“To look at you and enjoy your presence is to be repaid with interest!” said the Ambassador, and meant it from the bottom of his heart. He was approaching the age when it is easier to find pleasures at home than to go abroad to seek them, and there was a warm atmosphere of comfort, of woman’s sweet serviceable ways about him there in which he was apt to purr like a contented cat. She knew his liking by instinct, divined a wish before he uttered it, and with Greville’s guiding taste the surroundings in Edgware Row could not offend even the Hamilton fastidiousness. The little maid-servant, added to the establishment in honour of his frequent coming, would rush radiant to “Mrs. Hart” when his step was in the garden, and well she might, for Sir William’s generous hand was often in his pocket even for the humble Molly Dring, while, as to Emma, she was the shrine of many and costly offerings, and he seldom came without a parcel to be opened with pretty cries of delight, and little shrieks to Greville to come and see what “our dear, dear uncle” has brought. She had offered to be either his “obliged humble servant or his affectionate niece,” and he voted for the niece.
Those were halcyon days for Emma. She had never been so happy. She believed the cause to be that Greville was more contented than she had seen him for many a long day; kinder, less critical, more indulgent. The narrow limit of expense was enlarged for Sir William, the expeditions to the gaieties of London were more frequent, Sir William’s calm good-nature was a mellowing sunshine on all the little asperities which disturbed her. Privately, deep in the recesses of her own heart, she encouraged dreams that Sir William’s affection for her might lead to her marriage with Greville. If he approved, insisted, made the way easy from the money side of affairs, she felt she could not doubt what the end would be. She redoubled every attention to both her men. Every impulse to quick temper was ruled and governed. The sweet eyes which welcomed Sir William or smiled on Greville were dove’s eyes for softness, and to crown all, she topped the part of the perfect housewife with the brilliant accomplishments which astonished Sir William beyond the very bounds of prudence.
Gavin Hamilton, the cousin artist, came often to study and sketch the wonder. He, too, succumbed to her fascinations. She was “a Roman beauty, opulent, luxuriant, dominating, the perfect classic re-animated for the rapture of the eighteenth century,” and his admiration fanned Sir William’s into flame, while Greville watched with silent pleasure, permitting the matter now to take its own safe course, and Emma expanded daily in the atmosphere of warm caressing admiration which was her soul’s delight. She grew more beautiful, more brilliant, every day in that delicious sunshine; responsive as a flower. Endless were her dreams. If Greville married her, why then she might hope he would admit the little Emma as one of the circle. Why not? It could not be spoken, not hinted as yet; but once married, domestic pressure is slow but sure and she could imagine a future when Sir William might invite his nephew and niece with the small adopted daughter to do the honours for him at the Palazzo Sessa whilst he sank gently more and more into the interests of his antiquities and left the world to them. On that stage Emma was certain she could dazzle. The Honourable Mrs. Charles Greville could have no uncertainties she thought, so, when he spoke of going she took his hand and squeezed it nervously with wet eyes and implored him to delay. Indeed, the vast villa with its troops of gabbling servants seemed dull enough after the amenities of Edgware Row. He was in no hurry.
Greville wanted, however, to get him to himself and that seemed impossible with all the interests of Paddington Green.
“I think, my dear Hamilton, it is really time you should see with your own eyes the developments of the Milford estates. As you know, I have been there constantly, but the master’s eye—I think I must have your instructions on the spot. Time flies and you will be off to Naples again before long.”
“Exactly. You’re perfectly in the right. But presently will do. I have told San Severino that he must hear Emma sing and he can’t come until next week. He will be perfectly infatuated. If she should ever visit Naples that will be an unrivalled introduction.”
And when that week was done and Greville again protested gently.
“Yes, my dear boy, certainly. You are wisdom and goodness itself but the Principe di Barberini swears he will not leave England until he has seen her Attitudes, and I am training her for the Proserpina on the plain of Enna. After that—”
After that Greville would take no denial. He must, he would prepare the way still further for the Great Plan, though much was to be entrusted to letters when Sir William was gone. Letters can be considered, slips carefully avoided. Greville much preferred letters.
Sir William would not hear of Emma’s being left alone in Edgware Row while they went down to Wales. Could she not come with them? No, Greville was certain that could not be. They would be moving too quickly for her, would be engrossed with business at Milford.