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Carmela, who had retired from the table and was sitting on the cushioned window seat reading an improving work, put her book down with a sharp slap. Her face glowered.
‘I mean no disrespect to you, cousin, but nothing on earth would induce me to attend that woman’s party.’
‘Carmela, how is this? She may not be precisely to our taste, but she is a great noblewoman,’ Alfredo chided her.
‘Is that what you call it? We have a different word for it in Spain.’
He looked warningly at her and then back to Domino.
‘What is that, Carmela?’ Domino asked innocently.
Her cousin compressed her lips. ‘Suffice to say that she is a married woman, but does not behave as one. She would not be welcome at any house belonging to our family.’
Domino looked shocked. ‘You mean she has lovers?’
Carmela appeared to struggle with herself for a moment, but then decided where her duty lay.
‘I do not generally indulge in idle gossip, as I hope you know,’ she said repressively, ‘but I think it right that you should be on your guard. In the few weeks we have been in Brighton I have heard disquieting things about the Duchess of Severn. I believe that her current lover has followed her here and is even now residing at the Pavilion.’
Domino glanced at her father, urgently seeking his reassurance, but no denial was forthcoming. His face was set and he refused to meet her eyes. Suddenly she understood. Joshua Marchmain was that lover. That was why he had been so irritated at the Chapel Royal. He had not wanted her to make the duchess’s acquaintance, had not wanted her to know the truth of their supposed friendship. She felt herself flushing hotly, embarrassed at having been so naïve. Flushing, too, with a kind of pain. But why on earth did she feel that? Had she been stupid enough to think there was any kind of connection between them?
It was true that he had singled her out at her father’s reception and engaged her in lengthy conversation. He had even talked sensibly and interestingly about art. But that was misleading. She should remember her first encounter with him as she walked by the sea; his conduct had been predatory, light-hearted and amusing, it was true, but nevertheless predatory. Even outside the church on Sunday he had not been able to resist throwing out lures to her. He was a womaniser for whom every female was fair game, even as his mistress was living a mere stone’s throw away. The thought of visiting Steine House was loathsome.
A few days later, an unwelcome message arrived at Marine Parade. Señor de Silva was required to return to London immediately. News had arrived from Spain too confidential to be entrusted to a messenger and it was necessary for the ambassador to post up to Manchester House. He would spend only one night away, but it looked unlikely that he would return to Brighton in time for Charlotte Severn’s soirée.
Alfredo was faced with a quandary. He had no wish to expose his daughter to the malign influence of Steine House without his protection but, at the same time, he knew that it was essential he was represented at what would be a prestigious affair. He would let Domino herself decide.
‘I hardly like to ask this of you, my dear,’ he began tentatively, ‘but would you be willing to go to the duchess’s concert by yourself for a short while? I could no doubt arrange for an older lady to take you under her wing until I return. Once I am back in Brighton, I will make haste to join you at Steine House. Or perhaps Carmela could swallow her misgivings? If she would agree to attend, it would make things a great deal more comfortable.’
The women’s despondent expressions hardly promised comfort. Attending the event without the support of Señor de Silva was the last thing either of them wished to contemplate. But they both found themselves agreeing to his suggestion, Domino because she loved her father dearly and knew that he would not ask this of her unless it was necessary and Carmela because the family’s honour was at stake and that was sufficient to call forth her loyalty.
So it was that at six o’clock on a balmy Friday evening the two of them set off in a hired carriage for Steine House. It had an infamous reputation, for it was the home the Regent had purchased for his long-standing mistress and unofficial wife, Maria Fitzherbert. She still resided there and was hardly ever seen beyond its walls, though the Prince was said even now to visit her frequently, despite a legal marriage and many subsequent lovers. Rumour insisted that a tunnel ran via the adjoining Marlborough House to the basement of the royal palace. The Duke of Severn was an old friend of Mrs Fitzherbert and he and his wife were always made welcome in her home when they visited the town. The duke in particular could not bear to live permanently in the overheated Pavilion and always availed himself of this hospitality.
The whispers that swirled around Steine House could only sharpen the aversion both Domino and her cousin felt at having to enter its portals. But when their carriage stopped outside, they saw only a graceful white stucco building with an Italian-style façade and a trellised verandah and balcony. A balustrade of carved ironwork led up a single flight of steps to a heavily ornamented glass door. Domino pinned on what she hoped was a polite smile and made ready to greet her hosts. She received a courteous welcome, the duke seeming to her young eyes horribly withered and old. No wonder the duchess looked elsewhere, she found herself musing, then promptly castigated herself for such an appalling thought. Steine House was already having a noxious effect. Once inside the main door, they were directed up a bamboo and iron staircase to a salon from which the strains of music could already be heard.
