A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

her spectacles with a smirk. “I am the governess, not an invited guest. I am only here to keep watch over my charges.”
“That is a fine excuse, even though we both know you were officially discharged yesterday.” Emma leaned further back on her cushion to look up into the tree branches. “You are as much a guest as Mr. Gardiner is.”
“And he is at the shore, trying to look like he is interested in rowing when I am certain he is actually trying to find late-season water-skippers.” Alice leaned away from the tree trunk to peer out at the men. “I think he only came to be near me, and then Sir Andrew dragged him away. Poor Rupert.”
Emma sighed, a touch envious of the couple’s happiness. “The two of you are a wonderful pair, Alice. Your happiness is inspirational.”
“Thank you.” Alice turned her attention back to her sketch. “And what about you, Emma?”
“Hm?” Emma stared up at the snatches of sky she could see through the tree branches. “What about me?”
“Yes. When will you find a similar state of happiness for yourself?” Alice had a way of asking personal questions in a way that made them sound perfectly reasonable. Perhaps it came with being a governess—the ability to make any question sound like a scholarly examination rather than the start of a potentially embarrassing conversation.
Reflection upon the question kept Emma from making an immediate answer, though in the past she would have said something flippant. Made light of the topic of marriage, at least when it came to herself. But Alice had become a friend, and friends who asked serious questions deserved honest answers.
“I cannot know for certain.” She watched a little squirrel, red with furry points on its ears, hop from one limb to another. Likely looking for food for its winter stores. “Josie isn’t ready for me to leave her, and no man comes courting the companion when the duke’s daughter is present.” She smiled to herself. “I always thought of that as a bit of protection. A gift of time. I need not worry over courtship and marriage until Josie marries. That seems to be a very long way off.”
“You are an heiress yourself, though.” Alice did not lift her head; her pencil gliding across her paper in long strokes kept her gaze. “Though I suppose that isn’t common knowledge, given how Lady Rosalind swore me to secrecy after she blurted that fact out in conversation.”
Emma snorted. “Rosalind cannot keep anything like that to herself. I think it must make her feel important, to get attention for saying such things.” Emma looked over to the lake again. “But you are correct. My waiting inheritance isn’t generally known. I am most grateful to His Grace for that.”
Alice bit her lip and leaned closer to her paper, pushing her spectacles up slightly before applying her pencil again. “I have known you only a few months, Emma. Even still, it surprises me to know you haven’t given much thought to your future. You have plans for everything and everyone else.”
“There is no need to worry over my future. Not until Josie marries. Or declares her intentions to remain an old maid.” Emma didn’t fear the latter. Josie, for all her declarations of youth and disinterest in marriage, had a romantic nature. She would turn her mind to matrimony when a man caught her interest, if not her heart.
Emma peered across the stretch of grass between the tree and where the men had gathered. She spotted Lord Atella standing with them, his coat removed like the rest, anxiously listening to instruction. He had said he didn’t row. How had they convinced him to try? And in front of so many people he did not know?
The man had something deeper than Simon or Andrew’s competitiveness to motivate him. As serious as he was, it was hard to imagine him wishing to join in for entertainment’s sake. As a political ambassador, he would not want to make a fool of himself, either. So what took him from the comfort of lawn games and picnic food, from the men content to sit and speak of politics on the bank, out into strange waters?
Perhaps he meant to impress Josephine. Or he wanted Simon’s approval. Currying favor with a future duke wasn’t an uncommon thing for Emma to see.
Lady Isabel appeared at the edge of their rug, her lower lip out in a pout. “Rosalind cheats,” she declared, then dropped onto a cushion. She swiped an apple from the bowl at the center of the cushions and rugs. The bite she took out of it was rather fierce.
“Have you proof of that?” Alice asked, looking up to meet Isabel’s gaze.
The girl shifted and lowered her eyes. “Not precisely.”
“Then let us withhold our accusations of such.” Alice looked to the lake. “It appears the gentlemen have finally decided who will be in which boat.”
There were three boats, and each would hold a team of five men. All who had agreed to participate in rowing were young and most were unattached to any particular lady. The older gentlemen who had dared accompany their sons and daughters were scattered about on chairs, watching their youthful counterparts. Likely placing wagers on their sons, too.
Lady Josephine arrived, taking another fruit from the bowl before sitting next to Alice to study her sketchbook. “Oh, that is an incredible likeness, Alice.”
The former governess scrutinized the drawing. “Do you think so? It has been so long since I’ve drawn a portrait, though I think I could draw stems and petals blindfolded.”
Emma started and sat up. “Portrait? I thought you were sketching the bowl of fruit.”
“I never said that.” Alice’s eyes glinted with mischief. She turned her sketchbook toward Emma. “I was sketching you.”
Emma looked back at her likeness, her lips parted in a protest that died before she could speak it. Alice had drawn her in profile, the way she had been leaning back on the cushions and looking upward. And Alice had caught