The House of Happiness Page 3

  Mrs. Dovedale had fled wailing from the room –

  Eugenia gave a little smile at the memory and pressed her forehead to the window.

  Two young ladies were out for a stroll, their cloaks thrown over their shoulders. Eugenia could hear the clack of their heels on the pavement.

  She watched them longingly. No doubt they were on their way to Kensington Gardens. She and her mother were wont to take a walk there every day after lunch, but since Mrs. Dovedale had been confined to bed, this pleasure had been denied her daughter.

  Eugenia frowned.

  She was sent on errands by her great-aunt without her mother (although to be sure Bridget or the scullery maid would always be trailing behind her with the basket). She could not see why she should not go to Kensington Gardens alone.

  The thought was father to the deed. Without further ado, Eugenia tiptoed down the stairs and retrieved her coat from its hook in the cloakroom. She pinned on her hat before the hall mirror. Then she quietly opened the front door and slipped out.

  She felt like a bird let loose from its cage as she sped along the street.

  The Bayswater Road was busy. She held on to her hat as she crossed, dodging the carts and carriages. A newsboy whistled at her over his bundle of papers.

  The gardens seemed peaceful after the fray of the streets. There were not many people about but Eugenia was too exhilarated to be wary. She was alone and free!

  She turned her head at the sound of hooves. Two figures on horseback rode amidst the trees to her right. Beyond them, to the South, lights were beginning to twinkle on Kensington Gore.

  It was nearly dusk. Eugenia had never been out alone this late.

  A voice from the shadowy verge startled her.

  “Going somewhere nice, lady?”

  A man stepped out into her path, forcing her to halt. His manner of addressing her had indicated that he was no gentleman and this was confirmed by his demeanour. His eyes gleamed with insolence. She shuddered as he bared a row of stained and broken teeth.

  “Going somewhere nice?” he repeated.

  Eugenia made to pass but he put a hand on her arm to detain her.

  “Why such a hurry? There’s nothing that way but the Serpentine. Are you by any chance meeting someone there for a rendee-voo?”

  “N-no,” replied Eugenia. “I was just – I am just – walking.”

  She shrugged off his hand and moved on. To her horror, the man fell into step beside her.

  “I have no need of company,” Eugenia remarked coldly.

  “Oh, but you do,” leered the man. “All on your own in the park at dusk. Tsk, tsk. Lucky you’ve knocked into a gentleman of leisure. I can go wherever my fancy takes me. And this evening it takes me in your direction, so it does.”

  Eugenia quickened her step, throwing anxious glances about her. The light was fading fast and the park was nearly empty. Ahead of her on the bridge she could make out two horses, standing motionless under a gas lamp. Their riders had alighted. One, obviously a manservant, stood holding the bridles. The other leaned on the balustrade, smoking and gazing down at the darkening surface of the Serpentine. Otherwise Eugenia was alone with her unwelcome companion.

  “Slow down a little, won’t you?” he huffed.

  “I must go home,” cried Eugenia, desperately “I must go home.”

  The man caught her arm and she stumbled to a halt.

  “Come on, no more of this racing. Take off the old chapeau and lets have a good look at you.”

  Eugenia gave a cry as he tugged at her hat. Loosened pins fell to the grass and strands of hair uncoiled.

  The man whistled. “I’ve hooked a right beauty and no mistake,” he said.

  “Give me back my h-hat, please!”

  “Tell you what, I’ll give it back if you give me a kiss.”

  “No,” said Eugenia in alarm. “Certainly not.”

  The man lunged at her greedily, pinning her arms to her side. “Go on, don’t be a tease.”

  “No!” Eugenia struggled as she felt cold lips seek her mouth. “NO!”

  “Unhand the young lady at once!”

  The voice that rang from the bridge ahead was one of such natural command that the man released Eugenia immediately.

  The owner of the voice tossed aside his cigar and strode angrily towards them. Eugenia’s companion began to back away.

  “Just – a little fun, guvnor!” he bleated.

  With that he turned on his heels and fled.

  Dazed, Eugenia knelt to retrieve her hat.

  “Madam, are you all right?”

  A firm hand under her elbow helped her to her feet.