‘This is the staircase Lord Barrymore once rode his horse up for a bet,’ Carmela hissed in her ear.
Domino paused on the staircase, startled for a moment by her staid cousin’s incongruous knowledge of ton gossip. Where on earth did she hear such stories? As she stood balanced on one foot, she caught sight of her reflection in the long pier glass at the top of the stairs. She was pleased with what she saw. The apricot silk she had chosen, trimmed with gold edging and worn with an overdress of cream-coloured gauze, set off the creamy olive of her complexion perfectly. Her glossy ebony curls hung naturally to her neck in ringlets this evening and her eyes were sparkling, if only in apprehension. Carmela leaned forwards and tapped her wrist sharply with her fan, a painful reminder that in her cousin’s book any sign of vanity was sinful.
In a few moments they were in the large salon, a huge scarlet cavern of a room hung with red satin curtains and upholstered in red plush velvet. A uniformed footman ushered them to one of the rows of little gold chairs that had been arranged in the shape of a wide semi-circle. Domino sat down gingerly on one of the tiny chairs.
‘Be careful, Carmela,’ she warned, ‘these chair legs are so thin that one false fidget and the sound of matchwood will drown out the string quartet.’
Carmela permitted herself a slight smile and looked searchingly around the room. ‘I see nobody who came to our reception,’ she remarked disappointedly. ‘How strange when a most famous soprano is to sing.’
‘Evidently they have decided to miss the delights on offer.’ Including Joshua Marchmain, she noted wryly.
She told herself she was glad that at least this evening she would not have to face him. Yet, unaccountably, she felt a pang of disappointment. She had enjoyed her tour of the Grove Gallery. True, she had been put out of countenance once or twice by his infelicitous remarks, but she had spent nigh on an hour in his company discussing nothing more incendiary than art and European travel. He was interesting and intelligent, and though he had visited places she could only dream of, he had not made her feel the gauche girl she knew herself to be.
But rumour had named him the lover of any number of married women, including Charlotte Severn. Could rumour have possibly lied? In her heart she knew it could not. Mr Marchmain was a thorough-going rake and, if the sensations of her own unruly body were anything to judge by, he did not have to work too hard for his success. The shaft of intense desire that had pierced her so suddenly and so unexpectedly signalled clearly that she was in danger of being drawn into a whirlpool of feeling, with him at its centre. It was well for her that he was not here this evening.
‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the illustrious soprano, Bianca Bonelli.’
The duke led the famous singer, who had journeyed from Milan at his request, to a raised platform, kissing her hand enthusiastically while the string quartet began to play the opening piece of music. Domino set herself to listen with what she hoped was a thoughtful expression.
A late-arriving Joshua, hovering in the doorway, spotted her immediately and almost laughed aloud at her face, screwed up in concentration—or was that pain? If it was, it was a pain he shared. He made a swift escape to the library, where he would not be disturbed, but from where he could still hear the concert’s end.
And end it did, with a great deal of relief on Domino’s part. Carmela wore her usual severe expression but her spontaneous applause made clear her enjoyment. Hardly surprising, Domino thought, for the music had evinced a moral seriousness sufficient even for her cousin. The latter seemed eager to meet the musicians personally and, when the duchess suddenly appeared at their side, Carmela was whisked away for introductions and Domino found herself led by Charlotte into an adjoining salon where liveried footmen were circulating with drinks and canapés.
Her Grace deftly lifted two large flutes of champagne from a passing tray and said with an enticing smile, ‘I am so pleased you were able to come, Miss de Silva, as I collect your father has been forced to post back to London on urgent business.’
‘Indeed, Your Grace. He sends his most sincere apologies and will make every effort to join us this evening.’
‘I understand,’ she cooed, ‘and really it matters not. You are my prize, after all. I was entranced when we met at the Chapel Royal on Sunday and have spent all week wishing to know more of you.’
Domino doubted that very much. The woman’s insincerity was blatant, but she managed a gentle smile in response.
‘Tell me, do,’ the duchess continued, ‘how long are we to have the pleasure of your company in Brighton?’
‘For the Season, ma’am. I have undertaken to stay with my father while the Court is absent from London.’
For a moment the expression on her hostess’s face suggested she was not best pleased by this news, but she rallied immediately.
