The House of Happiness Page 7

  “Alas,” sighed the Marquis. “The past is never as we remember it.”

  Eugenia, beside herself with grief and horror, swung wildly on her companion.

  “It’s all your fault!” she sobbed. “You stayed in France and neglected your estate. I suppose ‘Paragon’ was beneath your interest. Why didn’t you install new tenants? Why?”

  Before the stunned Marquis could reply, Eugenia wheeled her horse around and took off at a gallop. She kept her head down as she careered through the low branches. She cleared the woods and splashed through the river, her mind in as great a turmoil as the darkening sky above. If her dreams of the past had been destroyed, she would cling all the tighter to her dreams of the future.

  Whether her mother approved or not, she would marry the man she adored and never, never succumb to the attentions of a man who had allowed her beloved ‘Paragon’ to fall into ruin!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As Eugenia cantered past the Apollo Pavilion, a great flash of lightning lit up its copper dome. A few seconds later, a deafening thunder clap rent the air.

  Eugenia’s mount, a skittish creature at the best of times, gave a terrified neigh before breaking into a headlong gallop.

  Although Eugenia had ridden as a child and though she had found herself fully at home in the saddle that morning, she was not an accomplished enough horsewoman to control an animal that was determined on its own course. She could do nothing but cling on, closing her eyes against the stinging lash of sudden rain and the mud that flew from under the mare’s hooves.

  Ahead lay the lake and an area of grey rocks.

  Eugenia felt her strength ebbing, her grip faltering. Another moment and she would surely be pitched headfirst onto the rocks –

  “Whoa, there, whoa!”

  The Marquis, arriving at a gallop, reached for the mare’s reins and tugged with all his strength. The mare’s head jerked and she ran on for fifty yards or more but the Marquis and his horse kept pace. Checked at last, the mare drew to a trembling halt. The Marquis dropped her foam-flecked bridle and leapt to the ground as Eugenia, half faint, began to slip from her saddle.

  “M-my Lord!”

  She felt strong arms encompass her, a flutter of breath on her cheek as she was lifted and carried to shelter. Her eyelids flickered open and she was staring up at a painted wooden ceiling.

  The Marquis deposited her gently onto a red lacquered seat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and then stepped back out into the rain to tie the horses. Eugenia watched his movements dazedly. His task accomplished, the Marquis returned.

  She had not yet regained her composure. Her bosom rose and fell heavily with each laboured breath and her face felt hot. Outside rain fell in a shimmering grey sheet. It felt as if she and the Marquis were marooned, cut off from the world.

  “W-what place is this?” she asked.

  “The Chinese pagoda,” he answered shortly.

  Since the light – such as it was – lay behind him, the Marquis was only visible in silhouette. Eugenia strained to read his expression.

  “I must thank you, my Lord, for your timely rescue.”

  “I did what any man would have done in the circumstances, Miss Dovedale,”

  His tone seemed cool and Eugenia felt herself blush. No doubt the Marquis had not forgiven her accusation that he had deliberately neglected ‘Paragon’. On reflection, she could not forgive herself. What had come over her, that she should have expected the Marquis to be as concerned as herself over the fate of her childhood home?

  “My Lord, I must apologise for what I said – about ‘Paragon’.”

  “You spoke as you felt.”

  “There are many who would consider it a discourtesy, my Lord.”

  “I am not among them.”

  The diffidence of the Marquis unsettled Eugenia. She cast about for a means of more fully engaging his attention.

  “Are those – figures I see up there on the ceiling, my Lord?”

  The Marquis glanced up. “Yes. They are part of a painting that illustrates an old Chinese story.”

  “W-what kind of story?”

  “A love story. Miss Dovedale, the storm has eased. I think we might risk riding on now.”

  Mutely, Eugenia rose and followed him to her horse. He lifted her to the saddle without a word and then immediately turned to untie his own mount.

  The two rode in near silence back to the house. The rain had eased but not ceased and by the time Eugenia dismounted she was shivering and wet.

  The Marquis ordered a maid to accompany Eugenia to her room and to help her shed her damp garments. Before Eugenia could bob a curtsy and reiterate her gratitude, the Marquis was gone, striding away down the corridor towards his library.

