her he was not to be trusted and her young relative had spent far too long talking to him. At the best of times it would look particular, but with this man it was likely to begin gossip they could ill afford. Domino was to be married next year and it was Carmela’s job to guard her well until such time as the wedding ring was on her finger.
Joshua watched them out of sight, smiling wryly to himself. He knew Carmela’s type well. How many such duennas had he taken on and vanquished in the course of an inglorious career? But Domino appeared to have a mind of her own. That and her youthful charm made her a prize worth pursuing; the next few weeks might prove more interesting than he had expected. He weaved his way through the chattering guests to receive his hat from a stray footman before sauntering through the front door of Number Eight Marine Parade, his step a little livelier than when he had entered.
The next morning was overcast. The sun hid behind clouds and the sea looked a dull grey. The prospect of a walk was uninviting, but it was Sunday and attendance at the Chapel Royal was essential for the ambassador and his daughter. Carmela had refused point blank to accompany them; nothing would induce her to attend a Protestant church, she said. She would stay at home and follow her own private devotions. If Domino and her father felt a little jaded from the previous evening’s exertions, a vigorous walk along the promenade soon blew away any megrims. Tired they might be, but they were also in good spirits. The reception had gone without a hitch and Alfredo was feeling increasingly optimistic for the success of his mission. Domino, too, was cheerful, seeing her father so buoyant. To be sure, entertaining the ton had been a little daunting, but she had come through her first test with flying colours. Apart from the impossible Mr Marchmain, nothing had occurred to spoil her pleasure. And even he had intrigued her. He was an enigma, a man of contradictions. She had thought him nothing more than a highly attractive predator, but then he had announced himself a lover of great art. He was sufficiently wealthy to laze the summer away in the Prince Regent’s very expensive retinue, but seemed to lack the responsibilities that accompanied such wealth. And far from enjoying his exalted social position, it appeared to give him little pleasure.
A wind had sprung up by this time, blowing from the west, and Domino was forced to pay attention to her attire, hanging on with one hand to the Angoulême bonnet with its fetching decoration of golden acorns, while with the other she strove to keep under control the delicate confection of peach sarsenet and creamy tulle that billowed around her legs. They walked briskly, her father enumerating his plans for the week while she listened, but all the time her mind was busy elsewhere.
‘Papa,’ she said suddenly, when he fell silent for a moment, ‘what do you know of Mr Marchmain?’
‘Only a very little. He is one of the Regent’s court, I understand, so no doubt expensive, idle, possibly dissolute.’
She felt dismay at her father’s description. Marchmain was certainly persistent in his unwanted attentions, but dissolute!
‘Do not concern yourself, my dear.’ Her father patted her hand. ‘Members of the Prince Regent’s entourage are a law unto themselves. We will have dealings with them only when we must.’
She tried another tack. ‘How is it that Joshua Marchmain is only a plain mister? Surely if he belongs to the Regent’s company, he should have a title.’
‘I believe the young man is related in one way or another to any number of the nobility and has inherited a wealthy estate, which he will certainly need if he keeps company with the Regent for long. But why this interest, querida?’
‘No real interest, Papa,’ she said stoutly. ‘He just seemed an odd person to be attending the reception, a fish out of water.’
‘I think we can say that Mr Marchmain’s appearance at our small entertainment was the Regent’s overture to Spain. We must accept the overture politely, but still maintain a distance.’
He took her arm firmly in his. ‘Come, we should step out smartly if we are not to be shamed by our lateness at church.’
They walked quickly on, the summer wind skirling around their feet and sending up dust and abandoned news sheets into a choking cloud. Brighton was a fashionable resort—almost too fashionable, she reflected—and Marine Parade was a less-than-ideal residence. It was too near the centre of town and attracted promenading society far too readily. She had quickly realised that lodgings close to the Pavilion were in general reserved for young bucks, looking forward to a lively few months by the sea, and for the sprinkling of dandies with their pencilled eyebrows and curled mustachios who were always ready to ogle any stray female who crossed their path. She had come to wish that her father had chosen a house on the outskirts of town but, this morning, proximity meant they had only a short way to travel before they arrived at the church a few minutes before the last bell ceased tolling.
The Chapel Royal was a square building in the classical style with rounded sash windows and a row of Doric columns flanking the main door. It was the custom for visitors without their own pew to be charged an entrance fee and Domino and her father obediently joined a straggling line of people, all waiting to pay their shilling. The queue was moving slowly and they waited for some while to disburse their fee, but as they neared the imposing front door of the church, there was a sudden commotion behind them, a servant pushing his way forwards to clear a pathway for his employer. She turned to discover who this grand personage might be and received a terrible shock; she found herself staring into the eyes of the man she had come to loathe when last she was in England.
Leo Moncaster smiled grimly at her. ‘Miss de Silva? Imagine that. And there was I thinking never to see you again.’
Her father had turned around and was looking with surprise at the sneering stranger. ‘Is this gentleman annoying you, Domino?’ he asked her quietly. She was quick to reassure him and he turned back to pay their shillings.
‘I see you have brought reinforcements with you this time.’ The sneer became even more pronounced. ‘And is your aunt here also, ready to come to your defence at any moment?’
‘Lady Blythe remains in London, sir, although I see no reason why that should interest you.’
‘On the contrary, Miss de Silva, everything to do with you interests me. I have a long memory, even if you do not.’
And with that he pushed past beneath the pediment displaying the Prince Regent’s coat of arms and into the church. She was left trembling from the encounter, but anxious that her father should not suspect anything amiss. She linked arms with him and smiled as bravely as she could.
‘Shall we go in?’
Seeing Leo Moncaster had been a crippling blow. When she had agreed to play hostess for her father, she had never for a moment imagined that she would meet the man who had done her so much harm. If she had been thinking sensibly, she might have known he could well be here and living at the Pavilion. Moncaster was an inveterate gambler and it was said that fortunes were won and lost on a nightly basis at the Regent’s tables. Where better for such a man to spend his summer? It was clear that his malevolence was unabated despite Lady Blythe having paid her niece’s gambling debt in full. Of course, he had not wanted the money. It was herself, or rather her body, that he had wanted. That was the prize of which he’d been cheated. But how could she ever have thought him attractive? A shudder ran through her as though she were tiptoeing over a grave, fearful of disturbing dark layers of memory. Her only comfort was her father’s assertion that they need have little to do with the Prince Regent or any of his cronies.
Certainly the Prince would not be in evidence this morning. Although he had laid the church’s foundation stone some twenty-five years ago, he had stopped worshipping at the Chapel Royal when a sermon on immorality