‘How delightful, for we are also destined to be here until the Prince returns to Carlton House. Let us toast our new acquaintanceship, Miss de Silva. I am sure we will be the best of friends.’
Domino could not think so, but politely raised her glass. Champagne bubbles shot up her nose and she had difficulty in preventing herself sneezing.
‘You see,’ Charlotte continued, ‘one meets so few new people in Brighton, the same dreary crowd year after year. So when a bright new star appears, one is drawn immediately towards them.’
Domino concluded that she must be the bright star, but was at a loss how to answer. She need not have worried, for the duchess was now in full flow.
‘You are so beautiful, my dear, and have such charming manners, that I prophesy prodigious success for you—you will be the toast of the town.’
This was so patently absurd that Domino was hard put not to laugh aloud. She knew herself to be well enough but, against the duchess’s blonde perfection, she was nothing. And she certainly had no ambition to take Brighton by storm. Quite the opposite—she anticipated several agreeable months by the sea, close to her father, before she returned to Spain to make the decision of her life.
The duchess continued to talk while she sipped her champagne. The drink was gradually becoming more acceptable, and when her companion substituted her empty glass for another fizzing to the brim, she hardly noticed. When the older woman took her by the hand, she allowed herself to be expertly steered through the crowd towards a smaller chamber at the far end of the salon.
‘In proof of my friendship, Miss de Silva—but may I call you Domino? Such a sweet and unusual name—I would very much like you to meet some particular friends of mine. Just a few congenial spirits whom I know you will esteem.’
Her head had begun to spin a little, but she retained enough caution to remind her hostess that Carmela should be with them.
‘But naturally, my dear. I shall introduce you to a few dear companions and then collect your cousin and bring her instantly to you.’
They were through the door before Domino could protest further. The room they entered, though smaller than the salon, was still a substantial size, thickly carpeted and curtained, deadening all sound and cutting the space adrift from the outside world. A number of people were gathered around three large tables set at different angles in the room; even in her befuddled state, she knew instantly that this was a gaming room. She pulled back sharply.
‘I am honoured, Your Grace, that you should wish to introduce me to your friends,’ she stumbled, ‘but I do not play cards or any other game of chance.’
‘Allow me to advise you, my dear, since you are still so very young.’ The duchess’s voice was honey. ‘You have undertaken to play the role of hostess for your father. In England, you know, polite society expects always to have the opportunity to indulge in games of chance and a hostess must be as well versed in them as her guests.’
‘I thank you again, Your Grace, but I do not gamble.’
‘Who said anything about gambling? Just a few friendly games, my dear.’
Domino felt deeply uncomfortable. She was finding it very difficult to continue refusing her hostess, but games of chance, whether money passed hands or not, were something she had sworn never again to engage in. She had learned her lesson all too well the last time she was in England. Gambling had a fatal attraction for her and she could not risk getting involved. But she could hardly say this to someone she barely knew, to a woman who occupied such an exalted position. Her head was definitely swimming now and her legs feeling decidedly unsafe. She felt the duchess’s hand on her shoulder and began to sink downwards to the waiting chair. The faces around the table looked up at her expectantly. In the distance other faces at other tables blurred into a misty vision. She longed to get away but she could not, in politeness, leave. Surely just one hand of cards would not matter. She would satisfy the demands of hospitality and then depart straight away. She took hold of the arms of the chair, making ready to sit down, and the support made her feel slightly less shaky. She smiled hazily at the assembled company and then, out of the blur, a face swam into her vision. A dark, wolfish, horribly familiar face. Leo Moncaster!
Chapter Three
She gave a sudden choke, shaken by an irrational panic, and would have collapsed but for a supportive hand at her elbow.
‘Miss de Silva? How nice to see you here,’ Joshua Marchmain was saying smoothly. ‘I hope you found the music to your taste.’
‘Yes, indeed, thank you,’ she stuttered.
He was holding his arm out to her and she took it. Nervously she glanced at the woman who stood at her left side. Charlotte Severn’s eyes were narrowed, but there was no mistaking the daggers she was sending forth.
‘The concert was delightful, was it not? And such a privilege to hear Signora Bonelli. I believe she is judged one of the finest sopranos of our day.’ His voice was unruffled, but even while he spoke he was skilfully extricating the apricot silk from the entanglements of chair and table.
By now the duchess had regained her composure and, in a gesture of seeming warmth, clasped hold of Domino’s other arm.
