The House of Happiness by Barbara Cartland Read Free Book Online

and gave her a backward wave.
    She closed her door quickly. 
    When she heard him descending the stairs at the close of day, she opened her door fully and came out.  He was alone. Great-Aunt Cloris had not rung for Bridget to show him out.
    â€œI was just – going down to the parlour,” Eugenia said, wondering how it was that the loud clamour of her heart was not audible.
    Gregor grinned. “No, little flower.  You want to see Gregor.”
    Eugenia gasped. “How did you know?”
    Quick as a flash, Gregor caught hold of her hand and pressed it to his breast.
    â€œWhat can you hear?” he asked mysteriously.
    â€œH-hear?”
    â€œ Boom boom. Boom boom. A Russian heart.  Very loud, no? When you are near, very loud!  And your heart too, when I am near, very loud.” Gregor threw back his head and laughed. “That is how I know! Ha ha ha. Very loud.”
    With that, Gregor dropped Eugenia’s hand and strolled on down the stairs, whistling.
    Eugenia stared after him in wonder.
    She had never met anyone like him. There was no one like him, not in London, not in England, not in the whole wide world.
    And he had said that his heart beat extra loudly when she, Eugenia, was near!
    The next day was Saturday.  She paced her room, waiting for the doorbell to ring. The hall clock chimed ten. He was usually here by now.  Ten thirty.  Eleven.
    Her heart sank. Obviously he did not work on a Saturday. 
    Her week had been so taken up with waiting to hear Gregor’s voice, waiting to catch a glimpse of him, that a break in this routine left her feeling beached on some grey and deserted island.
    At last she ambled to the dark old library at the back of the house. She needed a book to take her mind off the long, desolate weekend that lay ahead.
    Her great-aunt’s late husband, Mr. Dewitt, had been interested in cloth, trade, the distillation of whiskey and little else. It was some time before Eugenia found anything that might absorb her – a biography of Peter the Great. She tucked the book under her arm and left the library.
    Bridget was hovering in the hallway. 
    â€œOh, miss, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’re wanted in the drawing room.  There’s a visitor.”
    Eugenia knitted her brow. “A visitor? I never heard the bell.”
    â€œNo, miss. You wouldn’t in there.  That door is covered with baize.”
    Eugenia did not dare ask who the visitor might be, but her fancy ran ahead of her.  Surely it was Gregor, on his day off, invited to take tea in the drawing room at the end of his first week of painting Great-Aunt Cloris’s portrait!  
    Her mother and great-aunt looked up from the tea table as she entered. “Ah, here’s Eugeeenia.”  Eugenia’s eyes flew round the room. A figure at the window turned and smiled a welcome.
    The Marquis! Eugenia’s face was such a picture of disappointment that the Marquis himself could not but notice. The smile faded from his lips and his eyes hooded over.
    â€œI am afraid Miss Dovedale was expecting someone else,” he said stiffly.
    â€œSomeone else?” cried Mrs. Dovedale in alarm. “There is nobody else! We are closeted like nuns here.”
    Great-Aunt Cloris grunted in surprise but said nothing.
    Eugenia, aware that she had revealed her emotions in a manner that was both discourteous and a little dangerous, summoned up a rush of gaiety.
    â€œIt’s true!” she cried.  “We eat, sleep and pray to the chime of the clock as if it was a convent bell. It is a mercy that I am not forced to wear a habit!”
    The Marquis’s profile seemed unyielding.  “Like nuns?” he repeated.
    Eugenia raised her face staunchly to his. “Yes.”
    â€œWell, I am sure that you would make even a habit look the height of fashion, Miss Dovedale.”
    Eugenia, regarding him closely for the first time, thought