Few of them were pleasant. The irony of the situation was crushing: she was relying on a man of dubious reputation to save her own. Joshua would save her, but why? She had not endeared herself to him. She had rejected all his advances and made clear that she found his presence odious. She need feel no guilt at the harsh treatment she’d meted out, for his behaviour had been intolerable. But not this morning. This morning his face had been grave, his tone abrupt and his words a million miles from seductive. There had been no trace of the reckless rake. Instead he had been stern and insistent; his rebuke over her conduct could have come from Richard himself. She thought she had discerned some sympathy in those gold-flecked eyes as he’d turned to go—maybe even a little tenderness. It seemed unlikely, but the thought made her feel slightly giddy. In her mind’s eye she saw him again, handsome and unyielding. Seated on that large black horse, his caped greatcoat flung carelessly over his shoulders, he had looked superb, a master of the landscape. He had also looked like a man on whom she could depend, and so she had consigned her fate to his hands—or, rather, to his silver tongue. She could not imagine the tale he would tell those eager scandalmongers waiting at Keere Street, but she knew without doubt that he would make her safe.
* * *
It was to be some days before she set eyes on him again. For a while she had been watchful, keeping close to home, a little afraid of the gossip that might still be bandied around the town. But no startling news had reached her and she felt sure that if her name had become common currency, her father would have known of it. She had felt reassured, but strangely dull. Joshua’s continued absence from her daily round was naturally to be welcomed. It could do her no good to be in the company of a known womaniser, but if she were honest, life without him was a little tedious.
Then the summons had come. Piqued by the success of the duchess’s evening, the Prince Regent had been persuaded to hold a soirée of his own. He was well known as a devotee of music and was intent on outdoing Charlotte Severn’s offering. Not just one Italian soprano, but three had been invited to perform on the following Saturday. Leo Moncaster’s suggestion that the same audience be invited that had flocked to Steine House had appealed to George’s vanity and his desire to stage a superior triumph.
Despite reservations over the Regent’s lifestyle, the household at Marine Parade had been greatly excited at the prospect of an evening at the Pavilion. Even Carmela had taken to perusing fashion plates, a few years out of date to be sure, but with a view to having a new gown made swiftly for this very special event. On the Friday morning a large parcel bearing Domino’s name arrived at the door—the eagerly awaited dress, promised by her father on the night of their own reception. She peeled back the layers of rustling tissue and pulled from the parcel an exquisite white-satin underdress and an overskirt of the palest pink gauze, together with new pink kid slippers and a fillet of tiny pink blossoms to be woven though her curls. Flora was entranced—such possibilities for dressing her lady!
* * *
Saturday came and Domino felt nervous. She doubted she would see Joshua at the Pavilion. If he knew that she had been invited, he would stay away. He seemed intent on keeping his promise not to importune her. Really, it was most disconcerting, but more worrisome was the strong possibility that one or both of her tormentors would be present at the Regent’s entertainment. She made up her mind that she would not give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they had unnerved her. She would face them down. The prospect of exploring the unknown splendours within the palace was an incentive to bravery.
Punctually at eight o’ clock the de Silva party drove through the Pavilion gardens and alighted from their carriage in the shelter of an illuminated portico, its design modelled on an Indian temple. Domino had often walked around the perimeter of the palace, looking with wonder at its oriental façade, and she could scarcely believe that she was now about to penetrate its mysteries. An impassive footman ushered them through the octagonal vestibule into the entrance hall, a square apartment lit by a Chinese lantern suspended from a tented roof.
‘Papa,’ she whispered amazed, ‘those statues are wearing real robes!’ She pointed to the life-size Chinese mandarin figures, which stood in each corner of the room.
Carmela took in this abomination and pronounced her verdict, ‘Ridiculous! And it is so very hot in here,’ she grumbled. Despite it being July, a roaring fire filled the marble fireplace.
From the Inner Hall they made their way into the Long Gallery, which linked all the state rooms arranged along the east front of the building. There three further fireplaces threw out yet more heat and the atmosphere was already sultry. Domino was relieved that her dress was of the most delicate material and that both she and her cousin carried fans.
‘Let us wait by the glass doors,’ Alfredo advised. ‘That should be the coolest spot in the room.’
They made their way towards the long windows, which looked out over lawns, still dappled by sunshine even at this late hour, and waited for their turn to be presented to the Regent. Domino looked around her in awe. The Gallery walls were covered with painted canvas, a peach-blossom background with rocks, trees, shrubs, birds and flowers pencilled in pale blue. The room was divided into five different sections and the Regent stood in its centre in order to welcome his guests. He caught Domino’s eyes immediately, for he was dressed in the greatest of finery, but with little consideration for his bulk. She had leisure to study him and saw the lines of dissipation etched on his face, a testimony to his selfishness and excess. But when she advanced to meet him to make a nervous curtsy, she was disarmed by the kindness he showed in seeking to put her at her ease.
The hum of conversation was gradually abating and people began to move towards the vast mirrored doors at one end of the Gallery.
‘Everyone is making for the Music Room,’ her father said quietly. ‘We should do the same.’
