The Divine Lady: A Romance of Nelson and Emma Hamilton

by L. Adams Beck

It decidedly impressed Hamilton. A good-natured cynic, knowing his world thoroughly, he began to believe that here was the blue rose of all sexual dreams. He had not the faintest objection to Emma’s past if it had not degraded her mind, and if he could trust the close observer Greville and his own knowledge it certainly had not done that. And in her company he would be absolutely secure because every kindness must be received as a benefit and it was impossible that the question of marriage should ever arise and disappoint her.

He wrote more and more eagerly to Greville and the shabby plot developed apace; but it never occurred to either that it was shabby. On the contrary, the girl was so ignorant of the world and so helpless as regards her future that to plot her a happy and secure one was a kindness to deserve eternal gratitude. If, incidentally, it suited both of them also, why, so much the better!

Greville at last, however, felt the time had come to be outspoken for it was clearly his rôle to lead the way and Sir William was warily silent. He spoke at full length of the happiness of the experiment he had made, which must now, alas! come to an end through poverty, and added:

“If you did not choose a wife, I wish the tea-maker of Edgware Row was yours. I do not know how to part with what I am not tired with. I do not know how to go on, and I give her every merit of prudence and moderation and affection. She shall never want. I should not write to you thus if I did not think you seemed as partial as I am to her. She would not hear at once of any change, and from no one that was not liked by her. I think I could secure her near £100 a year. With parting with part of my virtu I can secure it to her. If I could go on I would never make this arrangement. And as she is too young and handsome to retire into a convent or the country, and is honourable and honest and can be trusted, after reconciling myself to the necessity I consider where she could be happy. I know you thought me jealous of your attention to her. Judge then, as you know my satisfaction in looking on a modern piece of virtu, if I do not think you a second self.”

Sir William, reading this by a window looking on the blue bay glittering in Italian sunshine, smiled to himself, a smile of mixed ingredients. He saw most of Greville’s reasons for this affair as plainly as the writer himself. He was perfectly aware of the position opened up for Greville if he should remarry. He was perfectly clear as to the advantages to Greville of a connection which would entangle his feet in roses and keep him away from the prosaic paths of married security and a possible and inconvenient family. But all this appeared to him entirely natural, even commendable. How could Charles be expected to reason otherwise? And for his own part he had no temptations to marriage. At his age he had no desire to set up a family which he could never hope to see grow up. There would be much more to spend on the collection of virtu and other amusements if he had not a wife to support in the state of an ambassador. Emma was the most fascinating woman he had ever beheld, and for Greville he had the habit of an affection which, if not warm, was sincere.

He wrote a letter of guarded encouragement and asked if there were any definite plan to be put before him.

The one question which might have cried a halt had never occurred to his mind. Was Greville tired of her, and if so why? No, that point had been too carefully guarded. He really sympathized with poor Charles’ self-sacrifice. He wrote with extreme caution a half assent, and left the formal proposal to Greville. The letter came speedily in answer.

“If you could form a plan by which you could have a trial, and could invite her and tell her I ought not to leave England and state it as a kindness to me if she would accept your invitation she would go with pleasure. And if you could write an answer to this and inclose a letter to her I could manage it and either by land, by the coach to Geneva, and from thence by Vetturino forward her, or else by sea. After a month and absent from me she would consider the whole more calmly. If there was in the world a person she loved so well as yourself after me, I could not arrange with so much sang-froid and I am sure I would not let her go to you if any risque of the usual coquetry of the sex were likely to give uneasiness.”

This was accepted.

So it was settled, and now remained Emma, the essential part of the delightful plan. He was not in the least alarmed. A charming settlement in charming rooms in charming Naples and under the august protection of the British Ambassador—Good God! what a fortune, what promotion for a woman in Emma’s position! She might thank her stars for such immense good luck. And her mother with her—her old cook of a mother to be honoured in only a lesser degree! Indeed, Greville, sitting in the solitude of the parlour of Edgware Row, could not but contrast his own action very handsomely with the code of most of the men he knew with regard to mistresses who had ceased to please. A letter for her was enclosed, as he had desired. He heard her running down the stair and called her in.