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

“Sì, I know. I only thought this would be simpler.”

Miss Arlen tilted her head to an angle which suggested she well understood that he’d revealed something he had not intended her to know. Perhaps she recognized the desperation in his voice. Perhaps she thought him pathetic. What sort of man needed this much assistance in the early stages of a courtship? A foolish one. He ought to forget the whole thing and take a vow of celibacy. The monks who had educated him for five long years would approve.

* * *

Never had Emma seen a man as open and vulnerable as the conte. Lord Atella had not held himself with the arrogance she and Josephine abhorred in others, but he had been closed and solemn. Here she began to understand why. Somehow, the poor man had never learned the trade secrets of Society. In some cases, that would put him at a disadvantage. In others, such as this moment, it made him most endearing.

It was almost a shame that Josephine had no romantic interest in him. She could only count such openness in a husband to his credit.

Perhaps Emma could keep her word to Josephine and help Lord Atella.

If she provided a distraction to him by helping him acclimate to the world of flirtations and courtships, she would do him a service. If Josephine liked what came out of it, she might grant Lord Atella an opportunity, at least.

On his end of the bench, the man’s entire posture indicated defeat.

“Surely you have entertained a tendre for a woman before, my lord,” she said, somewhat hesitantly.

“I am afraid there have been few opportunities for me to exchange more than a few pleasantries with the wives and daughters of other dignitaries. I was educated first in a Sicilian monastery and then at the university in Vienna. Then I lived at the Spanish court, learning all I could about the politics between the Two Sicilies and Spain. There has been little time for anything else.”

“You have put aside all personal pursuits for your political passion.” The single-minded dedication might be admirable, and it explained what she had already observed. “Which means you do not know how to enjoy yourself in a more informal environment.” Poor man.

He lifted his head, glancing at her, then abruptly resumed his severe posture and frown. “I enjoy many things outside of the political arena, Miss Arlen.”

“Do you enjoy other people?”

He stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“Do you enjoy being near people? Interacting with them?”

“I am an ambassador—”

“That is your position, yes.” Emma tried to sound encouraging. “Part of your role is to understand people. But do you enjoy being around others? At social functions, at balls, at parties? Or do you only enter each new situation with a view to how to use it politically?”

She saw when he understood, as his eyes slowly widened in comprehension.

“I—I have not ever—that is to say—” He wiped a hand down his face, and his frustration slipped out in his native tongue. “Sono ridicolo.”

Emma regarded him quietly, sorting out her initial impression of the conte with what she now knew of him. The new picture she formed of him gave her pause. He needed a great deal of help.

“All right. Let us begin with something simple. The picnic yesterday—you enjoyed it?” she asked.

He nodded but did not speak, his gaze trained on the floor.

“And you enjoy literature, based on our previous conversations. And music.”

“Sì, certo,” he agreed, quietly.

“Then I suppose you are not a complete monster.”

His head finally came up, his wide-eyed gaze colliding with hers. Emma grinned at him without reserve, then laughed when his expression relaxed with his understanding.

“And you do not mind when others jest.”

“No. Not when it is in good taste.” He gestured to her. “But is this enough for English women?”

“For some. Is it enough for Lady Josephine? We will have to see.” She stood, and he hastened to do the same. Then Emma crossed her arms and examined him again, peering into his dark eyes. If only she knew of a lady who would suit him. Then she could turn his attentions and his talents in another direction entirely. “Lord Atella, what is something you do well? Something interesting or entertaining. Do you ride? Sketch? Play an instrument?”

“I ride. And I fence. I sing.”

“Sing?” Her eyebrows came up. “That could be useful during an evening of music. Fencing is excellent, too. Simon and Andrew both fence, so there would be opportunity to show that off.” Emma tapped her fingers along her arm. “There are races in October, the same week that we have our harvest market.”

“Harvest market?” He realized the loose lock of his hair had fallen onto his forehead, for he suddenly began to brush at it. Trying to make it stay upon the top of his head.

“Yes. There are markets every month, of course, but this one is special. His Grace always pays for minstrel shows and hosts the games and races.”

“That is generous of him, to pay to entertain the entire community.” The ambassador dropped his hand to his side. “You think I should race?”

“I do.” Emma’s grin grew slowly. “Among other things.”

For a moment, the man’s eyes widened, and she saw in them some measure of alarm. Rather than reassure him, Emma turned away and paced to one of the young trees kept indoors, away from the changeable weather. Let him be uneasy for a time. Perhaps a little more alertness would help him.

“How will doing these things win the favor of Lady Josephine?” he asked while her back was turned.

Emma stroked a leaf on the tree, rubbing its soft velvety texture in her hand, and considered what she might say and still maintain honesty. “You will draw her attention for the best reason—you will enjoy yourself. In short order, you might invite her to join you.”

“Is there anything more…?” he asked, sounding plaintive.

“Yes.” She turned