Society's Most Scandalous Rake

by Isabelle Goddard

She leaned towards him, her tone placating. ‘Could not my aunts devise a new plan for how best to use the money? I know them to be involved in any number of charitable causes and my fortune would be well spent.’

  Alfredo struggled to digest this heresy and there was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Papa, dear Papa’, and Domino reached across the table and took his hand in hers. ‘I love Joshua. That is surely what is most important.’

  ‘And I will look after her, you can be sure,’ Joshua put in. ‘Who better, after all, than a reformed rake?’

  Domino gave him a sharp glance, feeling that her lover’s intervention was hardly helpful. But Joshua’s words had set Alfredo thinking. This match was the very last thing he desired for his daughter; his instinct had been to grab her by the hand and incarcerate her immediately within the confines of Marine Parade until arrangements could be made for her travel to Spain. Lady Veryan, when she arrived, would have to get on as best she could without her young friend. But what Marchmain said made a kind of sense. Who better to look after a young and naïve girl than a man who was thoroughly experienced in the wiles of the world? If she was compelled to marry a man she did not love—not that he would insist on such a thing, but the aunts could be very forceful when they chose—well, what kind of trouble might result? He had seen, with his own eyes, the power of his daughter’s budding sexuality. He shuddered to think of the likely outcome of an unsuccessful marriage. And as for the fortune she would inherit, Marchmain seemed genuinely unmindful; no doubt the marriage settlements could ensure the rightful disposition of such a large estate.

  * * *

  The third course of creams, jellies and a basket of pastries had been virtually untouched, but the mood was mellow as they made their way to the Theatre Royal where Charles Kemble was once more the star of the stage. Fifteen years ago the actor had launched the new theatre with a stunning performance of Hamlet, but this evening he was playing comedy at which, it was universally agreed, he excelled. The box Joshua had reserved ensured them an extensive view of the auditorium. Domino surveyed the gold and glitter of the fabulous building with pleasure, its elaborate decoration scintillating in the sparkle of newly installed gas light. An ocean of faces and a thrum of excited chatter filled the entire space, from the Royal Box, housing members of the palace household, to the cheapest seats in the furthest recesses of the theatre. She had never before attended a performance at the Theatre Royal, since Carmela naturally dismissed acting as a pretext for sin. To do so this evening, and beside the man she loved, was a double enchantment.

  The squabbles of Beatrice and Benedick were soon filling the auditorium as Much Ado about Nothing unfolded the foolishness of its hero and heroine. Sitting close by on a matching gilt chair, Joshua stole glances at his betrothed whenever he thought himself unobserved. The perfectly sculpted cheeks, petal soft, beckoned him to touch, but the presence of her father forced him to observe the proprieties. She was enthralled by the play, face alight and hands clasped together in excited pleasure. She has forgotten that I exist, he thought wryly. Then she took her eyes from the stage and looked across at him with a smile so radiant that his heart almost stopped. The doubts that had plagued him momentarily disappeared. He had done the right thing. He smiled back at her and a wave of emotion rippled towards him.

  As if sensing a disturbance in the air, her father shifted his position, rearranging the red velvet cushions better to support his back, for this latter part of the evening was proving something of a trial and he was barely managing to keep his eyes open. When the curtain came down for a short interval he was more than willing to stretch his legs alongside his host in the galleries behind the auditorium. Domino declined the offer to accompany them, realising her lover intended to use the opportunity to advance his acquaintance with the man he hoped to make his father-in-law. Instead she set herself to study her theatre programme.

  She was not long to be left in peace. Almost as soon as the door closed behind Joshua, it opened again to reveal a female figure rustling forwards in stiff taffetas and emanating a powerful, musky perfume. Domino looked up in surprise.

  ‘My dear,’ the duchess cooed, ‘forgive me for disturbing you, but I was sure you would not mind. It’s high time we renewed our acquaintance.’

