The House of Happiness by Barbara Cartland Read Free Book Online Page A

she detected a twinkle in the corner of his eye.
    â€œThank you,” she muttered, somewhat chastened.
    Mrs. Dovedale, who had been listening anxiously to this exchange, detected the easing of tension.
    â€œDo come and have some tea,” she suggested with relief.
    Eugenia and the Marquis moved together to the table.
    To Mrs. Dovedale, it was as if he was committing to memory every flicker of her daughter’s lashes and every glance of her eye.
    She could almost hear the wedding bells ringing in her head!
    She gave a little cough as she poured the tea. “I am sure plans are proceeding apace for Lady Bescombe’s ball?”
    The Marquis dutifully tore his gaze away from Eugenia. “Indeed. I believe Lord and Lady Bescombe have hired a Viennese orchestra.”
    â€œAnd Italian pastry cooks,” interposed Great-Aunt Cloris. “Why a plain old English baker will not do, I cannot imagine.”
    The Marquis’s eyes had already strayed back to Eugenia. Her hair gleamed in a halo of light from the window. 
    â€œMight I hope that Miss Dovedale has changed her mind with regard to the ball?” he asked her softly.  “Might I hope that she will now accept my invitation?”
    Eugenia stared into her teacup. “I-I am afraid I remain quite resolute. I shall not accept.”
    â€œShe jests,” cried Mrs. Dovedale in horror.  “She would love nothing more.”
    â€œMama,” said Eugenia sharply.  “I should hope to be allowed to know for myself what I would love or not love.”
    The Marquis, his regard flicking from mother to daughter, felt that painful matters were about to be broached. His presence must only increase any discomfort for Eugenia. He rose graciously from the table with a bow.
    â€œLadies, I must beg permission to leave. I have – urgent business to attend to.”
    Mrs. Dovedale threw an angry glance at Eugenia before replying.
    â€œYou will call on us again?  I am sure you are always very welcome.”
    â€œThank you,” replied the Marquis.
    Mrs. Dovedale insisted on showing the Marquis out herself. She wanted to reassure him that she would do everything in her power to ensure that Eugenia attended the ball.
    As the door closed behind them, Great-Aunt Cloris folded her hands into her lap and stared at Eugenia.
    â€œI have half a mind to take your place at the Bescombe ball, if you won’t go,” she mused. 
    Eugenia was amazed. “But, great-aunt, you do not like such events.”
    â€œNo. But Lady Bescombe is going to exhibit the portrait that Gregor painted of her at the ball. I should like to see that ! And that is the only place I can see it, for she intends to send it down to her country house after the ball. And I shall never go there. Nasty, damp place.”
    â€œGregor – painted Lady Bescombe?”
    â€œIndeed. You may remember that it was Lady Bescombe who recommended him. You would think he was the son of Peter the Great himself, the way she treats him.”
    â€œYou think – Gregor will be at the – at the ball?” Eugenia asked in a low voice.
    â€œUndoubtedly.  I shouldn’t wonder if he dances with Lady Bescombe herself.”
    Eugenia rose trembling from her seat. “Excuse me, Great-Aunt Cloris. I have to – I have to – speak to the Marquis before he departs.”
    â€œHmph! Everyone is deserting me now,” she grumbled, but she waved her great-niece away.
    Eugenia flew from the room. The hallway was empty. She glimpsed her mother at the front door, waving jauntily. She heard the sound of a carriage drawing away from the house. The Marquis had left. No matter.  She would write to him.
    She hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom. In the desk she found a sheet of headed notepaper.  She dipped her pen into the inkwell and wrote quickly.  She waved the letter in the air until the ink was dry and then she sealed it.
    She had