  Once garbed in her warm dressing gown and her hair wrapped in a towel, Eugenia sought out her mother.

  At the sight of her daughter, Mrs. Dovedale raised both her hands in relief.

  “Thank God! I thought the lightning had fried you to a cinder!”

  “I – we – found shelter, Mama.” Mrs. Dovedale’s eyes glimmered. “Ah! And did you find the Marquis – congenial?”

  Eugenia unwound the towel from her head and shook her hair free before answering. “He was the perfect gentleman, Mama.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Dovedale looked disappointed. Then her expression brightened as she brought out a letter from beneath her pillow. “A missive from Great-Aunt Cloris, my dear, received this morning. I do believe she is beginning to miss us.”

  Eugenia sat down at the dressing table and took up a brush. “What does she write, Mama?”

  “Primarily, that her portrait is nearly completed.”

  The brush halted in mid-air.

  “So – Gregor will be moving on?” Eugenia asked. She tried to sound nonchalant but her voice trembled a little.

  “I suppose he will be,” remarked Mrs. Dovedale, “once he has put the finishing touches to the painting.”

  There was a knock at the door and, at Mrs. Dovedale’s invitation, the Marquis entered. He was dressed for travelling, which excited her interest. The Marquis explained that he was suddenly obliged to leave for London that very day. He had called in to say farewell.

  Mrs. Dovedale noted with satisfaction that his eyes repeatedly strayed to where Eugenia sat at the dressing table. Her pleasure altered, however, when she saw that Eugenia had not turned to greet the Marquis, but was toying with the hairbrush, as if in a trance

  “Eugenia!” she said sharply. “The Marquis has only been here two days and already he is deserting us again for the delights of London. What say you to that?”

  Eugenia gave a start. “I – hope the delights are as – delightful as the Marquis – expects,” she intoned lamely.

  “Your mother jests, Miss Dovedale,” claimed the Marquis, his tone neutral. “The truth is, that I have – unexpected business to attend to.”

  Aware of her mother’s eagle eye upon her, Eugenia felt she should rally herself for a more elegant reply than her last effort. “You will be missed at Buckbury Abbey, I think,” she said.

  A slight shadow crossed the Marquis’s face, but his reply when it came was almost jocular in tone.

  “Ah, Miss Dovedale! The qualification of I think rather precludes you from being one of that sentimental number who might indeed miss me.”

  Eugenia was silent, puzzled that the Marquis’s mood seemed to have altered once again in her favour, but Mrs. Dovedale plunged anxiously in.

  “Oh, my Lord, we will both miss you, you can be sure. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

  The Marquis gave a bow. “You find life at Buckbury to your taste?”

  “Oh, yes, my Lord. It is quite like coming home. We want for nothing.”

  “I am so pleased to hear it. Now, if there is any errand you wish to entrust to me whilst I am in London, please consider me at your service. A visit to your aunt, perhaps?”

  Mrs. Dovedale clapped her hands. “That would be capital! She will
soon be at such a loose end in that empty house.”

  The Marquis raised an eyebrow. “Soon?”

  “She writes that her portrait is nearly completed. She will no longer have the distraction of Gregor and I fear that she has become rather accustomed to his company.”

  The Marquis’s eyes rested a second on Eugenia before he replied.

  “Then why not invite Mrs. Dewitt here, to Buckbury? I will order a suite prepared for her.”

  “You are too, too kind, my Lord! I was only saying to Eugenia that I was beginning to miss my aunt, despite her eccentricities.”

  The Marquis made his excuses and departed, bound for London. No sooner had the door closed behind him than Mrs. Dovedale began to berate Eugenia for what she perceived as her daughter’s ill-conduct.

  “You behaved as if you harboured no interest in the Marquis at all.”

  “Mama, I don’t!” Mrs. Dovedale threw up her hands.

  “You are an ungrateful and surly creature! Have you not an ounce of gratitude in your bones?”

  “Of gratitude I have more than an ounce. But gratitude is not – interest. I am not nor ever shall be tempted to fall in love with the Marquis and I wish you would not persist in your notions to the contrary.”