  With Joshua’s warning ringing in her ears, Domino smiled politely, but said nothing. She would like to believe Charlotte innocent of plotting against her, but common sense told her otherwise. Joshua had made clear to this woman that he wanted nothing more to do with her. At the same time he had also made clear that he wanted a great deal to do with Domino. That was hardly conducive to friendship.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to you for such a long time,’ the older woman mouthed, echoing the girl’s thoughts. ‘We seem to have become almost estranged, but that is certainly not my wish.’

  She slid smoothly into one of the vacated chairs and continued to flatter.

  ‘You look so beautiful tonight, my dear, so young and vital, it makes me feel almost sad.’

  Domino closed her ears. Did the duchess really think her compliments would renew trust?

  ‘It is such a shame.’

  This time the words penetrated and the young woman became alert.

  ‘A shame?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, a dreadful shame. That’s why I am here, you see.’

  ‘I am afraid I don’t, Your Grace.’ She felt a gnawing anxiety begin to take hold.

  ‘Charlotte, my dear, do call me Charlotte. We know each other better than to stand on ceremony, I hope.’

  Domino was silent. Whatever Charlotte had to say, she was not going to help her.

  ‘Yes, a shame,’ the duchess repeated meditatively, ‘but you are still very young and I am certain that you will rise above these problems.’

  Domino could not stop her brow furrowing. The cat-and-mouse game the duchess was playing was beginning to find its mark.

  ‘If I did not think you would recover easily,’ the woman continued silkily, ‘I would say nothing, even though I feel you are entitled to know what might be vital for your future happiness.’

  The duchess’s voice had assumed the cloying sweetness that always made Domino feel slightly sick. She sat mute, perched rigidly on her chair, and waited for whatever blow might fall.

  ‘Of course, it may not be a problem,’ the older woman was saying. ‘The man may mean nothing to you. But I cannot take that chance. You are too precious!’

  If only Joshua and her father would open the door this moment and put an end to this dreadful interview.

  ‘If you care nothing for him, then all will be well, but otherwise…’ The duchess allowed her voice to fall away in mock concern.

  ‘Who are we talking about?’ Domino managed, barely above a whisper. As if she did not know.

  ‘Who? Why, Mr Marchmain, naturally.’

  ‘And why should that interest me?’

  ‘Would it be foolish to point out that you are here this evening with him?’ Charlotte queried archly.

  ‘I am here with my father. We are both Mr Marchmain’s guests.’

  ‘How very civilised. I should not disturb what is so obviously a delightful evening.’ And she got up to leave, her skirts rustling noisily behind her.

  Domino wanted to scream, What is it? What do you know that is so bad?, but she managed to maintain a posture of indifference. The duchess’s hand was on the door handle when she turned back to face her quarry.

  ‘I understand that you have a dear friend who now lives in Cornwall—or perhaps we should say a former dear friend.’

  Christabel? What on earth did Christabel have to do with anything? Her mind was skittering in confusion, but she willed herself to maintain an impassive face.

  ‘Her name is Christabel Tallis, although she is now a Veryan. But of course, you know h
er name,’ Charlotte purred, ‘after all, how many dear friends would you have in Cornwall?’

  ‘What of Lady Veryan?’

  ‘An extraordinarily beautiful woman, I believe, and one with an unusual past. A little colourful, shall we say?’

  ‘I fail to see what such tittle-tattle has to do with me.’ Domino’s voice was glacial. Whatever this woman was engaged in, it was tawdry.

  ‘Let us see, shall we?’ Charlotte Severn let go of the door handle and walked back a few paces into the room. She looked Domino in the eyes and a derisive smile lit her face.

  ‘When Christabel Tallis was engaged to the man who is now her husband, she allowed herself to go just a little astray.’ And the duchess drew out the ‘little’ in a mocking fashion. ‘And who could blame her, faced with so particularly charming a temptation? Thank goodness it ended well. But the man who enticed the ravishing Christabel from her fiancé and who—I blush to mention this in a young girl’s hearing—who seduced her and then left her amid a mountain of scandal, was the man you have made your particular friend. In fact, our particular friend: Mr Joshua Marchmain.’

