The House of Happiness

by Barbara Cartland

  “We are doubly – triply – indebted to the Marquis now,” she said insinuatingly. “We shall have to accede to his every wish.”

  Eugenia looked up from her notebook. “And if he proposes that we throw ourselves into the fountain, Mama?”

  Mrs. Dovedale was shocked. “What a nonsensical thing to say. He would never ask such a thing. I merely meant that – “

  Eugenia closed her notebook and stood up. “You merely meant that I should be civil to him, as our benefactor. Well, I shall be very civil. But I shall not encourage him to court me, Mama.”

  “Stubborn child,” her mother muttered under her breath as Eugenia left the room. “Stubborn child.”

  *

  Although Mrs. Dovedale was thrilled to be suddenly in possession of a house and an income, it was some days before she was able to wrench herself away from the luxuries of Buckbury and take up residence in her new abode.

  The day came, however, when the trunks belonging to herself, Eugenia, Great-Aunt Cloris and Bridget were sent in an ox-drawn wagon to the cottage.

  The four ladies travelled in a carriage, the Marquis following on horseback. He had elected to oversee the unpacking of the wagon himself.

  ‘Paragon’ was at its most seductive that morning. Smoke curled from the chimneys, curtains fluttered at the open windows, doves cooed from the eaves. Inside, the smell of baking came wafting from the kitchen, where the cook from Buckbury had been set temporarily to work.

  Once all the trunks and items of furniture were unpacked and in place, the cook brought tea and scones in to the drawing room.

  Mrs. Dovedale beamed at the Marquis. “You think of everything, my Lord! I doubt that there are any other ladies in Rutland treated with such ingenuity.”

  The Marquis gave a bow, a smile hovering about his lips.

  Eugenia felt almost resentful that the Marquis was so assiduous in his attentions, for it made her disinterest seem perverse to the objective eye.

  After only a few days at ‘Paragon’, it seemed to Eugenia and her mother as if they had never been away. Even Great-Aunt Cloris began to feel at home. It was only Bridget who remained un-reconciled to what she saw as banishment from the comforts of Buckbury.

  Although she remained determined to resist his attractions, Eugenia could not but thank the Marquis a thousand times a day in her heart for his generosity. She was happier at ‘Paragon’ than she could have believed possible. All that was missing was – Gregor Brodosky.

  She still hungered for news of him, details of his person and behaviour such as only Bridget could supply. Eugenia would use the excuse of helping out with the sorting of linen or the preparing of meals, to drink in stories of Gregor and his many exploits. It amazed Eugenia that Bridget was such an unending fount of knowledge. Bridget recounted episode after episode of Gregor’s life.

  “He killed a wild boar once, on the estate of his uncle.”

  “A boar!” gasped Eugenia.

  “Yes, miss. With his bare hands. He strangled it. He’s awfully strong, is Gregor.”

  Eugenia gave a barely perceptible sigh.

  “He was in the Russian Army,” continued Bridget, “and – killed a man in a duel. He almost married a Countess, once. She was very rich but – ”

  Bridget regarded Eugenia slyly from under her dark brows.

  “Yes?” Eugenia prompted.

  “He didn’t love her. He said, ‘what’s money without love, Bridget’?”

  “Of course.” Eugenia gave a solemn nod but her heart was dancing in her breast.

  Gregor was just like her. Just like her!

  The effect of these stories was to create in Eugenia’s mind a veritable romantic hero, a man of almost superhuman strength, whose feelings once roused would sweep a girl up as into the wake of whirlwind.

  “Will he – be in London – next month?” Eugenia pried shyly. Great-Aunt Cloris had proposed returning home then and Eugenia planned to accompany her.

  “Oh, certainly,” replied Bridget. “He was all set to paint Lord and Lady Glover’s miniatures when we left. He won’t have finished those yet.”

  ‘Not long to go’, thought Eugenia, ‘before I see my true love again!’

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Dovedale and Great-Aunt Cloris persisted in their campaign to make Eugenia look with a more encouraging eye upon the Marquis. They reminded her time after time of all that he had done for her and how this indicated a deep interest in her happiness and well-being. They never failed, after a visit from the Marquis, to comment upon his good looks, his style, his demeanour and his manners.

