The House of Happiness (3 page)

The young men around Eugenia fell away as Lady Granton and the Marquis approached.

“Lady Granton – how d'you do – most kind – excellent sherry, Lady Granton – ” they chorused.

Hearing Lady Granton's name, Mrs. Dovedale turned from rearranging the shawl about Eugenia's shoulders. When she saw the distinguished gentleman who accompanied her friend, she gave a screech.

“The Marquis! It is the Marquis.”

Eugenia, half hidden behind her mother, froze.

“The Marquis!” cried Mrs. Dovedale again. “Oh, what a very great pleasure it is to see you again.”

The Marquis of Buckbury – for this was indeed the identity of the gentleman – bent his head graciously.

“Mrs. Dovedale, I suspected it might be you.”

“Oh, it is I, indeed it is I,” preened Mrs. Dovedale as she dropped a belated curtsy. “And much changed you will find me, I am sure. I have been blown all about by the storms of fortune and pinioned most unhappily on the rocks of circumstance.”

“Indeed,” intoned the Marquis gravely.

“There remains one treasure, however, that the cruel hand of fate has not snatched from me,” continued her mother.  “One treasure that brightens my day and gives me hope for the future. My daughter here. Eugenia.”

She stepped aside and motioned towards Eugenia. The Marquis looked politely on. Eugenia's head was bent so low that all he could see of her was a coil of golden hair.

Mrs. Dovedale gave a little laugh. “The dear creature is so shy!
Eugenia
!”

Without looking up, Eugenia sank in an obedient but exaggerated curtsy to the floor.  There she remained, her skirts rising about her like a grey flood.

“Miss Dovedale,” said the Marquis, extending his hand.

Eugenia placed her hand reluctantly in that of the Marquis. As he drew her to her feet she was forced at last to meet his gaze.

The Marquis started as if struck.

“A treasure indeed,” he murmured.

Lady Granton and Mrs. Dovedale nodded in satisfaction.

Still the Marquis stared. Eugenia felt her cheeks begin to burn under his intense scrutiny.

“She is my pride and joy,” gushed Mrs. Dovedale. “No one could have a better daughter.  So considerate, so loving, so devoted.”

“And spirited, I hear,” said the Marquis softly, his eyes still on Eugenia.

Mrs. Dovedale looked instantly alarmed. “Spirited? Nonsense! Where did you hear that? She is as tame as a canary.  She wouldn't say boo to a goose.”

Eugenia's eyes flashed for a second.  “Mama! Please!”

“What, daughter? What have I said? Only the truth! The Marquis knows how to take me. I always spoke the truth.” Mrs. Dovedale looked craftily at the Marquis. “I daresay your own wife is a woman of no spirit, too, and the Lord be thanked for it.”

The Marquis frowned. “My own wife – ?”

“You married, did you not?  I seem to remember a Countess?”

A shadow crossed the Marquis's brow. “No,” he said shortly.  “I married no one.”

Mrs. Dovedale trembled with the effort of concealing her excitement. “A bachelor.  Well, well, well.”

Lady Granton, aware at last of Eugenia's growing discomfort, felt it necessary to intervene.

“I am sure, my Lord, you are ready for some refreshment,” she said. “There is a buffet laid out in the dining room.”

“Eugenia should partake as well,” cried Mrs. Dovedale. “She eats like a bird.”

The Marquis held out his arm to Eugenia.

“Permit me,” he offered.

Eugenia hesitated but, at a discreet prod from her mother, took the Marquis's arm.

Eugenia was determined to maintain an air of disinterest but, on entering the dining room, her eyes widened at the sight of the groaning table. There were small tartlets of chicken and mushroom and anchovy.  Whole hams and suckling pigs with apples in their mouths. Pyramids of glacé fruits and silver bowls of syllabub.

She had never seen such a delightful display.

Mrs. Dovedale, moving up behind them, exclaimed in delight.

The Marquis, meanwhile, observed Eugenia with interest. “You often attend these soirées given by Lady Granton?”

“No. I – we – just come to tea. We sit around the silver urn and eat muffins.” 

Eugenia began to fill her plate. Eager to taste all the delicacies that were usually denied her, her hand flew hither and thither over the table.

The Marquis watched with amusement.

Mrs. Dovedale grew uneasy.  “Ah – something has stirred her appetite tonight. Most curious.”

Soon the titbits on Eugenia's plate threatened to topple.

“Eugenia, dear, I do think that is enough,” urged her mother anxiously.  “I am sure you do not wish the Marquis to think you are – that you have suddenly developed – inordinate tastes – “

“But Mama – there are so many delicious things here!”