  It seemed that the theatre walls were closing in on Domino; the ceiling hovered lower, its beams heavy and threatening; crystal chandeliers rocked and the wall sconces with their bright, bright gas jets ripped themselves adrift from their moorings and crashed down on her. A huge weight seemed to be breaking her body in two. Yet she knew she must respond to this wicked woman. After what seemed an age she managed to speak, although how she never knew. She kept her face blank and her voice steady by sheer overpowering force of will.

  ‘You are misinformed, Your Grace. Mr Marchmain is not a particular friend of mine. The tale you tell is indeed sad, but is of no interest to me.’

  ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ the duchess returned and, with one last false smile of condolence, whisked herself through the door.

  Domino hardly realised her visitor had left. She was staring into an abyss, a black nothingness. She felt herself hardly able to breathe. She had to get away. She had to get out of this place. She jumped to her feet, upsetting the delicate gold chair, and stumbled out into the gallery. Her father and Joshua were making their way back to the box, ready to resume their seats. She saw, but didn’t see their startled expressions; she was looking through them, falling down into a dark and endless void. She had to get away, get away, get away.

  ‘Domino?’ Her father approached her uncertainly.

  But she rushed past him along the gallery, down the sweeping staircase and out of the front door. Carriages had not yet been called for and New Road lay peaceful in its solitude. A moon rode high in the sky, only occasionally obscured by tattered fragments of cloud. She looked on the scene blindly; the world no longer existed. In the ghostly silver light she ran for shelter like a frightened mouse. Marine Parade was reached in minutes and a surprised Marston summoned to the door. Not a word did he get from his young mistress. At the sounds of arrival, Carmela appeared from the drawing room, her embroidery still in her hand. She called something to Domino, but Domino neither saw nor heard. Up the stairs, past a dozing Flora on the landing, and finally to sanctuary. Only now could she rest, here at the bottom of this dark, dark pit that had swallowed her whole.

  She fell on the bed, dry eyed, too stricken to cry.

  * * *

  How long she lay there she had no idea, minutes perhaps, hours even, before Alfredo’s anxious face appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Querida, what on earth is the matter?’

  ‘I am sorry, Papa,’ she whispered hoarsely, ‘I felt most unwell and had to get home.’

  ‘But why did you not tell us? Mr Marchmain would have ordered the carriage immediately. He is most worried about you.’

  She could no longer bear even to hear his name.

  ‘Papa, you will forgive me, but I feel too ill to talk this evening.’

  Her father looked stern. ‘How can this be? We left you perfectly well and out of nowhere you become so ill that you behave with the utmost discourtesy. I demand to know what has happened, Domino.’

  ‘Nothing has happened, Papa. I am simply unwell,’ she repeated in a failing voice.

  ‘But to rush off like that—what will Mr Marchmain think?’

  ‘I no longer care what Mr Marchmain thinks,’ she said in a much stronger voice.

  Alfredo’s face expressed surprise, but he did not press the matter.

  ‘At least allow Flora to help you undress.’

  She agreed, hoping that, in doing so, she would be left alone. But the misery of the evening was not yet finished, for her father was the bearer of more unwelcome news.

  ‘Did Carmela tell you that while we were at dinner, Lady Veryan arrived?’

  ‘Lady Veryan?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘The friend you very much wished to see.’ Her father’s tone was unusually tart.

  ‘But she is not due for another day.’

  ‘That, too, was my understanding. It seems she decided not to stay in Winchester overnight, but continued instead to Brighton. Her father is already on his return to Cornwall; he did not wish to be long away, I believe.’

  ‘Christabel is here!’ and her voice broke with wretchedness.

  ‘She is, my dear, so whatever ails you, it would be wise to find a swift cure. Carmela reports that Lady Veryan was tired from the journey and decided on an early bedtime. But she is looking forward to seeing you on the morrow, for she has a good deal to tell you and is sure that you will have much to tell her.’

