The Tatler guide to dating a lord Part 2 - Lord Nelson

08 Apr 2014

What would it be like to date Lord Nelson? Clare Bennett imagines...

Rex Features

The trouble is, you believed the hype. 'He's got that lovely place in Norfolk,' they all said, 'and his own column and everything.'

Your mother's fantasy that you will one day end up titled means she has taken to mouthing 'Viscountess Nelson' and making saucer eyes at you every time his back is turned.

The reality of dating Lord Nelson is rather different. He's been at sea for most of your relationship. Yes, his letters are good, but they take SUCH a long time to arrive and every time you see him, it feels like yet another piece of him is missing. Literally. His right eye looks OK, but he can't see a thing out of it. The eyepatch he intermittently wears, however, has proved to be amusing on occasion, especially when he lets you borrow it so you can chase him round the house, shouting, 'Ye come seeking adventure and salty pirates, eh?'

He's finally on leave again. When the bell goes, you find him on the doorstep in full naval uniform ('Cor,' you're thinking) but he looks a bit... like he's lost his right arm.

He nods to the mountains of luggage, from months away, that surround him. 'Sorry,' he says, walking past you into the hall. You find yourself having to heave it upstairs. Gosh, those trunks are heavy.

You come back down to find him swaying in the kitchen. 'Damned sea legs,' he says gruffly.

'I'm just finishing supper,' you smile brightly. 'Why don't you open a bottle of wine?'

He looks down at the empty sleeve tucked into his smart naval coat. 'Sorry,' he says again.

'No, no, I'll do it,' you say, wrestling with the cork yourself.

He lurches over to the table asking what's for supper.

'Beef,' you say proudly. 'Just a few more minutes to go, so it's just the way you like it.'

'Time is everything,' he says bossily. 'Five minutes make the difference between victory and defeat.'

'All right, all right, I'll check it now,' you say, rolling your eyes as you go to the oven. If only he would stop talking to you like you were on his crew. 'I do know what I'm doing,' you add crossly.

'First, you must always implicitly obey orders, without attempting to form any opinion of your own regarding their propriety. Secondly, you must consider every man your enemy who speaks ill of your king; and thirdly, you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil,' he says, thinking you haven't seen him getting his phone out and starting to text badly with his left hand.

'If you're messaging Lady Hamilton, I am going to LOSE IT,' you shriek. You don't like to think of yourself as paranoid, but sometimes it feels like there are three of you in this relationship.

He shrugs. 'All private considerations must give way to duty, however painful it may be,' he says before reeling off to take his malaria pills and play Battleship on his Xbox.