A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance by Britton, Sally (open ebook TXT) 📕

position, and Josephine, Luca, and Emma made up the rear of the party. Luca took responsibility for removing troublesome branches from the path, holding them aside as a footman might open a door or hold a curtain.

Josephine kept a steady stream of words flowing as they went, talking as much to the people ahead as the people with her. “You need to visit for a day of painting, Alice. We can ask for Isabelle and Rosalind to join us. They miss you terribly already. I know no one with as much talent as you when it comes to drawing.”

“You are too kind. I happily accept your invitation. When shall we arrange it?”

“Tomorrow, of course. You are staying the night, are you not? My father said you were welcome.” Josephine sounded eager, but Alice shook her head.

“I am afraid we are leaving again tomorrow morning. Rupert has business with a beekeeper he will not miss.”

“It is fascinating—the beekeeper is preparing the hive for the colder weather. His methods are entirely unique to any other I’ve heard of,” Mr. Gardiner said with obvious delight. “Alice accompanies me to help with notes and sketching.”

“Sometimes he is too caught up in the moment to actually write anything down,” Alice said, sounding as though this was an endearing trait in her husband rather than a wearisome one.

“It sounds as though you are a well-matched pair,” Luca said, surprising Emma out of her quiet disinterest. She hadn’t realized he’d been paying much attention to the conversation, either. “You both have an interest in science, the husband in insects and botany, the wife an artist and student of both. What does that mean for your work, Gardiner?”

“It makes it a greater joy than ever,” Mr. Gardiner said immediately, slipping his hand around his wife’s. “I accomplish more than I ever thought possible with Alice’s help, and she lends her talents to my studies with a generosity of heart that makes me most grateful. You have seen her sketches? Her ability to capture color with no more than pencils and a few watercolors?”

“I have. Your talent is impressive, Mrs. Gardiner.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Alice blushed prettily.

Emma glanced at Josephine to see what she made of the conversation, but her friend appeared as cheerful as ever.

Luca didn’t allude to the fact that a duke’s daughter and ambassador would complement one another in marriage, did he?

Stop it, Emma. She squashed the confusing storm of emotions again. “I cannot think of many couples better matched,” she said aloud. “Lady Josephine and I used to speak of how well-suited Alice and Mr. Gardiner would be, given their mutual enjoyment of the outdoors and Alice’s unnatural tolerance for things like spiders and frogs.”

Alice laughed, and the conversation turned to the early days of Mr. Gardiner and Alice’s acquaintance, with the couple teasing one another as they went.

Emma slowed her steps, watching Luca and Josephine walk side by side.

Hours later, tucked up in her bed after a long evening of entertaining the duke’s guests, Emma fiddled with a tassel on one of her bed cushions and stared up into the semi-darkness of her bed.

Perhaps she had been too hasty to give up her attempts at redirecting Luca’s interest away from Josephine. But then, Josie hadn’t seemed to mind conversing with him in such a casual manner all that day. Had she given up avoiding him, or had she such confidence of deflecting an offer of courtship that she no longer cared?

Emma hugged the cushion to her chest and rolled over, staring at the narrow slit in her bedroom curtains which allowed the faint light of the moon to enter her bedroom.

Luca had behaved perfectly, of course. Not showing too much interest in Josie. Not even flirting with the duke’s daughter. He had only been friendly. And not as friendly as he was with Emma.

Why had he insisted on following her about? Why had he covered her hand while they took tea, that earnest look in his eyes? Perhaps she had appeared more haggard than she thought, if he felt the need to be demonstrative in his friendly attention to her.

Emma blushed and put the pillow over her face, thinking over every conversation they had shared since his return from the hunting lodge the week past.

She and Luca had bumped into one another in corridors, taken tea in the conservatory, and sat near one another at meals. They had spoken of books and what he read in the newspaper. She had shared one of his Italian poetry books with the dowager duchess and told him of the esteemed woman’s rather emotional reaction to one poem that Emma barely understood. He had translated the tragic love poem for her, then hadn’t laughed when she’d wiped away a tear.

They had spoken of the Arabian fairy tales again, comparing wishes they might ask of a djinn and how they would avoid being tricked.

Come to think of it, she had spoken to Luca every single day, at least once privately and then several times in a room full of other people.

Each time they parted, all she had thought on was what they had discussed. And she had yearned for their next meeting, so they might speak again.

He talked to her as though she mattered and her ideas mattered. He treated her with such an open affection that she wished, very much, that it meant more than mere friendship.

Emma groaned and covered her head with the pillow, trying to focus on her frustration instead of the way her eyes filled with tears. A horrible realization had formed, and the truth of it wounded her deeply.

Never had Emma intended to fall in love with Luca, but that was precisely what she was in the middle of doing.

Chapter Eighteen

“Sir Andrew,” Luca said, storming into the other man’s guest room two weeks after the race. “I am calling in that favor.”

The baronet rose slowly from his chair and looked at the clock on the mantel. “At this hour?