on good order and military discipline. ‘Johnson, would you take Miss Georgiana to see Gilbert. And she may sit him as you please.’
‘Right, sir,’ said Johnson, seemingly oblivious to the serjeant-major’s scowls. ‘Come on, miss. Thi father’s best charger is Gilbert. ’E’s just been ’ayed up, so ’e won’t be as nappy as ’e can be.’
Hervey watched as they walked the length of the standing stalls to the doors beyond, Georgiana stopping every so often to have a closer look at this trooper or that. She had her own eye for horses, he noted, even if at this stage it was more engaged by a lightish mane or a fuller tail than by bone or conformation.
‘With your leave, then, Miss Hervey, I’ll send word to my Caithlin that you’ll be calling?’
Elizabeth glanced at her brother. ‘I think that would be in order, Serjeant-major, don’t you, Matthew?’
‘Indeed, yes. I think it would be capital,’ he replied, still intent on Georgiana as she and Johnson left the lines for the charger stables. ‘I’ll order a basket for the chaise,’ he added, his thoughts distant.
‘Will you be coming back to Hounslow before you sail, sir?’ asked Armstrong, almost as absently.
Elizabeth looked at her brother all but open-mouthed.
The drive to London that afternoon was muted. Hervey had already told his sister, in a letter, that they would be staying at Holland Park, but he had not divulged his orders for Portugal. It was true that, at the time of writing, the precise date of his embarkation was unknown, but without doubt he had been in a position to give notice, and he wished fervently now that he had. Elizabeth was dismayed, in part angry even; she made no pretence otherwise. Georgiana, too, was disappointed. Neither seemed to him especially saddened (he was wrong in this too), and for that he was grateful. He resolved to make every effort during their time at Holland Park, every effort to be attentive and diverting. But he was not without anxiety about the coming three days.
In his letter he had explained to Elizabeth that they would be staying at the house of a general and his lady with whom he had become acquainted through the agency of the Duke of Wellington himself. He had omitted any further detail, and this he now sought to supply. He told her that Lieutenant-General Sir Peregrine Greville was absent on duty, but that Lady Katherine Greville would be just as delighted to receive them. She was of the Irish peerage, he explained, and therefore always glad of company. Elizabeth saw nothing amiss. Had she been entirely candid she would even have confessed to being somewhat relieved at not having to deal with Sir Peregrine, who she had imagined would be either port-filled or irascible, or even both.
It came as a great surprise to her, therefore, when she met Sir Peregrine’s youthful wife. Indeed, it was all she could do to stop herself remarking on her surprise. ‘We are very obliged to you, Lady Katherine. Especially since we learn that my brother is to leave these shores again so much sooner than we had ever imagined.’
‘Ah yes,’ replied Kat, affecting a bemused sort of frown. ‘The instant he heard there might be action he determined to go.’
Hervey felt his heart sinking, but could think of no way to stay the incriminating flow.
‘But we must thank Providence that it will be at the nearer side of the Mediterranean Sea instead of at the far distant one.’
Elizabeth looked puzzled, and there was an uncomprehending silence, until Hervey relieved it. ‘Lady Katherine refers to the Greek war. There are some who think we shall be engaged there too.’
Elizabeth stared at him as much as to say ‘you will be sure to tell me if you go?’
Hervey looked uncomfortable.
‘Well, it is but speculation,’ said Kat. ‘Though the Duke of Wellington, I think, would own that it should come to a fight. That is the import of his late mission to St Petersburg, is it not, Matthew?’
Elizabeth thought it was not so strange, perhaps, that Kat should call her brother by his first name, though it implied a degree of familiarity which she had not imagined to be the case. They quite evidently moved in the same circles, which was no doubt understandable, even though her brother was new-returned to England. And there was such a difference in the manners of the country and London. All the same, it made her just very slightly uneasy.
Georgiana liked her, though. This much was evident in her wide eyes. ‘Did you know my mama too, Lady Katherine?’ she asked blithely.
Kat smiled, an indulgent smile but a kind one. ‘No, my dear, I did not. And I very much regret it, because your father has told me you are the very model of your mother.’
‘Indeed? And who is Private Johnson, my dear?’
‘He is my father’s groom, Lady Katherine. He went all the way to India with him.’
Kat glanced at Hervey.
‘He has been with me a good age, ma’am. Since Spain, indeed.’
‘And shall he go with you there again?’
It was a detail that Hervey had not thought to share – certainly not here or now. ‘Well, I . . . Yes, I do believe he will.’
‘May I go too, then, Papa?’
Hervey felt the reins slipping through his fingers. He turned and looked at Elizabeth, hoping to hear from her the obvious objections.
But Elizabeth said nothing.
‘I think that an excellent idea, Georgiana,’ said Kat instead. ‘I myself went to Brussels before Waterloo. It was all excitement.’
Hervey looked at her, obviously puzzled. Sir Peregrine Greville had not, to his knowledge, been with the army in Belgium.
‘Oh, we had such levees and balls, my dear. All the officers came to Brussels and danced.’
Georgiana looked at her father again.
Hervey was unsure of her purpose.
‘Did you dance, Papa?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘I regret I did not have the opportunity.’
Kat was delighted both by the airs of this new-acquainted child of her lover, and by the child’s evident approval of her. Seeing the line was run (and nicely to her purpose, too), she decided to check. ‘Now, my dear, I expect you would like to see your bedchamber. And you too, Miss Hervey. Susan, my lady’s maid, shall show you. Ring for her, do, Matthew, when you will. And I shall show Georgiana hers myself. I would explain its prospect to her lest she not appreciate our view towards Richmond. It is very pretty, Georgiana; you may see tall sail on the river.’ She put a hand to Georgiana’s shoulder, and turned to Elizabeth. ‘I have rung for tea.’
Hervey was glad of the halt. Or rather he was until Elizabeth took up the line again when the two were gone.
‘Matthew, why cannot you take Georgiana to Lisbon? I would come too.’
‘No,’ he said at once. ‘It would be unsupportable. I could not discharge my duty properly if I thought my own family to be at risk.’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘Matthew, Georgiana is of an age to admire. She reveres the memory of Henrietta – as it is right and proper she does – and she would revere you too. Indeed, she
Hervey, standing with his head half inclined towards the French doors and the garden beyond, found himself under unusual duress. He had evidently hoped in vain that the drive from Hounslow would draw the sting of the sailing orders. And yet he was adamant. ‘It would not do. I cannot take the one or both of you.’
Elizabeth now looked vexed. She it had been who had prayed for his return to the Sixth when it seemed that despair would consume him, but never had she imagined so long an estrangement from his family – seven years, and all of them so very distantly spent. ‘Matthew, why did you contrive to go to Portugal, and so soon after returning home? It seems very ill to me, and would the more so to Georgiana were she to know.’
Hervey felt the sting especially hard in connection with Georgiana. ‘I am a soldier, Elizabeth!’
Elizabeth reddened. ‘There are whole barracks full of soldiers, Matthew – in every town almost. Are they too angling the while to have themselves sent abroad? Serjeant-Major Armstrong told me all about India. You did not
