The House of Happiness Page 15

  She did not know what was to become of her. Her habitual spirited opposition to her mother’s wishes now seemed the conduct of another being entirely. Perhaps her entire future was to be spent in a series of humble rooms like that at the Sailor’s Tavern.

  It was the Marquis who, as if hearing her thoughts, suggested that she return to ‘Paragon’. When she began to protest that it was out of the question, he silenced her with a severe look.

  “Dress yourself and then come down to the inn courtyard,” he said. “I will order a coach.”

  He had not spoken to her on the journey, except to exchange common courtesies, or ask her if she wished him to halt the coach so that she might take refreshment of some kind.

  He made no mention at all of what her future might entail until he handed her from the coach outside her beloved cottage. Then, drawing her out of earshot of his coachman, he told her what he had decided.

  “Here you may live,” he said. “I will continue to provide for you, but I desire no further communication between us. Explain it to your mother as you will. I shall never breathe a word of what has passed regarding yourself and Brodosky. Your reputation, as far as that adventure goes, is safe. You are at liberty to invent another reason for our – estrangement.”

  “Lady Walling, perhaps?” murmured Eugenia bitterly, close to tears.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Eugenia bit her lip. “Nothing, my L-Lord.”

  “I am not your Lord anymore, Eugenia. I am nothing to you from now on and you are nothing to me.”

  He turned and strode back to the coach. Eugenia stood outside until the sound of the wheels faded in the dusky air. Then she opened the door of ‘Paragon’ and went inside.

  *

  That had been two days ago. Two days! The most lonely of her life, her only companions the owls and wood pigeons that lived in the woods. She did not even have her old pony Bud, since he was now stabled at Buckbury and she did not dare approach the Abbey for fear the Marquis might see her.

  She turned her head at the sound of a light knock.

  The knocking continued, with increasing urgency. At last she walked to the door and cautiously opened it a crack. She peered out and then stepped back in astonishment. Bridget pushed the door wide and stared in.

  “I had to see you, miss. It’s important.”

  She looked exhausted and very bedraggled. Her stockings were torn and the hem of her dress trailed in the dust. She seemed to have lost Eugenia’s woollen cloak. Eugenia took all this in and then motioned for her to enter.

  With a look of relief, Bridget slipped into the house. She followed Eugenia to the drawing room and sank with a moan onto the sofa. Eugenia looked at her for a moment and then went to the kitchen, returning with bread and jam and a mug of ale. Bridget fell on the food hungrily.

  “Thank you, miss, oh, thank you. I’m that grateful, I really am. I don’t deserve it.”

  “No,” agreed Eugenia candidly. “You do not.”

  She did not know why she was helping Bridget in this way. Perhaps she pitied her. After all, Gregor, the man she had loved, was dead.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked Bridget at last.

  Bridget took a swig of ale and then wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

  “I wanted to return these, miss.” She threw the leather pouch containing Eugenia’s jewels onto the small table that stood before the sofa. “They’re all there,” she added.

  Eugenia stared at the pouch. “What makes you give them up, Bridget? They would have fetched a lot of money – enough for you to start a new life somewhere and perhaps even become a lady.”

  Bridget burst into tears.

  “I don’t want to start a new life no more, miss. I don’t want to be a lady. I just want to go back to London and look after Mrs.Dewitt like I used to. Before that Gregor came and turned my head! He used to taunt me about you, miss, even though he was making love to me.”

  Eugenia lowered her head with a bitter sigh. “Making love to you?”

  “From the very first, miss. But – he’d flirt with you as he’d flirt with any creature that caught his eye and I got so jealous – I was glad when you and your mother left London for Buckbury. Then one day Gregor found out from your great-aunt that she was going to leave all her fortune to you and it set him thinking.

  He kept saying that your great-aunt was old and bound to die soon. If he could get you to marry him, he’d end up rich. I said I didn’t want him to marry you, but he said not to be a fool, as once he had the money, he’d leave you and run off with me. He said I was – the right sort for him.

  He was impatient for you to return to London so that he might start his plan. Then Mrs. Dewitt received the invitation to visit you all. Gregor was thrilled, ’cos he knew she’d take me with her. And he made me promise that, once I got here, I was to set to work on you.”

  Eugenia raised her head. “Work on me?”

  “Soften you up until he could get to you himself. Make you believe that – that he was in love with you. And I did it, even though half the time I didn’t want to. Then you went and got yourself engaged. Even Gregor thought his plan was all over.