  “There isn’t a lady in the land who would not have him!” sighed Mrs. Dovedale.

  “Then let them fight over him, for I shan’t!” retorted Eugenia.

  She was so sure that her attitude to the Marquis was set in stone that an incident that occurred the following afternoon threw her into some confusion.

  The Marquis sent word that he would be bringing a visitor to tea. Mrs. Dovedale set out the china and ordered a fruit loaf to be baked. She, Great-Aunt Cloris and Eugenia waited in the drawing room and at three o’clock precisely the Marquis rode into view.

  With him, side-saddle on a black mare, rode a veiled lady.

  Mrs. Dovedale looked alarmed. “A lady? Why is he bringing a lady?”

  When Bridget announced the Marquis and – a Lady Walling, Mrs. Dovedale dropped to the sofa in despair.

  “Lady Walling?” she whispered. “That fortune hunter!”

  Eugenia regarded the Marquis and his companion closely as they entered. Lady Walling drew up her veil and extended her hand. “What a charmingly domestic scene this is!” she exclaimed, indicating the merry fire in the hearth and the table set for tea.

  Eugenia disliked her instantly. Whether it was this dislike or something else that coloured her subsequent responses she could never decide, but over the course of tea she realised that, much as she was convinced that she herself did not want the Marquis, she was equally convinced that she did not want Lady Walling to have him either!

  Lady Walling, lean and bony as she was, nevertheless simpered and pouted at the Marquis as if she was a kitten. The Marquis was all courtesy and attention. Indeed, his eyes barely left Lady Walling’s face and Eugenia was surprised to feel herself reddening with indignation. After all, it was Eugenia he usually favoured with his glances.

  The Marquis explained to the company the reason for his visit. The hunting season was upon them and he had decided to throw a ball. Lady Walling had agreed to help secure the presence of an orchestra, for there was to be dancing.

  “I have thrown many balls at my own place, Walling Hall,” boasted Lady Walling, “and I always hire an orchestra. There must be dancing. I myself am a most accomplished dancer.”

  Eugenia gritted her teeth. “I am sure you are, Lady Walling,” she said. Lady Walling flashed a tight smile. “My legs are long, you see, and very well-formed.”

  “It is a pity, then,” returned Eugenia, “that you are not in a position to wear breeches, the better to reveal them.” Lady Walling might have replied in kind but that the Marquis appeared to have a sudden fit of coughing.

  When the Marquis and Lady Walling rose to go, Eugenia noticed for the first time how truly imposing was his physique.

  She walked to the window and watched the two of them ride away.

  ‘I do not think she is right for him at all,’ she told herself sulkily.

  All evening, her thoughts flew round and round in her head like birds in a room with closed windows. Images of Gregor fighting a wild boar alternated with images of the Marquis dancing with Lady Walling.

  She knew that she loved Gregor but it was strange how this did not preclude jealousy – yes, jealousy, she was honest enough to recognise it for what it was – that she had lost dominion over the Marquis. She supposed that her continued defence against his attentions had finally convinced him that he should look elsewhere for romance.

  *

  Invitations to the ball
soon arrived at ‘Paragon’. Despite herself, Eugenia became infected with the atmosphere of excited anticipation. She was unwilling to wear the same gown that she had worn the night of her mother’s accident and was relieved when Great-Aunt Cloris agreed to relinquish one of the expensive dresses she had brought with her.

  The Marquis sent a gig to collect them.

  As Buckbury Abbey came into view amidst the trees the occupants of the gig stared in wonder.

  Torches flared brightly all around the house. The windows glowed with candlelight. Footmen with powdered wigs stood sentry on each step that led up to the entrance.

  With a thrill, Eugenia remembered that party long ago at Buckbury, when she had tried to reach the star at the top of the Christmas tree.

  The ballroom within was a feast of colour and light and laughter. There was the glint of crystal, the whirl of silk and satin, the scent of various exotic perfumes mingling with the tang of orange from the peel laid along the great logs in the marble fireplace.