  “I – yes – thank you. I am. Thank you.”

  Setting her hat on her head, Eugenia raised grateful eyes to her rescuer. When she saw who it was, she gave a cry.

  The Marquis of Buckbury!

  The Marquis started in his turn. “Miss Dovedale – ”

  Hands suddenly shaking, Eugenia felt for her veil. “Yes. It’s me. Only I wish it wasn’t. Oh, how I wish it wasn’t.”

  “Miss Dovedale, I – ”

  “No. Please. Don’t say a word. And if you ever see Mama – please – don’t say a word. She would be so cross. But you see, she would not leave her bed – oh, where is my veil? – and I so much wanted to walk – and it was wonderful. I felt so free, and the air was so cool – it was wonderful until that man – that horrible man – I didn’t know him – really I didn’t – I didn’t know him at all – ”

  The Marquis had gazed on in silence while Eugenia, eyes brimming with unshed tears, struggled to explain herself and untangle her veil at the same time.

  “Permit me,” he now offered gently.

  Eugenia stood trembling as the Marquis unwound her veil from the crown of her hat. She was too embarrassed to look at him.

  “There.” The Marquis stepped back and bowed. “It is done.”

  “T-thank you.” Cheeks aflame, Eugenia quickly drew down the veil.

  “You will, of course, allow me to escort you home,” offered the Marquis, signalling to his manservant on the bridge.

  Eugenia recoiled in alarm. “I c-can’t. If Mama should see me! I can’t.”

  With that, she picked up her skirts and turned to run.

  “Miss Dovedale!” The Marquis’s voice rang out behind her but she only ran the faster.

  The Marquis stared after her. Then, spinning on his heels, he strode swiftly to the bridge where his horse and manservant waited.

  Eugenia, in her flight, stumbled once or twice but otherwise never paused. Breast heaving, hair streaming from under her hat, she at last saw the lights of the Bayswater Road ahead.

  She never once looked back at the park, never once observed the two riders who followed at a distance, determined to see that Miss Eugenia Dovedale reached home in safety. Not till Eugenia paused before her great-aunt’s house in Craven Hill did this discreet escort turn away.

  The lamps were lit in the rooms of both her mother and her great-aunt. That meant that they were awake and Great-Aunt Cloris at least would be dressing for supper. Eugenia must be present when she came downstairs or she would wonder why.

  Her ears pricked up at the sound of the door under the porch steps opening. Eugenia peered over the railing to see Bridget emerge from the scullery. The maid was carrying a bucket of slops to the bin. She looked up in surprise as Eugenia unlatched the gate and hurried down the steps.

  “Where did you come from, miss?” asked Bridget.

  “I – went out for – for a stroll,” replied Eugenia.

  Bridget’s eyes grew wide with interest. “Alone, miss?”

  “Yes,” asserted Eugenia, adding quickly, “you are not to tell Great-Aunt Cloris or Mama. Promise?”

  Bridget looked crafty. “And what do I get if I do promise, miss?”

  Eugenia, about to enter the scullery, paused. “Bridget! You want a bribe?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, miss. I’d call it a sweetener.” />
  Eugenia looked helpless. “But – I don’t own anything you could possibly want, Bridget. And I don’t have any money.”

  Bridget pursed her lips. She knew this was perfectly true.

  “How about if you owe me, miss?”

  “Owe you?”

  “Yes. You might have money one day.”

  “Well – ” mused Eugenia. “I cannot imagine that I am ever going to have any money, Bridget, but – all right. I agree.”

  “That’s settled then.”

  Eugenia stared at her for a moment and then hurried in. She walked through the scullery to the kitchen and there made for the door which led into the corridor.

  Bridget followed at her heels.

  “Your great-aunt had a visitor this evening,” she said.

  “Who was it?”

  “A Lady Biscuit or something,” answered Bridget with a shrug. “She didn’t stay long.”

  Since Bridget had nothing more to add, Eugenia opened the door and climbed up the stairs to the entrance hall. Here she removed her coat and hat. Just in time! As the supper gong sounded, Great-Aunt Cloris opened her drawing room door.

  “Ah! Eugeeeenia. Have you been asleep? The house was very quiet all afternoon.”