  “And then came the commission to paint your portrait. He accepted ’cos he was sure he’d be able to get you to renounce the Marquis for him. But it didn’t work out that way. After your marriage he really gave up.

  I didn’t want to leave him, but you kept insisting that I go with you on your honeymoon. I could have killed you until – until I found out that you and the Marquis were not – not really man and wife after all. I wrote to Gregor and – and he replied, saying we had you now, he was sure of it. He decided to wait at ‘Paragon’ until you were back, until such time as I thought you were – ripe.”

  “Ripe,” repeated Eugenia in disbelief.

  “Yes, miss. Miserable enough to leave your husband. Then I was to get you to ‘Paragon’ and – and he’d do the rest. It worked. You came away.” Bridget began to tug nervously at a strand of hair. “He told me we was going to abandon you once we’d got the money out of the Marquis. I never thought he’d do what he did, miss. Honest. I’d never have agreed to that, miss, never.”

  Eugenia nodded and then stared down at the pouch full of jewels. “And these?”

  Bridget began to wail. “I don’t want to hang for a string of pearl and some rings, miss. If I give them back, perhaps you’ll put a word in for me with the Marquis and ask him not to press charges against me. Would you do that, miss?”

  Eugenia pushed the pouch back towards Bridget. “I do not consider that they are mine to receive. And I no longer have the ear of the Marquis, for reasons which you must surely guess. You must go to him yourself and beg for mercy.”

  Bridget, sniffing, picked up the pouch. “Are you sure he will see me?” she asked doubtfully.

  “I am sure he will,” said Eugenia.

  Bridget, somewhat fortified by the meal and ale, departed. Eugenia closed the door behind her but did not bolt it. She returned to the drawing room and sank into her chair before the fire, her mind in even greater turmoil. She had been nothing but a pawn in a game from the beginning, all the time believing she was experiencing a grand and illicit passion. Fool, fool, fool!

  Apart from going to the kitchen to prepare herself some food, she spent the rest of the evening before the fire. She read, dropped the book onto her lap, took up some sewing and dropped it as well. Nothing could take her mind off the sorry tale that Bridget had told her.

  It was getting on for midnight. The fire had begun to die, for she had not fed the flames for nearly an hour. The dying embers seemed to reflect her mood and she sat staring at them as if in a trance.

  Only gradually did she become aware that someone had entered the cottage. Had Bridget returned from her quest?

  “W-who is there?” she called fearfully.

  The Marquis stepped into the room from the corridor. Eugenia rose with a cry.

  The Marquis apologised. “I am
sorry to have startled you,” he said. “I knocked but you did not hear. As the bolt was not drawn I made so bold as to enter.”

  His tone was considerably less severe than when they had last met and Eugenia felt bewildered.

  “You said – you had no wish to communicate with me.” The Marquis nodded gravely. “Indeed I did. But – I received a visitor this afternoon who made me realise that you and I had – unfinished business.” Eugenia could not read his expression.

  “You mean Bridget?”

  The Marquis inclined his head again.

  “Yes. I have agreed not to press charges.”

  “I am glad of that.”

  The Marquis regarded her, his head a little to one side.

  “I truly believe you are. Yes. You have a – generous if too impulsive heart.”

  “You have not come here to offer me guarded compliments, surely?”

  “No. I – have items of yours that I thought I should return.” Eugenia began to feel alarmed. “What are they?”

  “This is the first. This and its contents.”

  The Marquis withdrew an object from his waistcoat and threw it on the table. Eugenia froze. It was her reticule, in which lay the three letters that she had received from Gregor. She raised anguished eyes to the Marquis.

  “You – you know what is inside?”

  “I regret to say I do.”

  Trembling, Eugenia opened the reticule and withdrew the letters. She held them out in her fist to the Marquis.“You have – read them?”

  “Madam, I – know what they – “

  “That was – ungallant of you,” she cried, taking him to mean he had indeed read them. “And it is ungallant, sir, to throw them at me now, when you have already pronounced sentence upon me. What further punishment do you wish to inflict?”

  “I have not yet considered the matter of – punishment,” murmured the Marquis.

  Eugenia, breast heaving with anguish, lifted her chin. “You said that item was the first. What is the second?”

  The Marquis hesitated. “I have it – in the corridor. I will bring it in.”

  Eugenia watched him as he left the room. Wracked with remorse and shame, she tightened her fist on the letters. The Marquis returned and as her eyes settled on the object he carried under his arm, the blood drained from her cheeks.