  Mrs. Dovedale and Great-Aunt Cloris wished to scrutinise proceedings from the safety of the velvet benches lining the walls. They assured Eugenia that they were perfectly all right and waved her away.

  Eugenia moved among the guests as if in a dream.

  She was unaware that she herself looked like a walking dream, a vision of perfection.

  Young men stared at her over the shoulders of their dancing partners. Young ladies frowned and fluttered their fans nervously before their faces.

  Her gown was of a deep blue hue and brocaded with gold. Its curved neckline revealed her alabaster shoulders. Her eyes, wide-set and large, gleamed like sapphires in the candlelight.

  When the music finished, gentlemen jostled to claim a dance.

  As Eugenia began to fill in her card, she could not help but feel a rush of triumph. She wondered if the Marquis was nearby. She did not want him – of course she did not – but she was piqued that he had decided he did not want her!

  Imagine her chagrin therefore when the Marquis sailed by without a glance in her direction, his arm firmly around the waist of Lady Walling who flashed Eugenia a bright, victorious smile.

  Eugenia tossed her head and took up the glass of champagne proffered by a passing footman.

  She spluttered as the bubbles tickled her palate. Another sip and her tongue tingled. She finished the glass and took another. Now she began to feel inexplicably carefree.

  The music struck up again and she was spun onto the floor for her next dance. At the end of which she accepted another glass of champagne, then another, before she was whirled away in the arms of a young man with large, prune-coloured eyes.

  She was enchanted by everything. The music, the attention, the display of wealth, the grandeur of her surroundings. Buckbury was such a beautiful house and – it might have been hers. Quite what she had thrown away was suddenly impressed upon her with renewed force.

  The suppers and balls she might have presided over! The gowns she might have acquired!

  Eugenia frowned. Lady Walling was still dancing with the Marquis.

  She twisted her neck left and right to follow the path of the Marquis and his partner. For the first time she noticed how gracefully the Marquis moved. He was a head taller than almost anyone else in the room. His eye was proud and gallant. Why, half the women in the room were watching him. He was quite wasted on Lady Walling!

  She suddenly spun away from her astonished partner to seize another glass of champagne. Over the rim, her gaze followed the Marquis’s progress.

  Mrs. Dovedale appeared at her daughter’s elbow.

  “Think of all that you owe him, Eugenia,” she whispered with great urgency. “Think of how you might repay him. If you do not seize your chance now, all will be lost. He will surely marry Lady Walling.”

  Eugenia’s brow creased as an image of Gregor flashed through her mind. But for once his memory could not compete with the all too potent present. It could not compete with the splendour of the occasion. It could not compete with a sudden, overwhelming sense of moral obligation that dizzyingly coincided with music and magic and twinkling stars.

  Forgetting even her self imposed promise never to marry anyone her mother favoured, Eugenia thrust her glass at her mother and stumbled off towards the Marquis and Lady Walling.

  Mrs. Dovedale hugged herself in glee.

  The dance ended as Eugenia neared the couple. The Marquis caught sight of Eugenia first. One glance seemed to convince him that he must make his excuses to Lady Walling – whose lips formed a perfect ‘o’ of annoyance in response – and move quickly to Eugenia’s side.

  Taking her arm without a word, he steered her towards the French windows that over-looked the terrace. Guests watched them pass and one or two heads bent to whisper conspiratorially.

  “I think you may need a little air, Miss Dovedale,” the Marquis murmured as he opened a window and guided Eugenia through.

  The air made her stagger. She grasped hold of the ironwork that ran along the terrace and gazed misty eyed at the Marquis.

  “It is all so – so – so wonderful,” she breathed.

  “I so am glad that you are – enjoying yourself,” said the Marquis, his eyebrow raised.

  “Oh, I am! Only – only one thing troubles me, my Lord.”

  The Marquis cocked his head enquiringly. At the same time his eyes travelled over her face and body with such undisguised hunger that she felt exultant. Why, she might yet have him!

  She took a deep breath, and her mind seemed to swim in her head.

  “You must not – you really really must not – marry Lady Walling.”