  “You might be Mistress of Buckbury!” wailed Mrs. Dovedale. “I am sure of it.”

  “I would rather be Mistress of my own heart.”

  “You are beyond redemption!” cried Mrs. Dovedale. “Go away. Leave my sight immediately before I develop the fits”

  Eugenia rose obligingly and walked to the door.

  “Thank God I shall have my Aunt Cloris for company soon,” Mrs. Dovedale muttered behind her.

  A week later a letter came from Great-Aunt Cloris advising that she had accepted the kind invitation from the Marquis to visit Buckbury Abbey. A week after that, the Marquis’s carriage bore the old lady up the driveway.

  Great-Aunt Cloris waved royally from the carriage as it drew to a halt. Mrs. Dovedale did not wait for the footman to open the door, but hurried down to open it herself. Great-Aunt Cloris descended in great style.

  After her came Bridget.

  Eugenia’s eyes widened at the sight.

  Bridget, wearing one of Great-Aunt Cloris’s old fur capes, looked about her with such a haughty eye it was as if she now considered herself elevated to the aristocracy rather than to the simple position of lady’s maid.

  “I don’t care to bed down in the kitchen or in the attic no more,” she proclaimed.

  The footmen glanced at each other but Great-Aunt Cloris seemed amused rather than outraged at Bridget.

  “Would you have guessed how very greatly a promotion would enlarge her sense of self?” she whispered to Mrs. Dovedale and Eugenia.

  Eugenia was intrigued by Bridget’s change of character. She stood at the door while Bridget inspected the room she had been assigned, which was adjacent to that of Great-Aunt Cloris. The maid’s room was small but compact, with a chest of drawers and a latticed window overlooking a courtyard. Bridget bounced up and down on the bed and declared herself satisfied with the mattress.

  “It’s horsehair. That’ll do me. And a feather pillow.”

  She threw off her cape and, leaning back on her elbows, kicked off her shoes. Eugenia was astonished to see that Bridget’s feet were encased in fine silk stockings.

  Eugenia decided that either Bridget had a secret beau or Great-Aunt Cloris was shedding an unprecedented amount of the items in her overstuffed wardrobe and tallboys. It was Bridget who decided to enlighten her.

  “The stockings are yours, miss. I took them.”

  “Y-you took them?”

  “Well, you owed me. Remember when I promised I wouldn’t let on to your mother or great-aunt that you’d been out alone in Kensington Gardens and you agreed you’d owe me a – sweetener – for my silence?”

  Eugenia nodded slowly. “That seems a very long time ago.”

  “Not so long that I’d forgotten. There was someone – who rather wanted to see me in silk stockings, so I – helped myself.”

  Eugenia shook her head in wonder at the maid’s temerity. Bridget, feeling the subject was dealt with, kicked her heels together and gave a sigh.

  “It’s quiet here, isn’t it miss?” she remarked. “You like it, do you?

  “At Buckbury? Yes, I – I suppose I do. Though I miss London and – some of the people there.”

  “I’m going to miss London too. I wouldn’t have come only – “

  “Only what, Bridget?”

  Bridget eyes narrowed. “Only I was, as you might say, ordered to.”

  “Oh, by Great-Aunt Cloris?”

  “Gregor said he wanted to paint me, you know, once he finished Mrs. Dewitt.”

  Eugenia felt a pang of jealousy sweep through her. For a moment she even wished herself in the maid’s shoes.

  “He d-did?”

  “Yes. He said I had quality.”

  Eugenia regarded Bridget with envious interest. She could not deny that Bridget had developed a blowsy beauty, her dark curls tumbling over a rosy face, her bosom almost opulent beneath her bodice.

  “I can see how he might think so, Bridget, “she admitted in a low voice.

  “You do?” Bridget regarded Eugenia for a moment, biting her lower lip. Then she seemed to make her mind up about some matter, for she abruptly sat up and leaned forward, her manner conspiratorial.

  “He – he often talked about you, miss. He said he wished you hadn’t gone away. He wanted me to – to – “

  “Yes?” Eugenia’s heart was beating fast yet even so she did not fail to detect Bridget’s reluctance to proceed.

