Isabelle Goddard - Society's Most Scandalous Rake

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?’

Carmela nodded silent approval and he continued persuasively, ‘The breeze will keep us cool and we should easily find sufficient shade to enjoy our meal.’

She said nothing, but her expression was downcast. Her father, though, was not to be defeated. ‘Just you and I,’ he coaxed.

She did not wish to disappoint him, but shrank at the idea of walking on the Downs, or indeed anywhere in the vicinity. What she wanted most was to hide away—from the duchess, from Moncaster and particularly from Joshua Marchmain. Every time she stepped outside the door, she risked meeting with one or other of them. Brighton was not a large town.

‘If that is too far for you, we could take a short walk through the Lanes.’ Alfredo would not be dissuaded, and she saw how concerned he was. ‘It’s not good, Domino, to be confined in these four walls for too long.’

She knew he was right. Eventually she would have to emerge from her refuge and face whatever or whoever came her way. She was compounding her folly at Steine House with even greater folly. And showing a drastic lack of spirit too, she castigated herself. She needed to regain her usual vitality and show the world that she was ashamed of nothing. She could do that, must do that. If she met Charlotte Severn, she would smile and curtsy and leave it to the other woman to set the tone. If she met Lord Moncaster, her father would be there to defend her. And if she met Joshua—but she would not, she was sure. She had been shut away in Marine Parade for nearly a week and had heard nothing of him. He had his own tight little circle and would not have noticed her absence from the social scene.

‘I need to change my books at the library, Papa,’ she offered, ‘and if you are agreeable we could walk there.’

The library she patronised, one of the many that were dotted across Brighton, was in the west of the town and would furnish a satisfying stroll. On the way, there was the distraction of any number of tempting shop windows filled with exquisite silks and laces, almost certainly smuggled from France. She chose her dress with care, searching for as plain a gown as possible, and ended by donning a simple but stylish jaconet muslin. Once out of the house, she kept her eyes lowered beneath the deep brim of her straw bonnet, but she need not have worried, for the ton were out of town that day it seemed, enjoying themselves elsewhere. They walked through near-deserted streets while her father told her of his trip to London and the worrying news from Spain.

‘A change of government usually means a change of everything else,’ he confided to her. ‘I am no longer certain of my position. It could be that I am recalled to Madrid very soon and perhaps reassigned elsewhere. I am sorry, if that happens, querida . Your holiday by the sea will come to an abrupt end.’

She squeezed his arm reassuringly, but felt a tremor of foreboding. Leaving Brighton would mean separation from her father when they had so recently been reunited. It would mean an inevitable return to Spain and the future that awaited her. The life she had agreed upon just a few weeks ago seemed increasingly dreary. Nothing had changed and yet everything seemed different. She was still pondering this paradox when they arrived at the fashionable new subscription library, which fronted the western end of the promenade.

Usually its coffee rooms and lounges were filled with residents and fashionable visitors but, as with the rest of the town today, it was nearly empty. A few ladies were browsing the bookshelves and a small card game was in play at one end of the smallest saloon. Another gentleman was busy sifting through music sheets, evidently keen to find something new for the musical evening he was planning.

‘All at the Race Ground,’ he explained succinctly when Alfredo mentioned the scarcity of people. ‘The Regent’s Cup today, y’ know. Big prize money.’

‘I wish we had known …’ her father turned to Domino ‘… you would have enjoyed the meeting. That’s what comes of staying too close to home.’

She could only feel gratitude that her father had not heard the news. At the race course she would have been sure to see everyone that she most wished to avoid.

Thirty minutes of browsing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves secured a neat pile of small volumes and they made ready to leave. They were almost out of the door when her father spied a tattered poster taped insecurely to the wall.

‘Look, Domino, Henry Angelo has set up a new fencing academy here in Brighton. I was tempted in London to try a lesson or two with him.’

She could not help but smile. Her father’s physique in middle age was hardly conducive to fencing.

‘Why do you smile, little one? You think I couldn’t do it?’

‘No, Papa, I am sure you could, but wouldn’t you prefer to watch rather than participate?’

‘Perhaps you are right, though in my youth I was a match for anyone.’