  A wry smile danced at the corners of the Marquis’s lips. “Indeed? Then who may I marry, Miss Dovedale?”

  Eugenia’s eyes widened as if she imagined the Marquis a fool to ask.

  “Why, me!” she beamed, brightly and innocently. “Me, Eugenia Dovedale.”

  And with that, she stumbled dazedly into his willing arms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Eugenia opened her eyes and closed them again quickly. Even through the curtains, the morning light seemed unbearably bright and her head was throbbing like a mill loom. Groaning, she turned her face to the pillow.

  The bedroom door creaked and footsteps crossed the floor to the window.

  “No – no – ” moaned Eugenia. “Don’t open the curtains.”

  “Got to, miss,” came Bridget’s voice, strangely sullen. “It’s past twelve and I was told to wake you. Your mother and great-aunt are all agog to see you. Being as you’re now an engaged woman.”

  Eugenia sat bolt upright in shock. Everything came flooding back to her.

  “I – did it,” she murmured, her hand to her lips.

  “You did it all right, miss.” Bridget turned and almost ripped the curtains apart. Light poured in and Eugenia shrouded her eyes. Bridget, hands on hips, regarded her almost balefully.

  “You did it, miss,” she repeated. “What am I supposed to tell Gregor, eh? I promised I would – I bin doing what he asked – it ain’t – isn’t – my fault if you lose your head after a few glasses of champagne, is it?”

  Tears pricked Eugenia’s eyes. “Is that what I did?” she muttered. “Lost my head? Oh. Oh.”

  The enormity of what she had done descended on her like a heavy cloud. She sank back upon the pillow.

  “You’ve made your bed,” said Bridget with unaccountable bitterness. “Now lie in it.”

  ‘You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.’

  This phrase became a constant echo in Eugenia’s head as the day passed. When the Marquis called in that afternoon, she feigned illness rather than see him before she had absorbed the full extent of what had happened.

  She could not believe that after all her fierce resistance she had succumbed to the wishes of the Marquis at a moment when he seemed the least interested in pursuing them.

  ‘It was all the fault of Lady Walling,’ she decided. ‘If she had not set her cap at the Marquis, I shou
ld not have been similarly tempted.’

  This seemed a poor excuse even to Eugenia, but she did not wish to analyse her behaviour in any greater depth. The deed was done. She was engaged. She could not be so dishonourable as to change her mind.

  She must banish all thoughts of Gregor. He must now take his place as the great, lost, romantic love of her life. The secret that must lie hidden forever in her heart.

  She could not bring herself to admit that she felt a certain strange pleasure in this idea.

  Bridget’s bitter response to the news was a puzzle. In the end Eugenia decided that the girl was perhaps a little in love with Gregor herself, enough to be jealous on his behalf that the object of his interest, Eugenia, had slipped his noose.

  Mrs. Dovedale, of course, was beside herself with delight and Great-Aunt Cloris scarcely less so.

  Seated at Eugenia’s bedside, both ladies eagerly discussed their plans for the wedding, which would take place at Buckbury early in the New Year.

  By the next day, Eugenia had so far marshalled her resources as to be prepared to accept the consequence of her behaviour. Duty and gratitude must be the guiding principle in her relations to the Marquis, she decided. All notions of romantic love must be extinguished from her bosom.

  The Marquis called again that afternoon. His eyes lit up as Eugenia entered the room. Eugenia permitted him to kiss her hand and then she glided, eyes lowered, to the sofa.

  Mrs Dovedale, who had without compunction allowed Eugenia to ride out unattended with the Marquis when she was single, became convinced that her daughter must be chaperoned at all times now that she was engaged.

  Eugenia was grateful for this sudden surge of propriety on her mother’s part, for it meant that she and the Marquis were never alone. She did not desire a repetition of the brief intimacy that had occurred the night of the ball.

  She retained a fleeting image of his lips bending to hers as she fell into his arms, his hand brushing away a stray curl from her forehead before he escorted her back to the ballroom. She did not care to dwell on the words he had uttered as she had offered up her future to his care – “my darling, how I have longed for this moment.”