of his duties as a gentleman, immediately begged Sophia to grant him the favour of a dance. She accepted primly and only spoilt the effect by scowling at her brother who was leading Domino de Silva down the opposite line of country dancers.
‘Is that not your brother I see, Miss Sophia?’
‘Yes’, she admitted in a bored voice, ‘he’s supposed to be my escort though he chooses rather to dance attendance on some foreigner.’
The foreigner was putting on a good show of enjoying herself despite an aching heart. Ever since the evening at Almack’s, when Richard’s lack of interest had been made so brutally clear, her happy spirits had been slowly and surely evaporating. The dance came to an end and Benedict, tired of having his feet crushed by an inattentive partner, said hopefully, ‘You don’t want to dance any more, do you?’
She shook her head and looked around the room in search of her aunt. Even her chaperon appeared to have deserted her.
Sensing her dejection, Benedict tried a diversion. ‘Have you ever gambled?’
She opened her eyes wide. ‘My father used to gamble sometimes in Buenos Aires, but he said the clubs were not fit for young girls.’
‘There are clubs like that in London too—’ Benedict grinned ‘—but you don’t have to go to them to gamble. There’s usually the chance at most parties.’
‘Really? You can gamble here?’ She was genuinely taken aback. To be offered gambling in what seemed the wealthiest and noblest of settings was curious.
‘Let’s find out. I think they’ve set up a hazard table or maybe faro in the next room. Would you like to watch the game?’
It was a distraction. She would go and watch until her aunt found her. They strolled into the adjoining card room and saw that a game of faro was in full swing. The bank had already amassed what looked like a fortune in rouleaus and the expressions on the players’ faces ranged from boredom through irritation to downright vexation. It took little time for Domino to understand the simple rules with Benedict as her willing tutor. As she watched card after card emerging from the spring-loaded faro box, heard the click of tokens changing hands and felt the building tension as losses and wins followed in quick succession, she began to forget about the interview with Richard. Gambling, it seemed, was the perfect antidote for a broken heart.
‘I want to play too,’ she whispered.
Looking into her glowing face, Benedict stifled any misgivings and deftly inserted her into the circle. Very soon she was in the thick of the play. Her flushed face and sparkling eyes spoke of pleasure, but Benedict began to feel uncomfortable. She had taken to the game rather too enthusiastically, he thought, and now, looking around the table at their fellows, he didn’t like what he saw. To Domino they appeared unexceptional. The women perhaps were showing too much décolletée, but they were sumptuously and fashionably dressed and hardly differed from their sisters dancing just a few yards away; the gentlemen were very correctly attired in evening dress and treated each other with a jokey politeness that spoke of long-term intimacy. But from Benedict’s limited knowledge some of those gathered around the table were hardened gamesters and whispers of compromised virtue swirled around a number of the women. There was at least one wholly disreputable rake in the room.
Lord Moncaster lazed at the head of the table in charge of the faro bank. It was customary for the wealthiest of patrons to take turns in running the bank and Leo Moncaster enjoyed riches enough to run a hundred faro banks and still have plenty left to indulge his every whim. At that moment his whim was turning to Domino. His weary eyes rested gratefully on her, savouring her youthful beauty and unsophisticated delight in this novel entertainment. As his eyes ran over her assessingly, she looked up from the table and caught his glance. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. He certainly made a splendid figure, looking as though he could have stepped straight out of one of Byron’s poems, but there was something in his glittering gaze that disconcerted her and she looked quickly away. Benedict had seen that gaze too.
‘Let’s go back to the salon and find a cold drink,’ he suggested.
‘Not yet, Benedict. Just one more wager. Next time I’m bound to win.’
‘That’s what everyone thinks, and you won’t.’
‘How do you know that? Just because you always lose.’
‘I don’t always lose—well, not all of the time,’ he finished lamely.
‘There you are, then. It’s my turn to win.’
‘I should take you back to the salon. Your aunt will murder me if she knows I’ve brought you in here.’
‘If you’re afraid of my aunt, you’d better go.’
He was getting heartily bored with this recalcitrant girl. Perhaps if he upped and left she would follow. ‘I’m going, then, and if you’re wise you’ll come too,’ he whispered rather too loudly.
Lord Moncaster raised a quizzical eyebrow, causing Benedict to flush with annoyance and make haste to leave. Once out of the room, he shrugged off any qualms at deserting the girl. She wasn’t his responsibility and he wanted to enjoy the rest of his evening.
Christabel came down to breakfast the next morning still looking pale, but unruffled. She’d spent a difficult night, unable to sleep with any ease. Her mind had for hours refused to stop its constant churning of the past week’s events, but finally she had found some repose. Her decision was made. She had allowed herself to be manipulated, to be too easily swayed by feelings she should never entertain. From now on she must ignore Richard’s behaviour and concentrate on her own. With great severity she reminded herself that she was the only person responsible for her actions. If she could hold to that determination, she would cope with what lay ahead. Sophia’s chatter had alerted her to Sir Julian’s return to town and she knew that it would not be long before he renewed his proposal. She must be ready.
She saw that her mother had taken note of her pallor and was looking at her with gentle concern. ‘Bel, are you well enough to pay that morning call on Lady Blythe?’
‘I feel a good deal better, thank you, Mama, and I will be happy to go.’
It was a lie, for Domino was likely to be present and the thought of meeting the girl so soon after the disasters of the picnic troubled her. But she needed to appear unconcerned and calm in the face of any suspicions her mother might harbour.
Lady Harriet looked relieved. Her daughter seemed not to have been so badly affected by yesterday’s events as she had feared. And she had a mountainous collection of letters awaiting her attention. Christabel’s offer to attend on Loretta Blythe was most welcome.
‘Perhaps Sophia would care to accompany you?’ her mother suggested tentatively.
But Sophia instantly forestalled that notion; she was far too busy this morning organising her steadily increasing wardrobe. Christabel was more than happy to go attended only by her maid, and a walk to Curzon Street would be a pleasant escape from the house. The rain clouds, which yesterday had appeared out of nowhere, had vanished entirely and in their place was the deepest blue covering and a spring sun already climbing the sky and warming the world it shone