A blaze of red and gold oriental splendour made Domino gasp. If the Long Gallery had been superb, the Music Room was overwhelming. The ceiling was gilded, supported by pillars covered in gold leaf and decorated with carved dragons and serpents. A lamp made to resemble a huge water lily and coloured crimson, gold and white hung from the centre with gilded dragons clinging to its underside. More dragons embellished the crimson canopies of the four doorways leading out of the room and still more writhed above the blue-and-crimson window curtains. Large ottomans decorated with fluted silk and covered in enormous satin bolsters lined all the walls and an Axminster carpet of spectacular design flooded the floor: a riot of golden suns, stars, serpents and dragons on a pale blue ground.
‘Utterly vulgar,’ Carmela pronounced sharply, causing Alfredo to glance anxiously around in case his forthright relative had been overheard. But Carmela was unrepentant.
‘To think of all the money wasted on such immoral foppery!’ she exclaimed.
The ambassador made haste to usher her to one of the yellow satin covered seats that had been set out for the audience.
‘I think we should have a good view of the musicians from here,’ he said soothingly.
She made no reply, but noisily unfurled the fan she carried. The heat was even more oppressive than in the Gallery and many of the ladies were already cooling themselves vigorously.
The Prince’s own private band of wind and string instruments, formed from the cream of Europe’s musical talent, accompanied each of the three fabled sopranos. Domino once more set herself to sit stoically through the entertainment. She hoped her reward might be to explore further this strange and exotic building. Throughout the recital, the Regent, who had learned to play the violincello in his youth, beat time with his foot. When the last note had faded, an army of footmen whisked away the audience’s small chairs and yet another army carried in tray after tray of refreshments. Domino, her cousin and her father began to walk around the room, taking in the expensive array of
Chinese vases, pots, glasses and pot-pourris that decorated every available surface.
They had stopped in front of a particularly ugly ceramic jar when a modestly dressed, grey-haired man came to her father’s side and whispered a message in his ear. Alfredo looked surprised, but immediately touched Domino on the arm and signalled that they should go with the retainer. Equally surprised, she followed and found herself confronting the Regent himself. The Prince, large and perfumed, smiled graciously down at her, seeming pleased with what he saw.
‘Señor de Silva, lend me your daughter for a few minutes.’ The Prince’s languid tone did not disguise that this was a command rather than a request.
Alfredo was uncertain, particularly as a faint aroma of chartreuse hung in the air, mixed imperceptibly with the heady scent the Prince affected. The Regent seemed unimpaired, however, and the ambassador, mindful of his position, felt unable to quibble.
‘I was wishful of speaking to you at greater length, my dear.’ The Prince smiled archly down at her and offered his arm. She found herself returning his smile.
‘I love to welcome foreigners to my modest little abode and I am most interested in how you are enjoying your stay in Brighton.’
‘Very much, sir,’ she responded politely. ‘I love living by the sea, for in Madrid we are landlocked.’
George looked gratified. ‘I remember when I first came to Brighthelmstone—that was Brighton’s original name, you know. It was a small fishing village then, but I was captivated. I simply had to build myself a little folly by the sea!’
She smiled again. ‘It is very beautiful,’ she concurred dutifully, though not at all sure that it was.
‘Come, let me show you,’ and Domino found herself once more walking around the Music Room while he described in detail every one of his purchases. She knew she should feel flattered, but the heat of the room, the proximity of the rotund prince and a slight, inexplicable feeling of panic made her wish that he would not be quite so gracious.
He steered her expertly into the Long Gallery, still talking smoothly about his possessions.
‘This vase, you see, came from a most remote province of China. I had my envoy negotiate for months for it. Do you think it worth the effort?’
‘Indeed, it is most striking, your Highness.’
He looked satisfied. ‘How delightful to find a young woman of such discernment! So different from some of your countrymen…’ The sentence drifted away. ‘But I have heard only the very best things said of you and you have more than proved them right.’
She was left little time to wonder what exactly he had heard and who could have spoken of her. They had left the Gallery by this time and traversed the library without stopping. They were now in a room even hotter than anything she had so far experienced.
‘The Yellow Drawing Room,’ George announced. ‘We can be private here.’
‘Your Highness, should I not call my cousin?’ She was fearful of offending such an important person, but becoming more anxious by the minute.
‘Your cousin is occupied,’ the Prince returned cheerfully, ‘and you have only to say that you were with me for there to be no trouble.’
She felt doubtful on this point, but found it difficult to rebuff a man who was old enough to be her father and a royal prince to boot.
‘These are my private rooms,’ George repeated, ‘and so much more pleasant than the public areas, do you not think? So much more tranquil.’
She had unfortunately to agree. As she looked around, there was not another person in sight. By now she had become accustomed to the assault on her senses and she took in the room’s array of mirrors, Chinese pictures, flying dragons and white and gold pillars wreathed by serpents without a flicker of surprise. What was more disturbing was the sight of an open doorway leading to another room beyond. This was clearly the Prince’s personal chamber; she was horrified by a glimpse of a huge bed in the far reaches of the room, massive and mahogany-panelled with at least five mattresses and crowded with satin bolsters and pillows.
