Company Of Spears

Had he been on the point of making Isabella an offer of marriage? He had thought of it. He had certainly thought of the congress (rather too often). But there had been so many … difficulties. The matter of her religion, for one thing: what would the parsonage at Horningsham have made of it? But he recalled that he had not much cared what they would think. Isabella had saved – if not his life – then certainly his military honour. And if Laming had not sent him the note declaring his intention to marry her, would he not have ridden that night to Belem and proposed? Why hadn’t he anyway? Why had he not followed his true desire? Perhaps he had come to mistrust his own judgement (a cell in Badajoz was a powerful rebuke to self-esteem). And had he not thought that Laming was five times the better prospect for Isabella? But why had he presumed? Why had he not allowed Isabella the choice of which of them she would accept? Arrogant presumption indeed! But, in truth, had it not been because of obligation, obligation to the man who had just risked his own life and reputation to bring him out of Badajoz? Rather unhappiness than dishonour! But was that how a man of real flesh and blood acted? Was there not, truly, more honour in the breach than in the observance of such a desiccated code? He all but shrugged his shoulders: he, himself, could never judge it.

Emma looked excessively thoughtful. ‘And there is issue of the marriage – of Kezia Lankester’s, I mean. You have considered it?’

‘I have. I think it entirely felicitous, indeed … in the circumstances.’

Emma knew very well what he meant. And she admired him for his proper paternal instincts. She was not to be turned, however. ‘Matthew, I will speak plainly. Kezia Lankester … she is so very different from Henrietta.’

Hervey smiled in a mildly mocking way. ‘Every woman is very different from Henrietta.’

‘Do not be obtuse with me, Matthew; you know precisely what I mean.’

Hervey’s brow furrowed. ‘No, Emma, I do not believe that I do.’

Emma steeled herself. Their acquaintance went back a dozen years, to before Hervey and Henrietta Lindsay had wed. They had braved a good deal together in India. At one time she and Henrietta had been close, before Emma had given up society in London to join her brother in Madras. ‘Matthew, as I remember her and as you have told me, albeit indirectly, Henrietta was … a passionate woman.’ She reddened a little. ‘Kezia Lankester is undoubtedly a very fine woman; she will make you a very proper wife, and no doubt be a very acceptable mother to Georgiana, but … I believe her to be—’

Hervey took pity on her, and himself. ‘Emma, you are very good. I do not in the least degree mind what you have said, but Kezia Lankester is still, to all intents and purposes, in mourning. I do not suppose for one moment that we see her former self. Ivo Lankester was the very best of men.’

Emma sighed to herself. ‘Matthew, I think you do not always allow for men being so very different from each other. Women too.’

Hervey was astonished. He knew men well enough, and he fancied he had not lived an entirely cloistered life. ‘My dear Emma, I believe that these past twenty years have made me see entirely otherwise!’

Emma said nothing. She perceived that her difficulties lay not merely in having her fond friend see his intended for her true nature, but himself too. Instead she took his arm and deflected the conversation to the planting at the Moghul pools, thinking it altogether better to leave the matter until they were gone from Sezincote – for the long drive back to London, perhaps.

In the evening the party dined at Adlestrop. Hervey had opportunity again to speak with Kezia Lankester at dinner, but not so as to have any chance to advance his suit. Kezia herself was attentive, even at times almost talkative, but Hervey could gain no impression of what her answer might be were he at that moment able to propose. But, he reflected, the dinner table was hardly the place … though it had been at the table, those seven years ago, that Kat had first played him, quite without compunction.

The next day, Sunday, the party attended morning prayer at the Reverend Mr Castle’s church. It was not an enlivening interlude, for Hervey at least, brought up as he had been in a less severe school of church-manship, and it was at least half an hour too long (and that principally the sermon), but it did afford him a pleasant drive in the same carriage as Kezia, together with Somervile and Emma, who both talked prodigiously and warmly, thereby better disposing the atmosphere (he supposed) to his purposes.

In the afternoon, the four house guests were left to their own devices, and Somervile and Emma said they would take books to the orangery. Hervey asked Kezia if she would accompany him around the water garden (she had seen a part of it; he had not). She agreed at once, and evidently with some pleasure.