  And with that, her father called Flora into the room with instructions to help her young mistress into bed immediately. Domino was hardly aware of the maid’s presence and mechanically permitted herself to be undressed and slipped between the covers. Left alone, she lay prone, her newly brushed hair streaming wildly across the pillow and her eyes staring blankly ahead. Where once there had been colour and light and the sounds of pleasure, now there was nothing. She felt nothing, her whole body had retreated into a pitiless limbo. She pinched herself and it did not hurt. That should scare her, but it didn’t. Nothing scared her, nothing touched her, nothing ever could touch her again. Three years ago she had lost the man she loved to Christabel. It did not matter that Richard had never returned her love, did not matter that her love now seemed juvenile. It had hurt so badly then, cut her into little tiny ribbons until she had thought she would never be whole again. But over the years she had remade herself. And finally she had found the man she thought would fill the rest of her life. Now he was gone also: another love lost, but this so much greater than the first. This time she would not be able to stick the pieces together again. And how had she lost this man, this man who was to crown her life with romance and adventure and love and joy? Why, she had lost him to the very same woman, indirectly perhaps, but indisputably she had lost her love to Christabel once more. Such bitter irony!

  Chapter Eight

  Flora brought her the message while she was still abed. Her chocolate had grown cold on the bedside chest and the hot water for bathing had cooled in its basin. But she had not stirred. She had no wish ever to leave this room, no wish ever to move again.

  ‘I think you should read it, Miss Domino,’ the maid dared to suggest, aware that something dreadful had happened, but able only to guess at what the cause might be. It was a man, she reasoned, no doubt the same man that had been sniffing around her mistress for weeks. The one who had stopped them in their tracks just a few days ago, then come to the house very early this morning and personally handed her an envelope with strict instructions to place it only in her mistress’s hands. She tried again, this time folding the envelope into Domino’s listless grasp. Then she withdrew, sighing heavily to herself.

  Left alone, Domino glanced indifferently at the message. She knew its author and she knew that
she did not want to read it. But something still impelled her to rip the seal open and scan the few words within.

  It was brief and to the point.

  Whatever has gone wrong, I need to know, he wrote. I hope you will feel able to tell me in person. I shall be by the groyne directly opposite your house at noon today. Please meet me there.

  It was signed simply Joshua.

  He had named the very place they had first met all those months ago. Two months ago, to be precise—was it only that long? She felt that she had lived a lifetime since then. She recalled her feelings at their very first meeting. There had been an undercurrent of excitement, but also a distinct unease. He had been mockingly persistent, caring little for her discomfort. Surely that had been an omen for the future. He’d behaved in much the same fashion more than once. But deceiving her so wretchedly about his past was of a different order; he had destroyed her trust, her belief in herself, and left her vulnerable to the cruelties of a woman like Charlotte Severn.

  But it made no sense. Hadn’t Joshua also rescued her from the same woman’s clutches, protecting her, defeating attempts to wound her, not just once, but again and again? He’d warned her to be on her guard against the duchess and Moncaster. So why, last night, had she not been? Why had she chosen to believe Charlotte? The frailest whisper of hope began to bloom. The duchess had lied before and proved unscrupulous, even malicious. The tale she’d told at the theatre could be another attempt to destroy, a fabrication concocted out of desperation when every other of her despicable plans had failed. The more Domino thought of it, the more likely it seemed. It was such a far-fetched story.

  True, Joshua had lived a rakish existence—she was well aware of that—and she knew that as a young man he’d failed his friends badly and been exiled for his wrongdoing. But it would have to be the most diabolical coincidence that the friends were Christabel and Richard. Why had she been so willing to believe the worst? Was it that her earlier unease had never quite disappeared, that she’d never quite believed the rake had reformed? Or, more honestly, that she’d been the woman who could reform him? When he’d asked her to marry him, she had thought at first it was a cruel joke, then she’d settled on it being a miracle. She had not believed she was that special. After all, Richard had rejected her—why should this man, with even more worldly experience, choose to change his life completely because of her?