding exotic creatures to his menagerie.”

Lord Atella’s remarkably charming smile rewarded her silliness. Had he finally grown easy enough in her company that she would see more of that expression?

“Then I am even more grateful for the things my family sent me, if I am to be locked up in a menagerie. The trunk—everything in it was like a taste of my homeland.”

Of course—Emma bit the inside of her cheeks. It was his family that had put him in good humor, not her banter. The poor man would cheer up with word from home. She turned away from him, down a path that went deeper into the trees.

The leaves overhead trembled with the breeze. There was only one place in the garden where they might be completely free of the wind. She led them that direction.

“You must miss your family.”

“Very much.” He fell into step beside her. “They also sent many things I could give as gifts to those who are my hosts. Seeds from our gardens. Books of poetry. Perfumes made from my mother’s roses. Instructions—ricettas—for food from our kitchens.”

Emma supplied the English word without pause. “Recipes.”

“Recipes, ecco la parola giusta.” He moved closer to her when the wind whipped around them, dipping his head to hold on to his hat. “This is not a day for a walk, Signorina Arlen.”

“We are nearly at a more protected garden.” A break in the trees revealed a stone grotto tucked into the hedges. Emma pointed at the small, dome-shaped building. “The duchess’s garden. Have you seen it yet?”

“No.” Several leaves fell from above, twisting as the wind snatched them away. “The building is a garden?”

“An entrance. Come.” Emma hastened her steps, one hand clamping the bonnet to her head while the other snatched at his sleeve. “Hurry, before the wind dashes us to pieces!” Then she laughed, to assure him she wasn’t the least bit worried, and ran forward.

The grotto was artificial, built to look like an old stone hovel with ivy growing up around its sides. They passed through it, the echoes of their footfalls bouncing off smooth walls, and then they came through to the other side. The garden had been created in a natural dip in the landscape, surrounded by a wall covered in vines on the inside and hidden by tall hedges and trees on the outside.

In the duchess’s private garden, everything was silent. A tranquility rested within its walls, the wind kept out, and Emma stood still to drink in the moment’s peace. She glanced up at Lord Atella, noting with pleasure the shock upon his face. Even in the autumn, when most of the plants and flowers had been put to bed by the gardeners, it was a beautiful place.

“The garden was a gift,” she told him, keeping her voice soft. “After the duke and duchess married, she found out that his mother had fashioned most of the estate’s gardens to her specific desires. She wanted to keep the peace with her mother-in-law and did not make any changes to a single seedling. Then one day the duke brought her to the walled-in garden and gave it to her to do whatever she wished with it.”

He spoke with reverence. “It is a beautiful gift. The duke must care for his wife’s happiness.”

“From what I have seen, there is more to it than care and kindness. They have a genuine regard for one another, the likes of which those of high birth find so rarely.” Emma blinked when his gaze met hers, his expression stern once more.

“Because most of high birth marry for other reasons, yes?”

“Yes.” She lifted her head and walked deeper into the garden. Though they were out of doors, the privacy they enjoyed could also be their downfall if she did not keep them in motion. Not that she thought anyone in the duke’s household would force anything upon her if they were found in such innocent circumstances. But one must consider appearances.

“I have been thinking about other ways you might impress Josephine.” Emma immediately chastised herself for blurting out what she’d been trying to say with more tact. Subtlety wasn’t usually this difficult for her. She bit her own tongue and hoped Lord Atella wouldn’t think her odd.

* * *

The quiet of the garden had sunk into Luca’s soul, easing the muscles in his shoulders and the tautness of his thoughts. Until Miss Arlen mentioned her mistress to him. Yes. Lady Josephine. He needed to impress her.

“But still from a distance,” he said, measuring the words carefully. He had kept his distance, as Miss Arlen suggested, not going out of his way to speak to or be in company with the duke’s daughter.

“Yes.” Her smile returned briefly, and her eyes dimmed as she disappeared into her thoughts. “The race at the harvest market is one place where all eyes will be upon you, even hers, but there are other things we might do. Lady Josephine and I were discussing Sicily and Rome, and how it would be wonderful to travel there one day. She mentioned that she has had the cuisine of your homeland only rarely. French cooking is what most households serve when they wish to impress His Grace’s family.”

Such a simple thing to note, a detail he might not have picked up himself in conversation, but his mind followed Miss Arlen’s course with enthusiasm.

“Perhaps if I provide a Sicilian menu to the duke’s cook, we could enjoy an evening