The House of Happiness Read Free

eaves. Deer nibbled at the long grass beyond its white fence.
    Eugenia had owned a cat called Sugar and a little pony called Bud.
    She had been so happy at ‘ Paragon ’ with her dear Papa, so happy that she tried not to think about it.
    If only her mother would not so constantly remind her!
    For Mrs. Dovedale, the only route out of her straightened circumstances was Eugenia. The girl was so beautiful, everybody said so. She could ensnare the Prince of Wales himself if she wished!
    Mrs. Dovedale plotted and planned for Eugenia to be noticed. Not a man with half a name for himself passed within the mother’s orbit, but he was extolling the virtues of her daughter.  Not one name of an eligible bachelor could drop from Lady Granton’s lips but that Mrs. Dovedale was trying to effect an introduction.
    Mrs. Dovedale would accompany Eugenia on errands to Fortnum’s for the sole purpose of pointing out Lord this or Earl that to her daughter.  During walks in Kensington Gardens she would nudge Eugenia’s elbow at every haughty Viscount or Duke who rode by.
    â€œThrow him a glance, my dear.  Turn your profile to him. Step into his path.”
    Her mother’s machinations made Eugenia miserable. She began to form an instinctive resistance to any romantic suggestion that her mother made.
    Leaning her forehead on the windowpane, Eugenia murmured to herself the familiar words that worked upon her resolve like a daily mantra.
    â€œI will never, never marry anyone of whom my mother approves!”
    *
    Seated at breakfast, reading the newspaper through her lorgnette, Mrs. Dovedale gave a sudden squawk of excitement.
    â€œMama?”
    Mrs. Dovedale waved her hand before her face, as if whatever she had read had brought on a sudden heat. “Oh, my goodness, oh, my goodness, we are saved!”
    Eugenia stared. “How exactly are we saved, Mama?”
    She threw down the paper and pointed. “There. There. Do you see? The Marquis of Buckbury has returned to England and is at this very moment in London !”
    Eugenia, guessing the cast of her mother’s mind, frowned. “He must be very old and grey by now.”
    â€œOld? Grey? He can’t be more than – let me see – he was twenty one when last I saw him – you were ten – why, he’s barely more than thirty now!”
    â€œAncient,” sighed Eugenia.
    Mrs. Dovdedale was not listening.
    â€œI must make sure that he is invited to one of Lady Granton’s soirées,” she continued.  “She would surely do it for us. He is bound to come if he hears that the widow of his old Head Steward is present. He cannot have forgotten us. He cannot have forgotten you !”
    â€œOf course he has forgotten me.  And even if he hasn’t, what is all this to do with us being saved?”
    Mrs. Dovedale looked coy.  “Why, you were so taken with each other at that Christmas party – “
    â€œMama, I was ten !”
    â€œBut it was obvious that you were going to blossom into a real beauty.” her mother persisted. “He said he would wait –”
    Eugenia raised an eyebrow.  “Mama, I think you are forgetting the Countess!”
    â€œOh, yes, the Countess.” Mrs. Dovedale sank into her chair for a moment before brightening. “Even so, once reacquainted, the Marquis is bound to want to do something for you.”
    â€œNot charity!” replied Eugenia sharply.
    Mrs. Dovedale threw up her hands and rose from the table. “Eugenia, I despair of you, I really do! I have no idea what it is you really want.” With that, she sailed from the room.
    What did she really want? Passion! She did not want whatever beauty she might possess bartered for a string of pearls and a horse and carriage. She did not want a pompous Earl or a dreary old Marquis. She wanted to be swept off her feet by someone for whom romance was more important than position, for whom the