  Eugenia could not meet her narrowed eye.

  “Y-yes, great-aunt. I was asleep.”

  She nodded. “Well. You missed a visit from an old friend of mine. No matter. Let us go in to supper. Needless to say, your mother will not be joining us!”

  Great-Aunt Cloris was uncharacteristically garrulous over the fish supper. Eugenia barely listened. She prodded at her meal listlessly, her mind on the unfortunate encounter with the Marquis.

  It was very – gallant of him to come to her rescue, she supposed, but what must he think of her, alone in the park like that? She coloured as she imagined the construction the Marquis might make of it all.

  She refused to consider the fact that the Marquis had been good to her father – had indeed treated him more as a friend than as an employee. She refused to dwell on the fact that the Marquis had been kind to her when she was a little girl at her first Christmas party.

  As far as she was concerned, the more decidedly she could thwart her mother’s designs, the better. The unfavourable first impression she had made on the Marquis at the soirée must now be compounded by the encounter in the park. Nothing her mother might do or say could rectify that.

  The Marquis could now be even more definitively struck from the list of her prospective suitors!

  In this, Eugenia was to be proved completely wrong!

  *

  The visit from her friend Lady Bescombe had set Great-Aunt Cloris thinking. Lady Bescombe’s portrait had recently been painted – ‘for posterity’. The artist, one Gregor Brodosky, though apparently well known in his native Russia, was not yet established in England. This fact was of no concern to Great-Aunt Cloris except insofar as it meant he could not charge overmuch for his services.

  Posterity had never greatly appealed to Great-Aunt Cloris. She had always suspected that it would entail a great deal of expense. The prospect of posterity at no great cost, however, attracted her greatly. She also became convinced that, suitably framed and hung, she would be able to keep an eye on household expenditure long after her demise.

  This last idea clinched the matter. She took up her pen and wrote to Mr. Gregor Brodosky, care of the Moskova Club, Kensington.

  Eugenia and her mother were astonished when Great-Aunt Cloris announced her intention. Privately Mrs. Dovedale considered that the money might be better spent on a new wardrobe for Eugenia. She mentioned that she had heard of this artist, Brodosky, from Lady Granton, who had described him as enigmatic and devilishly handsome. He was setting many a lady’s heart aflutter. Great-Aunt Cloris said she had no interest in such matters.

  “I shall not be looking at him,” she remarked imperiously. “Rather, he will be looking at me.”

  The idea of being looked at took such root in Great-Aunt Cloris, that the following morning she sent Eugenia to Bond Street Arcade to purchase some rouge and lip colour.

  Eugenia undertook the task with alacrity. She enjoyed strolling through the Arcade, looking at all the pretty items in the shops.

  Bridget, who accompanied her, shifted the basket on her arm and grunted.

  “You’ll have all them things one day, miss.”

  “Not I!” laughed Eugenia. “I shall marry a penniless poet!”

  Wending their way home, they paused opposite Great-Aunt Cloris’s house in Craven Hill to watch a handsome carriage drive by.

  The carriage drove to the end of the street, where the driver sat for a minute, seeming uncertain of which way to proceed.

  Eugenia and Bridget crossed the road and went into the house.

  Eugenia was still in the hallway removing her gloves when the doorbell rang.

  “Bridget, answer the door please.”

  A footman, looking very important in scarlet britches, stood on the step outside. Behind him, the carriage Eugenia and Bridget had espied a moment ago was waiting at the kerb.

  “Delivery for a Mrs. and Miss Dovedale!” he announced with a bow.

  Two pageboys emerged from the carriage. One staggered under a large hamper with Fortnum and Mason written on the side. The other carried a box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a pink bow.

  The footman gave another bow.

  “With the compliments of the Marquis of Buckbury,” he said.

  “What is all the commotion?” asked Great-Aunt Cloris from the landing above.

  Eugenia cleared her throat.

  “It is a delivery, Great-Aunt Cloris. From – from the Marquis of Buckbury.”

  “Marquis? Did someone mention the Marquis?” cried Mrs. Dovedale from behind Great-Aunt Cloris.

  The hamper, addressed to Mrs. Dovedale, contained a large ham, tinned fruit, oatmeal biscuits, a stilton, plum cake and champagne.