‘But must you go already?’ she addressed the girl directly, excluding Joshua from the conversation. ‘I am delighted that you enjoyed our small concert, but do stay for the rest of the evening’s entertainments.’
Her head still whirling, Domino was caught between the two and had no idea how to cope with the dreadful situation. It was one scenario that the etiquette books failed to mention.
Joshua locked glances with the duchess. His voice was imperturbable as ever, but there was an edging of steel that Domino had never heard before.
‘It does not seem, Your Grace, that card playing holds much attraction for Miss de Silva, so I will engage to reunite her with her cousin.’
Leaving their hostess stranded with outstretched hand, he propelled Domino firmly towards the door and whisked her through it. Once on the other side he cut a swathe through the milling crowd to arrive unerringly at Carmela’s side. Her cousin wore a worried expression, which rapidly turned to exasperation once she saw Domino safe and well. She nodded curtly to Joshua and grabbed Domino by the arm. Social politeness was brushed aside and, without waiting to bid their hosts goodbye, Carmela made for the bamboo staircase. The carriage had been ordered and was already waiting outside.
Catching her breath at the head of the stairs, Domino had only time to glance briefly over her shoulder. Joshua Marchmain had not spoken a word as they’d threaded their way through the crowded room, but now she saw him in conversation with the duchess, their heads close and talking animatedly together. Her heart lurched as she took in the intimacy of the little tableau. But why did the image cause her such distress? All the while Carmela was bundling her down the stairs and into the coach, she struggled to find an answer. Why on earth should Joshua’s relationship with the duchess matter? She knew them to be lovers—naturally they would have much to say to each other. He would be keen to explain his absence from the concert and to excuse his intervention with Domino, even keener no doubt to make an assignation with his mistress for later that evening. It all made perfect sense, but it only served to intensify her misery.
Unknown to Domino, her departure left the two locked in a furious exchange.
‘What exactly were you thinking of?’ Cold anger permeated Joshua’s voice.
‘I don’t pretend to understand you.’
‘I think you understand me perfectly. Miss de Silva is still a minor and yet you were encouraging her to break the law by gambling.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ The duchess fairly spat the words. ‘I merely suggested to her that she might like to join a select gathering and play a few rounds of loo.’
‘A select gathering—is that what you call it?’ He snorted derisively.
‘I take it that you finally decided to put in an appearance this evening for reasons other than to be unpleasant.’
‘It’s as well I did. It was clear that the girl did not want to stay and just as clear that you were intent on forcing her.’
‘What rubbish. How could I ever force her to do anything she did not wish? If you had not interrupted us in that nonsensical manner, she would be happily playing cards this very moment.’
‘Playing cards, I am sure, but happily I don’t believe.’
‘I say again, how could I make her play cards if she did not wish it?’ The duchess’s expression was scornful.
‘I imagine a few judicious glasses of champagne might help to do the trick, together with pressure from her hostess which she would find difficult to resist.’
‘You talk as though she were an innocent. It won’t have been the first time that she has supped champagne, I’m sure, and from what I hear she has been more than happy in the past to engage in games of chance—even, dare I say, to accrue considerable debts.’
‘How can that be?’
For an instant Joshua appeared less composed and the duchess watched him with a gloating expression. ‘Why don’t you ask her? The two of you seem remarkably thick with each other. And why are you so late? The concert is long finished.’
‘I am devastated to have missed it,’ he said with barely concealed irony, ‘and naturally I apologise. I was visiting—an artist friend—and was unexpectedly detained.’
‘That must have been important,’ came the brittle rejoinder, and she walked away to mingle with her guests in the inner sanctum. Leo Moncaster was waiting for her.
‘I can see why you wanted to handle the matter yourself.’ His smile was sardonic.
‘I was wrong. She was far more stubborn than I gave her credit for. But I think I would have succeeded in the end if Marchmain had not turned up at that moment and spoiled the game.’
‘And you still feel that she is of no interest to him?’
She did not answer him directly, but said slowly and deliberately, ‘I need to get rid of her.’
There was a slight pause before Moncaster said in a heartening voice, ‘Don’t be too discouraged, Charlotte. It would have been difficult to coax her to stay once she saw my face. There must be more subtle ways to catch our little bird.’
‘You have some ideas?’
‘I have some ideas. Shall we now work together?’
Charlotte Severn’s nod was almost imperceptible but Lord Moncaster retired that night a contented man.
