littered with vases, ampoules, and archaic statues set off by motes of dust hanging in the sunbeams. The floors shone with the beeswax, and the view from the windows, across the Bay of Naples to the distant offshore islands, took Emma’s breath away.
“This,” Sir William said, “will be your private drawing room. There is a comfortable apartment for you, Mrs Cadogan, which adjoins the music room. The bedchamber I have made ready for Emma is across from that, likewise overlooking the bay.”
If he knew how closely Mary Cadogan was examining him, he gave no sign, and it was a moot point as to whether the thoughts she harboured would have pleased or disturbed him. Now there was a solicitous air about the Chevalier quite at odds with his previous persona. He seemed too much the supplicant. Perhaps it was the charge of being host instead of guest, or even Emma’s mood. Shehad mentioned Greville when they came through the gates and her mother wondered, for all her daughter’s smiles and gracious acceptance , if that thought was still with her.
“You will find much to occupy you, my dear,” Sir William continued, addressing Emma. “I have engaged both a music and a singing teacher to continue the lessons you had in London. Since you are to be here for some time I have also taken the liberty of asking a few of my friends to converse with you in the language. That, I find, is the best way to learn.”
“I must write to Charles, to tell him of our arrival,” said Emma, brightly.
Sir William seemed rather crestfallen as he pointed to a set of double doors and said, “The materials you require are on the escritoire in the music room.”
“Thank you.”
Emma headed for the doors, which were opened and closed behind her by one of the servants. Only then did Sir William give Mary Cadogan any real attention. And when he spoke to her, the tenderness he had shown Emma slipped somewhat, to be replaced by a hurt tone. “A letter to Charles could surely wait awhile.”
“Not for a second, Sir William. Scarce an hour has passed since we departed London that he was not mentioned.”
He waved a hand towards the large windows, and the Bay of Naples beyond, gleaming in the sunlight. “This generally gives people pause. Their arrival in Naples and first sight of the view is held to be an occasion to remember.”
“There’s little doubt she would rather spend any occasion with your nephew than here, pretty aspects notwithstanding.”
The expression on the Chevalier’s face was a mixture of perplexity and disappointment. Quite clearly he had built up to the moment of arrival, only to find his hopes dashed by Emma’s behaviour. But that only lasted a second or two, his cheery air returning, although it was probably a mask. His hands waved elegantly once more towards the blue bay. “She will come to love those pretty aspects, Mrs Cadogan, as much as I do, I am sure of it.”
The temptation to issue a challenge, a demand to be let into whatever was going on, was as strong as it had been when she had talked to Greville. But Mary Cadogan resisted it. Happen it would emerge naturally. If not, she would ask in time, once Emma had settled in and she had her own feet well under the table. She had noticed that the Chevalier’s servants spoke good English. Quizzing them might produce something. Servants always knew what was going on.
Sir William Hamilton was an easy man to admire. He knew that Emma thrived in company, and made every effort to ensure that she was never without it. Into the apartments came an endless stream of visitors to add to the teachers. Count This and Baron That, visitors from home as well as half the countries of Europe, courtiers, doctors , writers, scientific thinkers, and artists, who begged to be allowed to paint her. All, whatever their speciality, paid court to her, which was hardly surprising since her radiant beauty was enhanced by the sunlight and warmth of the city, yet never did anyone go beyond
“This,” Sir William said, “will be your private drawing room. There is a comfortable apartment for you, Mrs Cadogan, which adjoins the music room. The bedchamber I have made ready for Emma is across from that, likewise overlooking the bay.”
If he knew how closely Mary Cadogan was examining him, he gave no sign, and it was a moot point as to whether the thoughts she harboured would have pleased or disturbed him. Now there was a solicitous air about the Chevalier quite at odds with his previous persona. He seemed too much the supplicant. Perhaps it was the charge of being host instead of guest, or even Emma’s mood. Shehad mentioned Greville when they came through the gates and her mother wondered, for all her daughter’s smiles and gracious acceptance , if that thought was still with her.
“You will find much to occupy you, my dear,” Sir William continued, addressing Emma. “I have engaged both a music and a singing teacher to continue the lessons you had in London. Since you are to be here for some time I have also taken the liberty of asking a few of my friends to converse with you in the language. That, I find, is the best way to learn.”
“I must write to Charles, to tell him of our arrival,” said Emma, brightly.
Sir William seemed rather crestfallen as he pointed to a set of double doors and said, “The materials you require are on the escritoire in the music room.”
“Thank you.”
Emma headed for the doors, which were opened and closed behind her by one of the servants. Only then did Sir William give Mary Cadogan any real attention. And when he spoke to her, the tenderness he had shown Emma slipped somewhat, to be replaced by a hurt tone. “A letter to Charles could surely wait awhile.”
“Not for a second, Sir William. Scarce an hour has passed since we departed London that he was not mentioned.”
He waved a hand towards the large windows, and the Bay of Naples beyond, gleaming in the sunlight. “This generally gives people pause. Their arrival in Naples and first sight of the view is held to be an occasion to remember.”
“There’s little doubt she would rather spend any occasion with your nephew than here, pretty aspects notwithstanding.”
The expression on the Chevalier’s face was a mixture of perplexity and disappointment. Quite clearly he had built up to the moment of arrival, only to find his hopes dashed by Emma’s behaviour. But that only lasted a second or two, his cheery air returning, although it was probably a mask. His hands waved elegantly once more towards the blue bay. “She will come to love those pretty aspects, Mrs Cadogan, as much as I do, I am sure of it.”
The temptation to issue a challenge, a demand to be let into whatever was going on, was as strong as it had been when she had talked to Greville. But Mary Cadogan resisted it. Happen it would emerge naturally. If not, she would ask in time, once Emma had settled in and she had her own feet well under the table. She had noticed that the Chevalier’s servants spoke good English. Quizzing them might produce something. Servants always knew what was going on.
Sir William Hamilton was an easy man to admire. He knew that Emma thrived in company, and made every effort to ensure that she was never without it. Into the apartments came an endless stream of visitors to add to the teachers. Count This and Baron That, visitors from home as well as half the countries of Europe, courtiers, doctors , writers, scientific thinkers, and artists, who begged to be allowed to paint her. All, whatever their speciality, paid court to her, which was hardly surprising since her radiant beauty was enhanced by the sunlight and warmth of the city, yet never did anyone go beyond
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