The gnawing panic, which had been growing ever stronger, overcame her; but when she should have fled, she found herself transfixed. The light from a hundred candles bounced from mirror to mirror, reflection after reflection, disorientating her further and making her dizzyingly weak.
‘I see you admiring yourself,’ the Prince joked heavily as she turned this way and that to avoid the piercing light. ‘And so you should. You are a taking little puss—my spies have not lied.’
Now thoroughly alarmed, she tried to extricate herself as diplomatically as she could, but the Prince was before her.
‘I have brought you here to see some very special treasures,’ he whispered hotly in her ear.
Her mind went into a tailspin at the thought of what treasures he meant. How was it that she seemed destined to fall from one scrape into another? She had little time to consider, for he was pulling out a series of drawers from a small chest that sat on the nearby table. The drawers contained the most brilliant collection of jewellery she had ever seen.
‘What do you think?’ he asked grandly.
Shaken, all she could utter was, ‘Magnificent!’
‘Which of these gems would you choose above all others?’
‘It would be impossible to make such a choice. Every piece is exquisite.’
‘Try,’ he pressed.
To hasten her departure, she pointed to a small butterfly brooch studded in diamonds. ‘This is very elegant, I think.’
He frowned; it was obviously the wrong choice. ‘I agree, most elegant,’ he said a little too heartily. ‘But have you seen the other butterfly brooch? This one here.’ He pointed to an item at the back of the drawer. ‘Filigree, of course—not as expensive—but I would say far more fitting for a young girl.’
The Prince lifted the filigree butterfly from its bed of satin. ‘Here, my dear. Take this as a small token of my friendship.’
Domino had thought it could not get any worse, and yet it had. ‘I am most grateful for your kindness,’ she stuttered, ‘but I cannot accept, your Highness.’
‘Cannot?’
His frown deepened and his eyebrows rose haughtily. He looked an entirely different prince.
She was forced to reconsider. ‘It is most kind of you,’ she said faintly.
He beamed again. ‘I am well known for my generosity, but you must think nothing of it. You are a delightful child and deserve to have pretty things. Now how about a little thanks?’
‘Indeed, yes, I thank you very much,’ she stammered, unsure of just how effusive she had to be.
‘You can do better than that, surely!’
And with those words he lunged towards her, wrapping his arms around her in a bear-like clasp and pushing her towards the open door and the bed that lay beyond. The feel of his breath on her cheek and the overwhelming scent he wore repulsed her. She tried to struggle free, but the Regent was no lightweight and she was inexorably propelled towards danger.
‘I like a little resistance, my dear. That is all to the good. But not too much, you know, not too much,’ he was saying.
She felt herself reeling and tried desperately hard not to faint. That was the last thing she must do; she had to keep control, but she was losing the struggle.
Then a toneless voice spoke from the door. ‘Excuse me, sir, Signora Martinelli is about to leave and I know that you will want to thank her personally.’
Joshua Marchmain was dressed in the conventional dark coat, embroidered waistcoat and light-coloured satin breeches of a gentleman’s evening attire, but to Domino he wore angels’ wings.
The Regent stopped pawing at her and was annoyed, but soon recovered his composure and waved away the intruder.
‘No, no, Marchmain, you must thank her for me.
I am sure you will find just the right words. As you see, I am a little busy,’ he finished irritably.
‘I should mention perhaps, sir, that Miss de Silva’s father is also waiting—he wishes to see his daughter.’
The Regent turned an angry red and finally released his captive.
‘We will speak later, Marchmain,’ he barked. ‘Leave me now.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Joshua said smoothly. ‘Miss de Silva?’ and he ushered her out of the room and towards the library. As the door closed behind them, she heard the Regent mutter quite distinctly, ‘Drat Moncaster, telling me the chit was a likely romp.’
At the sound of that name, she stumbled and Joshua had to step quickly forwards to offer a supporting arm. She was shaking uncontrollably now. All the time she had been in the Regent’s apartment she had managed to keep her nerve, but once rescue came, reaction set in.
For a moment she clung to his arm, then, drawing herself up straight, she said decisively, ‘I cannot go back to the Gallery just now, Mr Marchmain, I need a few minutes alone.’
His gold-flecked eyes surprised her with their concern and when he spoke his voice lacked its usual mocking note. ‘Will you allow me to escort you to my studio?’ he asked gently. ‘It is close by and I can promise solitude. You may be alone there for as long as you wish.’
She nodded agreement and he led her towards the western side of the Pavilion. It was not so lavishly furnished as the rooms she had previously seen but a great deal cooler. At the entrance to his studio, he paused and waved her through the doorway, motioning her to take a seat. She noticed that he kept the door ajar.
‘I will leave you to your thoughts. But before I do, tell me about Moncaster.’
The request came out of the blue and she looked at him, startled.
‘It’s evident that he was behind that little unpleasantness just now. I heard the Regent’s words as well as you.’
Her face was bright red, but she remained silent.
Society's Most Scandalous Rake Page 10
