A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

upon her back between her shoulders. “Choking, Emma?”
She shook her head, her eyes full of tears as she glared at him. “Contemplating battle plans, Cousin.”
He chuckled and turned to the conte. “You must tell me more about where you are from, Lord Atella. I visited Rome in my boyhood, but I have not seen much of the rest of your country.”
Emma recovered after sipping at her tea, then gave most of her attention to her meal. She had heard Lord Atella’s polite answers to the most basic of questions about himself and his homeland. Really, no one seemed all that original in what they asked him.
The poor man would be dreadfully bored of English hospitality in next to no time. Especially if Josephine bent her mind to avoid him rather than make him comfortable, as her father wished. While boredom would not necessarily lead to an international incident, Emma’s insides twisted uncomfortably at the realization that Lord Atella would leave the castle with a poor view of the English way of life.
Hemmed in as she was by her duties and Josephine’s wishes, there wasn’t much Emma could do. She sighed, cut a triangle of cold ham, and popped it in her mouth. Politics, as much as she enjoyed them, were not meant for her. Such a pity.
* * *
Luca adjusted his glove, tugging at the dark leather to ensure it stayed put. Then he tucked an unruly curl beneath his hat, before straightening his posture as he waited for the rest of the walking party. He had arrived by the grand doors in the entry hall first, though the waiting footmen holding the hats and gloves of the other gentlemen reassured him that they were not far behind.
A door somewhere above closed, and the echoing voices of men reverberated down another hall before Lord Farleigh and Sir Andrew appeared where the cannon waited at the other end of the hall. They were talking with animation as they approached.
“…finest horse I’ve ever seen. Spanish stock. Can’t think of why I’ve never purchased one before now,” Lord Farleigh said. Then he gestured to Luca. “Our ambassador friend can tell you all about it. We went riding yesterday afternoon.”
“If you mean to ask what I think of your Andalusian, I will confess myself most impressed,” Luca said, tucking his hands behind his back to avoid fiddling with his gloves. “I cannot think I have ever seen its equal.”
Lord Farleigh struck Sir Andrew in the shoulder. “There, you see? I am not a braggart.”
Sir Andrew rubbed at his shoulder, then accepted gloves and hat from one of the attending servants. “Perhaps not, but you do seem to dwell on topics which make you appear an expert.” He nodded to Luca. “Are you certain you want to wander about the countryside like a rustic, Lord Atella? The ladies might take pity on us and call for the carriage.”
Luca’s stomach rejected the idea of the carriage more swiftly than his words could, twisting about itself uncomfortably. “I think I can manage the walk, and I should not like to disappoint Lady Josephine or Miss Arlen.”
“You needn’t mind Sir Andrew.” Lord Farleigh had popped his own hat onto his head and taken up a walking stick, too. Though it was obviously for ornamentation rather than practical use. “He hates walking.”
“It doesn’t strike me as a practical way to go anywhere, especially if one has so much as a mule to spare.” Sir Andrew shrugged almost impudently. “Aside from which is the trouble of arriving at your destination perfectly well, then being obliged to return home without half as much energy as you had when the exercise began.”
“Lazy.” Lord Farleigh cast the accusation over his shoulder.
“Practical,” Sir Andrew retorted. “I take exercise in a dozen different ways. Walking needn’t factor into my health. Do you fence, Lord Atella?”
The sudden address made Luca take a mental stumble, but his English righted itself quickly enough. “Sì. I fence.”
“And row?” Sir Andrew added, lifting an eyebrow at his friend.
“Row?” Luca narrowed his eyes, trying to determine what the baronet meant. “Ah. The sport—rowing. No, I do not.”
“Shame.” Sir Andrew looked Luca up and down critically. “We have the picnic at the lake tomorrow. I had hoped to add you to my team. You have the shoulders and arms for it.”
Luca looked to Lord Farleigh with the hope the duke’s son would translate Sir Andrew’s meaning. The young nobleman glowered at his friend, though, and missed Luca’s confusion.
“You cannot form your team the day before. We agreed we would choose our fellows tomorrow, at the lake, depending on who wished to participate.”
A light scuff against the marble preceded Lady Josephine’s voice, calling out to them from the end of the hall. “Oh dear. Are we turning the picnic into some sort of competitive event?” She wore a cream-colored gown with a dark blue jacket and a slim-brimmed bonnet tied beneath her chin with a matching blue ribbon. The ideal picture of a lady, of course.
Miss Arlen walked at her side, dressed all in green and wearing a broader bonnet. The two of them together were quite lovely, and so different. The duke’s daughter wore yellow gloves and shoes, her companion, soft brown leather of both. They were elegantly dressed, with no disparity that Luca could detect in the quality of their clothing.
Luca stiffened. To appear to best advantage, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin just so. “Lady Josephine. It is a pleasure to join you on this outing.” It was the first time he had so much as glimpsed the duke’s eldest daughter that day.
“Lord Atella, good afternoon.” She curtsied when she drew near but kept her gaze on her brother and his friend. “I apologize for our tardiness if it meant you had to listen to my brother and Sir Andrew quibble over their boating.”
Luca returned her gesture with a deep bow and the slightest of smiles. “It is of no consequence, my lady, for you are