he needed him. Now at last he was returning home, but to an unknown life. The Great Hall would no longer echo to Lord Veryan’s greeting and the task of administering a large estate was now his. He knew himself well capable, but he was sorry to be leaving Argentina behind. The country had been good to him. A rugged outdoor life had taught him authority and decisiveness. It had honed him physically and created an inner strength he’d not known he possessed. And life there had not been all hard work. The social round was lively and largely free of the stifling conventions of London society, and the tall, handsome Englishman was a popular guest. There had been music and laughter and plenty of beautiful women happy to engage in a light flirtation or more. He’d enjoyed their favours freely and indifferently, determined to consign love to the vault of history and simply enjoy the physical pleasures of the moment. It had become a way of life for him, demanding little emotion and no commitment.
The moon cut a path across the surface of the small waves so bright that it made him blink. His eyes focused on the expanse of ocean, at the different shades of silver and black stretching to the horizon, then to the lanterns which hung above him, swinging comfortingly to the rhythm of the ship. The crew were engaged elsewhere and he had the deck to himself. He wondered if he dared to smoke a cigar, a disastrous habit he’d contracted in Argentina, but decided that he’d better keep that delight for later. Dinner would be served soon and he did not want to escort Domino to the table smelling of tobacco.
The boat gave a louder creak than usual with the sudden swell of the ocean, but the vessel soon recovered its peaceful passage. A sailor appeared from the deck below and waved a greeting.
‘Fine weather, sir, and the forecast’s good. Should be a quiet landfall, I’m thinking.’
It had not always been so calm; they had suffered tempests aplenty since leaving Buenos Aires and there had been times when he’d wondered if they would ever make it to land again. But it was tranquil now and he had leisure to think. The grey eyes were expressionless, his dark straight brows furrowed. The meeting with his mother would be painful, he knew, but there would be joy too. To be home again; to feel Cornish air on his skin once more and to awake to the sound of Cornish surf breaking on the rocky cove below Madron Abbey. He saw in his mind’s eye the winding path from the house across the green headland and then the sudden dramatic fall of cliffs tumbling into the wild seas. He’d walked that pathway so many times in memory. In just a few weeks he would be walking it in reality.
Immediately the ship berthed in Southampton, he would post up to London and ensure that Domino was safely consigned to the care of her aunt. The sooner he could do this, the sooner he could travel on to Madron.
‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
The speaker was a diminutive brunette who barely came up to his chest. She raised a pair of soft brown eyes to his hard grey ones and smiled sweetly. Richard smiled back in response.
‘Not quite everywhere, it seems. I’m not exactly invisible.’
‘I didn’t expect you to be behind the lifeboats! Were you thinking of leaving the ship without telling me? Or, more like, you were just about to smoke one of those noxious cigars of yours.’
He looked guilty and she crowed with delight, clapping her hands together and doing a little dance around him.
‘You see, I know you so well.’
He doubted that, but it would hardly be surprising if she thought so. They’d been cooped up together in this small vessel for nigh on a month. When he’d first been asked to escort the Spanish ambassador’s daughter to London, he’d been aghast. His mind was beset with worries over his mother and grief for his father and he had no wish to assume the responsibility of a seventeen-year-old girl.
But Señor de Silva had been persuasive. Domino had been invited by the English branch of her family to spend a Season in London and then to make the journey on to Spain and her paternal home in Madrid. Alfredo de Silva was insistent that his daughter should experience something of European society.
‘Argentina is pioneer country, you know, Richard, not the place for a young girl.’
‘She seems to have thrived on life in Buenos Aires,’ Richard protested, trying to escape the fate he saw coming.
But Señor de Silva was adamant. Domino must be launched on society and not in a rough-and-ready place like Buenos Aires. As a considerable heiress, and charmingly pretty, his daughter could look to the highest for a husband.
‘It’s a very long journey for a young girl. There are dangers.’ Richard made a last attempt, but to no avail.
‘Yes, yes, I have considered well,’ Señor de Silva reassured him. ‘The time is right—Napoleon is captive and confined on the island of St Helena where he can do no further harm. Domino will be able to travel in safety to England and then on to Spain. And you will be with my darling to protect her on the long journey.’
And so he’d agreed with reluctance to chaperon the girl aboard ship. He would see her safely on land and delivered to an aunt in Curzon Street, but after that his role would end.
Domino was speaking again. ‘When we get to London, Richard, will there be many parties and balls?’
‘Almost certainly,’ he smiled teasingly. ‘Otherwise why would you leave all your admirers in Buenos Aires and come to London?’
‘My father says I must make good use of my time there. I can have fun, but I must make sure that I meet lots of gentlemen too. Eligible gentlemen.’ She rolled the syllables off her tongue and pulled a face.
‘That will be for your aunt to decide. She is your chaperon and she’ll tell you who is eligible and who is not.’
‘Are you eligible, Richard?’
‘For you, no. I’m far too old and a deal too worn.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘That’s not old. My father was ten years older than my mother. And I like the way he looked in his wedding pictures. Worldly and experienced.’
She looked up at him trustfully, the melting brown eyes smiling a clear invitation. He was taken aback. This was one outcome he had not foreseen. He’d no wish to be part of any emerging adolescent fantasy. He knew too well the pain which could accompany the insubstantial dreams of youth.
The image of a pale-faced girl with a torrent of red curls and glinting green eyes swam suddenly into his vision. He was startled. It was years since he’d thought of Christabel, really thought of her. It must be that he was nearing England, coming home after so many years. She would be settled amid the London society he hated, probably married with a pair of children to her name.
He didn’t know for sure. His parents, mindful of his feelings, had never kept him informed of her whereabouts or her doings. And he had not wanted to know.
It had been enough to know that she had betrayed him, and with a man he’d considered one of his closest friends. That moment when he’d realised, known for certain that he’d been blind and a fool, came rushing back to him. The whispers which he’d ignored, the sympathetic looks which he’d refused to see, and then the two of them—Christabel and Joshua—a secret smile on their faces, secret murmurs on their lips, emerging from the darkened terrace into the lighted ballroom, walking side by side, bound together as one. The sharpness of that
