A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

on either side of the doors had reached for the handles to pull them open.
“Lady Josephine prefers comedies to tragedies, Signore. She would always rather laugh than frown.” Emma released his arm to precede him through the open doors, though she stopped mid-step not even partway into the room.
The duke sat at the head of the small rectangular table, Simon at his right, and another familiar nobleman on the duke’s left. That man stood upon seeing her and came around the table. “Emma! Look at you—you haven’t changed one whit.”
“How terribly rude,” she said with a laugh, hastening toward him. “One ought never to remark on a lady’s inability to alter in only a year’s time.”
Sir Andrew, Simon’s oldest friend and Emma’s cousin, immediately opened his arms to give her a warm embrace. Then he stepped back and looked her over, eyes narrowed critically. “Ah, forgive me. I forget how particular you are about compliments. What I meant to say is that you are as lovely as ever, of course.”
“Reserve your flattery for your admirers, Andrew.” Emma stepped back and eyed him critically. “You have changed. You’ve had a haircut.”
He laughed, then looked over Emma’s shoulder to where the conte stood, likely thinking Emma had lost her mind along with her grasp on propriety. She looked to the duke who had stood along with Simon, and, at his nod, made the introductions herself.
“Forgive me, Lord Atella. Please allow me to introduce my cousin, Sir Andrew Wycomb. Sir Andrew’s baronetcy is in Bytham, though he is lately returned from Ireland. Dear cousin, this is His Excellency, Conte di Atella, di Regno delle Due Sicilie.” When the ambassador darted a glance at her before he bowed to her cousin, Emma saw surprise lighten his eyes.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have tried so hard to speak his title in his native language. Her accent might have offended him.
“It is a pleasure, Your Excellency.”
“I am pleased to meet you as well, Sir Andrew.” The ambassador gestured to the table. “Might we join you for breakfast?”
“Of course, Lord Atella. Please do.” Sir Andrew pulled a chair out next to him for Emma, which she took with murmured thanks. The conte settled across from her, next to Simon. “Emma, does your mistress not follow behind? I suppose it is still far too early for her to rise.”
Emma tsked at her cousin. “No one disapproves of Lady Josephine’s habits as much as you do, Andrew. You ought to stop teasing her so.” She pointed to a covered platter. “Worry less about Josie and more about filling a plate for me, or I am liable to bite out of hunger.”
The duke raised his eyebrows but said nothing about the banter, while Simon snorted outright before covering his mouth and feigning a cough. The conte stared at her like she had gone mad.
“You mustn’t mind Sir Andrew and Emma,” Simon said, before Emma could make her own excuses. “They are as brother and sister, closer than cousins, and torment each other out of fondness rather than any desire to inflict wounds.”
“Though they often see fit to inflict the rest of us by making us listen,” the duke said, quirking an eyebrow upward. “Miss Arlen, we were just discussing your plans for the day with Sir Andrew. I have other guests arriving this afternoon, but there is no reason for your cousin to wait upon them for entertainment.”
“I am not certain how entertaining our plans are, Your Grace.” Emma paused to nod in approval as her cousin served a breakfast of cold ham and fruit onto her plate. “But Andrew is welcome to join us. As is Simon. Josephine and I planned to walk to Lambsthorpe with Lord Atella, to introduce him to our village as well as take a little exercise.” She turned her smile to the ambassador to see him filling his plate with far more dignified a manner than such an activity deserved. “That is, if Lord Atella still wishes to walk with us?”
He paused, a serving spoon midway to adding a heap of sugared strawberry preserves onto his plate. “I cannot think of a better way to spend the afternoon than in company with Lady Josephine and you, Miss Arlen.”
“I can think of a dozen better things to do than watch the two of you buy ribbons,” Andrew muttered, but he winced when Emma cast him a glare. “Oh, all right. I’ll come.”
“Only if you will be nice to Josephine,” Emma insisted. “The two of you are far too much like warring cats, forever hissing and spitting at one another. If you were not friends with Simon, I should think the family would cast you out of the castle at once.”
“Does being your cousin count for naught?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest as though her words had wounded him.
Emma sniffed. “You might be my cousin, but Claivoir is my home, and I shall defend those inside from the battlements if I must.”
The duke’s eyes shone with good humor, and perhaps approval, too. “Thank you, Miss Arlen. If ever we must face a siege, I shall know exactly where to place you for our defense.”
Simon leaned close to the conte again, stage-whispering to him. “It is incredible you went this long without seeing some ridiculous occurrence in our home. I hope we do not alarm you.”
The conte had apparently arranged his plate to his liking, as he held his fork as though ready to stab at his meal. “Not at all, Lord Farleigh. I only hope, should we fall under attack from Sir Andrew or anyone else, that I should be allowed to fire the cannon in the entry hall. I have been contemplating the idea since first laying eyes upon it.”
For the space of a second, Emma gaped at the Italian, then she choked on a laugh and had to cover her mouth with a napkin. She hadn’t at all expected him to join in their ridiculous conversation.
Andrew annoyed her by clapping a hand hard