A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance Britton, Sally (smart ebook reader TXT) 📖

spent with his family had been treasured. “I cannot imagine tormenting them with inconsequential arguments.”

Miss Arlen’s head turned so quickly that the leaf nearly dislodged, but instead waved like a flag in the breeze her movement created. “It is not a torment, I think. Though I haven’t had a brother, Andrew has done his best to teach me how to laugh at myself. I think that is an important quality for a person to possess.”

Luca ducked beneath another branch to save the top of his hat. Bruno would scold him if he returned with his hat in less than pristine condition.

“Do you often laugh at yourself, Miss Arlen?”

“I try to.” She sent another of her amused smiles in his direction. “Please do not think me foolish, my lord. I am not one to make light of those situations which require solemn contemplation or thoughtful responses. I learned in my childhood that so much of what is wrong with the world cannot be changed with a dour disposition. But if I look for the humor in a situation, if I can laugh, then I can bear onerous burdens for far longer than if I dwell on the solemnity of an issue overlong.”

Luca silently held aside another branch to clear her path, her words churning about in his mind. “I wonder what members of your parliament might say to such a stance.”

Miss Arlen laughed outright, and the leaf in her bonnet trembled as though it did the same. “From what I understand, Parliament is as likely to roar with laughter one day as they are to thunder with anger the next. Our wisest politicians couple humor with hard truths, else no one would listen to them long enough to care what they said.”

He had to bite back his own smile at that. “Then perhaps you ought to apply to the House of Commons, Miss Arlen. It seems you would make an excellent member.”

“Are you calling me a comic, my lord?” She arched that single eyebrow at him, a trick he wished he had learned given how artful it appeared on her lovely face.

“Perhaps a wit.”

She laughed again, and the leaf shivered. Luca reached out a hand and plucked the leaf from its place. His quick movement startled Miss Arlen, so that she took a step back, catching her foot on a tree root.

Luca tried to catch her arm, but the branch above caught his hat, pulling him to a stuttering stop before dislodging the headpiece entirely. Miss Arlen caught herself after a few steps backward by grabbing at a thin branch. They both stood still a moment, the trees around them silent, staring at each other in wide-eyed horror.

An apology formed in his mind, though one of the English words he needed in order to make it proper eluded him—

Miss Arlen snorted. Not a sound he expected from a well-bred woman. But he realized the noise was made as she attempted to quell a laugh. Her eyes danced merrily, and then she put a hand up to point at the top of his head. “You have a leaf—” Then her laughter poured out, like water from a fountain, bubbling with absolute glee.

He put his hand atop his bare head. She was right. When the branches had snatched his hat, and they’d left a leaf in his tousled hair. He narrowed his eyes at it, then paired it with the yellow leaf he’d plucked from her bonnet. “A matched set.”

“Perfect.” She stepped out of the branches, then bent to retrieve his hat from the ground. “Lord Atella.” She held it out to him.

He accepted it from her, looking down into her bright, open gaze. “Thank you, Miss Arlen.” He tucked the leaves into his coat pocket without thinking. When he realized what he had done, he grimaced and put his hat on. “This is not how I thought this walk would be.”

She looked behind when there was a crash in the brush, and he turned to see Lord Farleigh. “Ah, there you are. I began to think everyone had left me behind on purpose.”

Miss Arlen went to his side, looping her arm through the earl’s. “It is not our fault you are so terribly slow. Perhaps if you actually used that stick, you’d move faster.”

Luca sighed and followed along behind them. When they crested the little rise in the land, the path opened at last. The village lay beneath them, and Lady Josephine and Sir Andrew were at its boundary, looking back. They had finally realized how far ahead of their group they were.

Not at all how I thought it would be. Getting near Lady Josephine on a walk to the village ought to have been an easy matter. Instead, Luca brought up the rear of their party alone. How would he ever get near enough to have a conversation with her? Let alone to flirt with her.

His conversation with Miss Arlen had flowed easily enough, in private.

Perhaps Luca needed to reconsider his strategy. Maybe it wasn’t enough for Miss Arlen to approve of him. Maybe he needed more from her.

Obtaining an English bride of high connection and rank was necessary to his career. No matter what Torlonia said.

Chapter Seven

Emma lounged on a cushion beneath an old oak, her shawl loose about her shoulders. Alice Sharpe sat next to her, spectacles upon her nose, sketching. The duke’s daughters were playing pall-mall with other ladies, while the men stood along the shore trying to form rowing teams.

All the young gentry—and the not-so-young chaperones and parents—had come at the duke’s invitation for what could well be the last outdoor event of the year.

A day at the lake, with country entertainment upon the shore, and sport for the men upon the water. Though the breeze sometimes felt a little cooler than Emma found comfortable, she enjoyed the spectacle of the scene.

“Aren’t you going to play?” Alice asked, not looking up from her work.

“Aren’t you?” Emma retorted.

Alice peered over the frames of