Domino slept fitfully and woke unrefreshed to a new day. The events at Steine House still crowded her mind, filling it with jangled impressions only half-understood, but all of them contributing to her despondency. How was she to make sense of such a dreadful evening? The concert had evoked stifled yawns, but at least it had been innocuous. It was the Duchess of Severn herself who had seemed far from innocent. She had appeared to be so friendly, so keen to make Domino’s acquaintance that she should have felt flattered. Despite her dubious reputation, Charlotte Severn was enormously influential and her notice of a mere ambassador’s daughter would for most be a cause of pleasure and gratitude. But Domino had felt neither pleased nor grateful. Instead she had felt manipulated, even coerced. She had not wanted to abandon Carmela, but the Duchess had been insistent. She had not wanted to enter the inner room, yet had found herself propelled through its doors unable to protest. And once there her fears had multiplied. Seeing Leo Moncaster had been the final straw. His malevolent face still lowered in her dreams. Three years ago he had been her undoing and here he was once more, ready to do her harm if he possibly could.
Rescue had come, but at what cost? Just when she’d decided that on no account must she have further dealings with Joshua Marchmain, he had made her beholden. How shameful to be dependent on a rake for rescue! He had said not a word as he’d walked her towards her cousin and sanctuary, but he must have thought her a silly and naïve girl, out of her depth and drowning. It was evident that he had been angry with the duchess—at one point Domino had felt literally pulled between the two of them—and she might have found comfort in that, but for the last glimpse she’d had of the pair.
They had stood as though closeted, their heads so close that his cheek was almost grazing the woman’s hair. Any animosity had vanished. They had been talking easily together and she had a sinking feeling that she had been the main subject of their conversation. Her face burned; they would decide that she was a foolish young girl who had become hysterical when invited to partake in a game of chance. Then a worse thought struck, making her face burn even brighter. What if she really had been that foolish, foolish enough to imagine the whole thing and misinterpret the duchess’s conduct? This high-born lady had gone out of her way to be friendly and her seeming coercion might simply be a desire to encourage a reluctant young guest to enjoy herself. The duchess would not know her unfortunate history with Lord Moncaster; she would be ignorant of the dread he evoked. And how had Domino responded to Charlotte’s overtures? Blind, inexplicable panic and a dreadful lapse of good manners. She and Carmela had left the party without a word of thanks or indeed a word of farewell. It was appalling.
She told herself that she must not dwell on such harrowing thoughts, but dwell on them she did. The evening’s events continued to revolve in her mind until they began to assume hideous proportions. She wished that her mother was by her side to guide her. She knew that she could have told Mama everything—well, nearly everything, she amended inwardly. Her feelings towards Joshua would have remained under wraps. She did not even understand them herself. How could she feel this strong attraction to him when Richard had been the only man she had ever loved?
Remember him, remember him, she told herself fiercely. Richard, the new Lord Veryan, and she a whirling figure in pale blue, dancing with him at Almack’s for the very first time. How wonderful that had been. She hugged the memory, warmed by its still-powerful glow, chasing Joshua and her confusion away. But then another image emerged: Richard dancing that very same night with Christabel, the woman he contended he despised, the woman who had so cruelly jilted him, but the woman he still loved. Domino had known even then, deep in her innermost self, that his feelings for the flame-haired beauty had not died and that he was deceiving himself in thinking he was free of her power. But how resolute she herself had been in refusing to see the truth of the situation, wishing, hoping that he would turn his head and see the girl who was so often by his side through those long summer months, the girl who idolised him. But all he saw was a scrubby schoolgirl, without guile or wisdom, too spontaneous for her own good. Was that what Joshua saw? Was this another situation in which she was blind to the truth?
For much of the day she stayed cloistered in her room, venturing downstairs only at mealtimes, though in truth she had little appetite. At the table Carmela made no mention of yesterday’s tribulations and Domino could only assume that her cousin had vowed herself to silence. Señor de Silva seemed to have taken the same vow. He had arrived from London in the early hours of the morning and Domino had expected to find him eager to hear details of their visit to Steine House. But not one question did he ask. Perhaps Carmela had alerted him to the wretchedness of the evening. Domino had committed a serious impropriety in disappearing for some considerable time without a chaperon, but neither her father nor her cousin appeared to blame her.
Indeed, they both treated her with unaccustomed gentleness and, during the days that followed, were careful never to comment on her fondness for her room and her refusal to venture out for even a short walk.
It was Alfredo who finally broke the impasse on a morning that sparkled with light.
‘The weather is so fine, querida,’ he said heartily, embracing her in one of his bear hugs. ‘Why don’t we walk on the Downs, perhaps even take a picnic?’
