Man Of War

The address to which the portrait (and in due course, the copy) was to be despatched was indeed something that had occupied him a good deal. As he took his leave of Russell Square, he began once more to cast his mind over the options. In his heart, however, he knew there was none that recommended itself above the others, save perhaps Longleat; but then that would be to consign the image to a place with which yearly his connection diminished. The parsonage at Horningsham did not have walls for such a portrait; and his new wife could not be expected to welcome to their home the presence, even in likeness, of his former wife as well as daughter. In fact, he was already beginning to think his conduct somehow improper: was it not an act of infidelity to be engaged with Henrietta’s memory in this way? He could not convince himself that he did it for Georgiana alone; and Kezia might not therefore herself be convinced.

He quickened his pace, as he did, one way or another, when an intractable problem touched him. He began wondering if he should go to Golden Square, to see how were the arrangements for the pianoforte. So that he might salve his conscience a little? He shook his head. He must not deceive himself, no matter who else he might. Not that he wished to deceive anyone at all, except that he was ever uncertain who had title to a man’s inner thoughts. The secret things belong unto the Lord our God: he troubled over that verse of Scripture as much as he did over any other.

His thoughts returned to Peto, however. His friend had no family – none to speak of: if he did not recover sufficiently for the Admiralty to employ him, in however sedentary an appointment, how was he to be attended? He had wealth enough, Hervey was sure: he would be able to engage such help as was necessary. But how might his mind be occupied? That was the material question. How might such a man as Peto, whose life had been spent at sea and in the habit of command – and, it had to be said, who had received the cruellest rejection from the woman who would have been his wife – how might such a man be kept from despair? Did his old friend, as did he, harbour hopes that Elizabeth, even at this hour, would have a change of heart?

He had not seen his sister since putting her into the chaise at Greenwich; she had not written to him, or communicated with him in any way. Nor he with her. Neither would he, indeed. It was unthinkable now. And yet in not many weeks’ time she would bring Georgiana to Hanover Square and see her brother married to the woman who would thereafter supplant her in the role of guardian.

In this, too, there lay a concern: he had not spoken with Georgiana of his intentions, where they would live, how things were to be arranged. He had left the explanations to Elizabeth, as he had so much, and yet he had given his sister little enough information with which to allay the anxiety that Georgiana might have – must have, indeed, at least in some small measure. Why did he see these things only now? He had not, in truth, discussed any arrangements with Kezia. He had thought vaguely of engaging a governess to accompany them to the Cape, but more he had not been able to turn his mind to.

That evening he and Fairbrother dined at Holland Park. Kat had pressed him hard to do so before the week was out, pleading imminent necessity of leaving for Warwickshire to visit with her sister. And she was – she insisted – determined to meet Fairbrother properly, ‘for he is evidently of singular virtue to have secured your friendship’.

The only other guest was a dowager Irish countess, a near-neighbour in Connaught, who had known Kat’s mother since childhood, and who now lived in semi-seclusion at Portland Place. She greeted Fairbrother with a most quizzical look, Hervey too, until after a while she appeared suddenly at ease. ‘So you are Captain Hervey.’

Hervey was puzzled; they had been introduced, and for some time – for a whole glass of champagne indeed (and Kat had distinctly pronounced his rank). ‘I am, Lady Ballindine, though in point of fact it is “Colonel”.’

‘But you were “Captain”, were you not, these many years past, when you wrote to Lady Katherine from India?’

Hervey stopped himself from clearing his throat; the Countess of Ballindine evidently knew something of their acquaintance, and he hoped she did not intend revealing all of it. ‘Yes, I was, your ladyship. I received my majority but a year ago, and acting rank at the Cape Colony.’

‘Whither he returns in but a few months, Aunt,’ explained Kat, raising her voice very slightly.

Hervey had surmised that Lady Ballindine’s hearing was faulty, but it did not entirely explain her expression of surprise. He was certain she must know of their . . . friendship.

‘And with a new wife!’ added Kat (and with exaggerated pleasure, thought Hervey).