The House of Happiness (11 page)

Eugenia slipped from the saddle and ran across to the old pony.  She could not be sure that after all this time he would recognise her, but when she threw her arms about his neck, he nuzzled her cheek with great affection.  Delighted as she was to see her old friend, part of her was uncomfortably aware that
his
appearance at least could not be explained away as a tribute to her late father.  

“I suppose – I suppose my cat is lost?” Eugenia asked without turning her head.

“Alas, yes,” came the reply.  “He became a famous mouser and died fat and wealthy.”  

Through what remained of her tears and despite her general misgivings, Eugenia could not help but smile. Encouraged at last, the Marquis invited her to inspect the interior of the cottage.

Giving Bud one last pat, Eugenia followed the Marquis through the front door.

The interior too had been restored. Ceilings and walls were painted ivory, floor boards polished so that they gleamed like honeycomb. Not only that, the rooms were all agreeably furnished.

In the drawing room, curtains hung at the window and a fire was laid in the grate.

“Why, it is ready for occupancy,” marvelled Eugenia, her eyes darting into every corner.

“Indeed it is,” said the Marquis.

“You have found tenants?”  There was a tremor in Eugenia's voice as she asked this question, for now that ‘
Paragon
' looked every inch the home she remembered, she was not sure she relished the idea of strangers living there.

“Yes, I have prospective tenants in mind, if they will accept it,” said the Marquis mysteriously. 

“If?” Eugenia looked surprised. “Why, who might they be, that they should for one moment consider
not
accepting it? It must be the prettiest cottage on the estate!”

The Marquis regarded her musingly.  “I have earmarked the cottage for a mother and daughter whom I know.  The mother I am sure will be happy to live here. It is the daughter whose enthusiasm I doubt.”

Eugenia gazed at him wonderingly for a moment before she understood.

“You – you mean myself?” she breathed.  “And my mother?”

“I do indeed,” replied the Marquis.

“But – but we could never afford the rent, my Lord. We live with Great-Aunt Cloris and – help her in the house in return for our lodgings.”

“Rent!” frowned the Marquis. “I am not seeking rent. The cottage is yours and your mother's, Miss Dovedale.  I had once intended to pass the freehold over to your father. Now I am passing it over to you. The reason for my most recent visit to London was to sign over the freehold. This – is now yours.”

With that, the Marquis held out his hand, to reveal in his palm a small yellow key.

Eugenia took the key from him as if it was a gold bar. She held it in trembling fingers, looking from the Marquis to the room around her and back.

“Mine?” she repeated. ‘
Paragon
' is mine?”

“Yours,” said the Marquis firmly.  “And you may move in this very afternoon, if you so wish.”

Eugenia felt giddy at the prospect opening before her. In one fell swoop, to be rendered Mistress of her own home and, by the same token, freed of the obligation to return to Great-Aunt Cloris in London.

Eager to pass on the good news to her mother, Eugenia locked the door of the cottage with the key the Marquis had given her.  He went to untie their horses, but Eugenia had other ideas.

“I shall ride Bud home,” she declared.

“Let me saddle him up for you,” offered the Marquis, intending to use the saddle of the horse that had brought Eugenia to the cottage.

“No, no, I shall ride bareback,” she cried gaily.  “I always did as a child.”

Before the Marquis could reply, Eugenia had grasped Bud's mane and swung herself up on to his white back.

Eugenia broke into an excited gallop for the last half mile of the return, leaving an amused Marquis in her wake.

She burst in upon her mother and Great-Aunt Cloris with such rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes that they were both convinced the Marquis had proposed.

“It is good news, then, Eugenia?” squealed Mrs. Dovedale, hands clasped to her cheeks.

“Yes, Mama!”  Eugenia hugged herself with delight. “You will never, never guess what it is.”

“I think I might,” simpered Mrs. Dovedale. “You are to be – Mistress of Buckbury?”

For an instant only, Eugenia's face clouded.  Why must her mother keep harping on the same subject?

“No,” she replied shortly.  “But I
am
to be Mistress of ‘
Paragon
.'

Mrs. Dovedale and Great-Aunt Cloris looked at each other in astonishment.

‘
Paragon
?' they repeated. 

“Yes.”  Eugenia regarded them triumphantly.  “The Marquis has had it restored. It looks just as it used to when we lived there, Mama. The Marquis has signed the freehold over to me. Look. Here is the key.”

Hands still to her cheeks, Mrs. Dovedale stared at the key lying in her daughter's palm.  The Marquis may not have proposed as expected, but this little yellow key represented a tangible new hope. It was obvious that the Marquis wished to keep Eugenia near him.

Great-Aunt Cloris was not so pleased by this latest turn of events.

“The Marquis might have had the good grace to consult me,” she grumbled. “Have I not devoted a good deal of time and money to your upkeep these past few years? And to have the mainstay of my advancing years whisked from under my nose!”

Eugenia ran to her great-aunt and dropped to her knees before her.  “Great-Aunt Cloris, you know you are welcome to live with us at ‘
Paragon
' if you so choose.”

“So you have decided to live there?” Great-Aunt Cloris regarded her niece narrowly.  “You will not return to London at all?”

Eugenia rocked back on her heels and stared at the floor.  “I – think I might return – for a while,” she said faintly. “I mean, I will have to – collect some of my belongings.”

Her great-aunt had touched on one particular aspect of her good fortune that troubled Eugenia.

Secluded at ‘
Paragon
', how was she ever going to meet Gregor again?

Mrs. Dovedale misread the frown on her daughter's brow.

“Eugenia, dear, there is really no reason for you to travel to London if you do not wish,” she said soothingly.  “I can accompany Aunt Cloris home.  I can pack your things and bring them back with me. I am sure the Marquis will take you under his wing while I am away.”

“Thank you, Mama, but I would not dream of it,” she said firmly.  “I will return to London myself to collect my own possessions.”

Great-Aunt Cloris was brooding. “You two have obviously not considered the full implication of this – new life. You may well own the roof over your head, but how will you pay for its maintenance? How will you pay the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker?”

“Oh, Aunt Cloris,” murmured Mrs. Dovedale dreamily.  “Don't you think the Marquis must have plans for my daughter and myself beyond the bestowing of ‘
Paragon
'?

“You had better hope so,” sniffed Great-Aunt Cloris. 

This question of how Eugenia and her mother were going to survive without an income at ‘
Paragon
' was solved the very next day, when the Marquis informed Mrs. Dovedale that he had settled a yearly sum of two hundred and fifty pounds on her in memory of her late husband and his dear friend, Mr. Dovedale.

Mrs. Dovedale brought the news to Eugenia, where she sat writing a list of all she needed from London for her new life at ‘
Paragon
'.

“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.