  The box was addressed to Eugenia. From its layers of tissue she drew a jewelled fan and a pair of kid gloves.

  “There is an envelope, too!” said Mrs. Dovedale excitedly. “Addressed to both of us.”

  The envelope contained an invitation to a ball to be given by Lord and Lady Bescombe the following month.

  Mrs. Dovedale’s eyes gleamed. “Lord and Lady Bescombe’s ball. Imagine.”

  “No good will come of it,” sniffed Great-Aunt Cloris.

  Eugenia could not but silently agree.

  In her room later she stared numbly at the fan and gloves.

  The Marquis must surely know that she had never owned anything of such quality. Were these gifts meant to illustrate what she had lost when she first spurned his interest?

  Clearly, in revenge for her initial snub, the Marquis wished to humiliate Eugenia. The encounter in the park had intensified his contempt. No doubt he had not believed her when she had said that she had not known the man who accosted her. Perhaps he thought she had declined the interest of a Marquis for the attentions of someone who was not even a gentleman.

  Rich men were cruel and proud. She would have nothing to do with them.

  She would write to the Marquis and refuse his invitation to the ball. She would inform her mother of her decision the very next day.

  The gifts and the invitation to the ball had revived Mrs. Dovedale. For the first time in days, she rose from her bed and dressed for breakfast. She sat at table, humming so happily as she buttered her toast, that Eugenia’s heart sank.

  “Mama,” she began with trepidation.

  She waved her butter knife at her daughter. “You are worrying that you have no dress but never fear. I have decided to sell the jewellery left to me by my own mother and your dear father. I shall take the pieces to Hatton Garden tomorrow. I am bound to achieve a good price and then you and I shall go to Bond Street to purchase some material.”

  Eugenia swallowed hard. “Mama, you can’t!”

  “Oh, but I can. Your father would applaud. You shall go
the ball, my dear!”

  Eugenia sighed.

  She would need to broach the subject later. Meanwhile she would write to the Marquis. She would send Bridget out, or post the letter herself while she and her mother were on their afternoon walk.

  Mrs. Dovedale, however, sent down word at lunch that all the excitement had given her a headache and she wished to rest. Bridget should accompany Eugenia on her constitutional.

  The air was sharp. Eugenia wore one of her aunt’s old fur hats. Tucked in her muff was the letter for the Marquis. She would walk as far as Kensington Gore and post it there.

  Eugenia walked swiftly – too swiftly for Bridget, who lagged sullenly behind. Eugenia’s cheeks were soon rosy with exertion.

  The Broad Walk, when she reached it, was busy. Ladies strolled arm in arm, boys bowled hoops or chased each other up and down, open carriages drove by at a sedate pace.

  “Miss Dovedale!”

  Eugenia looked up as one such carriage drew close. She paled when she recognised the Marquis of Buckbury.

  “My Lord!”

  The Marquis called to his driver, who brought the vehicle to a halt. Eugenia dropped a curtsy as the Marquis stepped out.

  “How delightful to encounter you, Miss Dovedale. Might I walk with you a little?”

  The Marquis spoke in so civil a tone that Eugenia did not know how to refuse.

  “If – if you so wish,” she stammered.

  The Marquis gestured to his driver to follow and then he and Eugenia set off at a stroll.

  “It’s a fine day to be out, Miss Dovedale.”

  “Yes, it is, my Lord.”

  “I trust your mother is well?”

  “She is – indisposed today.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “But I am not alone, all the same – you see – there is Bridget behind.”

  The Marquis turned gravely to acknowledge the presence of Bridget. Then he and Eugenia continued to walk in silence.

  ‘He is waiting for me to thank him for his gifts!’ Eugenia thought.

  She knew she should thank him there and then, but she felt as if the words would stick in her throat. The truth was, in her heart, that she did not thank him at all! Yet the longer she remained silent, the more difficult it would be to broach the subject.

  She drew to a sudden halt and stood with lowered eyes, tracing a line in the gravel of the Broad Walk with the toe of her boot. Bridget, some ten paces behind, flopped down thankfully onto a bench and yawned. The Marquis, puzzled, stopped as well.