Eugenia took a hearty bite of anchovy tart.

Horrified, Mrs. Dovedale plucked at the Marquis's arm, anxious to distract him from what she considered to be a most indecorous sight.

“I am sure we are – ahem – all happy to welcome the Marquis back to England,” she said.

The Marquis bowed. “I am happy to return, now that my duties in Europe are at an end.”

“Duties?” repeated Mrs. Dovedale blankly.

“My cousin and his wife in France were killed and I was made guardian of their children. I intended to bring them back to live at Buckbury, but it was soon apparent that to wrench them from the home they knew and loved would be cruel. So I remained in France to oversee their education. Now they are young adults and – it is time for me to come home.”

“By that you mean Buckbury?” Mrs. Dovedale probed.

“I do. Of course, I have the London house, in Lansdowne Square. But it is Buckbury that is my real home.”

Mrs. Dovedale clasped her hands together.  “Ah, and what an Eden Buckbury Abbey was for us.  You have no idea.”

The Marquis frowned. “I knew that Mr. Dovedale enjoyed the life there. That is why I was so surprised that he chose to leave.”

Mrs. Dovedale coughed. “It was different – after you departed. And my husband felt he needed – to rise in the world.”

“I see.” The Marquis's eyes strayed back to Eugenia.

Mrs. Dovedale nearly fainted as she saw Eugenia about to place a very large glacé fruit in her mouth.

“You are neglecting the Marquis, who was so kind as to escort you in to supper,” chided Mrs. Dovedale.

“I am sorry, Mama.”

Mrs. Dovedale turned back to the Marquis.

“As I was saying, Marquis, Buckbury Abbey was like a paradise to us. I remember all the wonderful parties that you gave. We so enjoyed watching the fine ladies and gentlemen arrive in their carriages. And oh, how the house was lit up at Christmas! You remember that, don't you, Eugenia?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“The last Christmas that you were in residence, Marquis, was the first party that Eugenia attended.”

“I remember,” said the Marquis.  The look that he now cast on Eugenia was unmistakably tender.  “I came upon her in the minstrel's gallery.  She was attempting to touch the star at the top of the Christmas tree.”

Mrs. Dovedale clapped her hands, delighted at the turn in the conversation. “That would be Eugenia. Such a droll creature she was!”

Eugenia felt her cheeks begin to flush again.

“And do you remember, Marquis, what she said to you?”

Eugenia's flush deepened.  ‘
Please, Mama, no
!' she prayed silently but her prayers went unheeded.

“Mr. Marquis, I will marry you and no one else in the whole world!” cried Mrs Dovedale. “That is what she said. And you replied ‘in that case, I shall be sure to wait until you are grown-up'.”

“I remember,” rejoined the Marquis gravely.

Eugenia's lips trembled as she spoke,

“But all that, sir, was when I was much, much younger. As,” she added in a lower voice, “were you.”

There was a shocked silence before the Marquis gave a curt bow. 

“Madam – Miss Dovedale,” was all he said, before turning and making his way out of the dining room.

For a moment, Eugenia felt a fleeting sense of shame.

This was quickly dispelled as Mrs. Dovedale gave a low moan and staggered to a chair. 

“What have you done, Eugenia? It was all going so well. You have destroyed all my hopes.  A bachelor!  So wealthy! And he was interested in you. Oh, what have you done? Why do you always sabotage me?”

As her mother swayed and clutched her bosom in despair, Eugenia's shame fled.  All she felt, staring at her mother, was a sense of grim triumph.

Once again she had managed to thwart yet another of her odious plans!  

For days after the soirée, Mrs. Dovedale kept to her bed. She rang her bell frequently for attention but Eugenia knew better than to answer.  Instead she would open the parlour door and watch Bridget toil up the stairs with warming pans, broth, toast and hot water with lemon. Bridget would shoot accusatory looks at Eugenia. All this extra work, just because Miss could not bring herself to be civil to a Marquis. A Marquis, mind you!

Her father had always said, “whatever you do in life, follow your heart and you cannot go wrong.” Her mother wanted her to behave as if she had no heart!

She had taken Great-Aunt Cloris her tea at three o'clock. There remained nothing more for her to do until supper, when her great-aunt would deign to descend to join Eugenia for mutton stew or cold ham.

Eugenia had been surprised at Great-Aunt Cloris's reaction to the story of herself and the Marquis, as related by her mother.

“The child has sense, Florence. Her father was a High Steward and her mother's family were in trade.  Marquises are quite out of her league.”

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!”