  Although it was wrapped in a white cloth, she was sure that this was the portrait that Gregor had painted of her.

  “I thought you would want it,” said the Marquis simply.

  She could bear his taunts no more. Rushing forward, she seized the canvas from him and, spinning on her heel, hurled it into what remained of the fire.

  “You do not want to even look at it?” cried the Marquis.

  “No. No. I do not. And I do not want to look at these either.” Angrily she tossed the letters as well into the flickering tongues of flame. “I want nothing of that man, nothing. I do not want to remember him or what a fool I have made of myself. “

  Taking up a poker, she stabbed at the portrait, trying to push it further down into the fire. Nothing would do but that it should be consumed to ashes. Once she was certain that it would indeed burn, she flung the poker aside and turned defiantly to the Marquis, who had stood silent all the while.

  “So. Punish me then as you wish. I no longer care.”

  “No?” The Marquis strode forward and seized her roughly in his arms. “You do not care if I punish you – thus?”

  She gasped as he plunged his fingers into her hair and, drawing back her head so that her face was tilted up to his, pressed furious kisses onto her lips.

  “And thus – and thus – and thus – ” he repeated.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “I am taking what is mine!” the Marquis replied. “I have been half mad with jealousy since the moment I realised you were falling under the spell of another man. I thought patience and kindness would win you.

  “I thought all would be well once we were married but your tears on our wedding night showed me otherwise. Then you ran away.

  “My agony was intense. It was even more intense when I understood the character of the man for whom you had left me. The kind of man who I was sure would force you to his will as I should have forced you to mine.

  “As I will force you, my darling.”

  With a groan he lowered his head once again to hers, taking her lip between his teeth until it bled.

  A thrill swept through Eugenia’s veins such as she had never experienced. As hard as the Marquis’s heart pounded beneath his shirt, her heart pounded harder.

  “M-my lord,” she panted, falling against his breast.

  “Yes, your Lord, Eugenia, as you are my Lady.” She looked up at him with troubled eyes.

  “But – surely you are mocking me? How can you want me when you believe that – that I was – that man’s creature?”

  Struggling to restrain his passion, the Marquis held her face in his hands.

  “I wronged you, my sweetheart. Bridget has told me all.”

  Eugenia began to tremble with relief. “All?”

  “Yes. I longed to fly to you there and then. Only one fear held me back.”

  “What fear was that?” whispered Eugenia.

  “That you were still in love with a dead man. I did not actually read his letters, my darling, but Bridget outlined their contents to me and I understood the force of his charm. It was all too likely that you still harboured a passion for him. Your reaction just now to those very letters – and to the portrait – convinced me otherwise. Your heart may not be mine – yet – but it is at least free.”

  “No.” Eugenia shook her head. “It is not free, my Lord, for it is all yours. I believe it has been yours all along, but I was too foolish to understand the signs.”

  The Marquis held her at arm’s length. “The signs?”

  “My jealousy, for one thing – when you seemed to favour Lady Walling.”

  The Marquis began to laugh. “But I never favoured Lady Walling. It was just that she knew my father and uncle. She is a tiresome woman to whom I feel I owe a certain level of courtesy.”

  “But – but Bridget said that you and she were – lovers.”

  “Oh, my sweet foolish girl!” The Marquis exclaimed. “Have you not guessed that she lied in order to more successfully press Gregor Brodosky’s suit?”

  Of course. Eugenia could not believe she had been so blind. With a cry she fell again into the Marquis’s open arms. Now for the first time she was truly his. For the first time she felt the passion that once she had only imagined pulse through her blood.

  Her whole body shuddered at his touch. Her very soul seemed to throb with a delicious fever. Here, here in the arms of her husband was the all the romance she had ever craved.

  “So you have loved me all the while?” the Marquis murmured.

  “Yes, my Lord. I have always loved you.”

  “And I have loved you with all my heart and will love you for all eternity.”

  With a groan, he swept her up from the floor.

  “We have a great deal of lost time to make up, my angel. What a good thing it is that I am mad with desire for you. I am going to spend this night making love to you again – and again – and again!”

  Eugenia swooned as her husband carried her to the sofa.

  What better place in the world was there for her to yield herself up to joy, what better place to be truly made a woman and a wife, what better place to be loved and give love in return and be certain of endless happiness than here at her beloved ‘Paragon’!

 

 

 
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