  “He wanted me to give you this.” Bridget retrieved a piece of paper from her sleeve and thrust it at Eugenia. “There, I’ve done it,” she said sullenly under her breath. “You please go away now, miss, as I want to change my clothes.”

  Wonderingly, exultantly, Eugenia floated from the maid’s room. Her heart seemed to be singing under her ribs.

  Bridget was an unlikely Cupid, but she had brought Eugenia the sweetest token in the whole wide world. A message from Gregor, all the more cherished for being so unexpected.

  *

  Barely had the household adjusted to the arrival of Great-Aunt Cloris than the Marquis himself returned to Buckbury. He promptly announced his intention to host a supper for some of the local gentry, with whom he felt he must reacquaint himself after his long absence from the County.

  His guests at Buckbury found themselves happily included in the invitations.

  During the next two days the Marquis was not often seen about the house. He rode out in the morning alone and was gone till dusk. Then he was ensconced in his study with various sombre looking gentlemen who arrived at Buckbury with bundles of papers. Or he was meeting with cook, discussing the menu for the forthcoming supper. He made brief visits to Mrs. Dovedale and Great-Aunt Cloris.

  He acknowledged Eugenia with courtesy but was most attentive to the two older ladies, who afterwards pronounced themselves even more enchanted with him. This was lost on Eugenia, who was absorbed in her own thoughts.

  The remark was not lost on Bridget, however, who was always attendant on Mrs. Dewitt and was therefore privy to the visits of the Marquis.

  “I don’t see how you can not fall in love with him, miss,” she declared to Eugenia.

  “Would you fall in love with him, Bridget?”

  Bridget shrugged. “It’s not for me to aim so high, is it, miss? I just wonder that you don’t.”

  Eugenia stared.

  Bridget was a puzzle. One minute the maid seemed deliberately to stoke Eugenia’s interest in Gregor, the next she seemed unwilling to speak of the painter at all. Now here she was attempting to encourage Eugenia’s interest in the Marquis.

  *

  The night of the supper arrived. The candles on the long mahogany table shed a golden glow. There were eleven guests in number, including Eugenia, Great-Aunt Cloris and Mrs. Dovedale.
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  Mrs. Dovedale was beside herself with excitement at being seated with such illustrious folk as the Duke of Fillerton and Sir Humphrey and Lady Petts.

  Great-Aunt Cloris was not in the least overawed by the company, but her Spartan temperament was cruelly taunted by the opulence of the table, groaning as it was with silver and porcelain and dishes fit for a King. She was grieved to note that Mrs. Dovedale, positively revelled in the splendour.

  Eugenia, she noted with satisfaction, appeared rather unimpressed by it all.

  What Great-Aunt Cloris could not guess was that Eugenia was not so much unimpressed as uninvolved. Her thoughts were giddily elsewhere – with the piece of paper that had not left her person since she had received it three days ago and which even now was tucked securely into her bodice.

  The words that were written on it seemed to burn her skin.

  “Hello little flower. I am dreaming of you often. That pleases you, yes? When I see you I will take your hand, white as the moon, and I will kiss your palm. That also would please you, I think. My heart breaks that you are gone. Return soon to your devoted Gregor.”

  Eugenia imagined she could hear Gregor whispering those words into her ear. She grew quite flushed at the idea and kept her head bent over her dish, trembling lest someone should read her expression.

  Although she sat on the right hand of the Marquis, she barely acknowledged his presence.

  Mrs. Dovedale observed this disinterest on the part of her daughter with a frown. She was uncomfortably aware that to the left of the Marquis sat a handsome and wealthy widow by the name of Lady Walling. Lady Walling was not in the first flush of youth, but she was confident and rich and was proving most attentive to the Marquis.

  After the ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars and port and repaired to the drawing room, Mrs. Dovedale took the occasion to once again scold Eugenia for her behaviour.

  “I really cannot understand you. Do you imagine that you are the only creature in the world who is single and in search of a husband?”

  “I have never supposed that, Mama.”