The House of Happiness (6 page)

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.”

“And 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. 

“Might 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.”

“She jests,” cried Mrs. Dovedale in horror.  “She would love nothing more.”

“Mama,” 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.

“Ladies, I must beg permission to leave. I have – urgent business to attend to.”

Mrs. Dovedale threw an angry glance at Eugenia before replying.

“You will call on us again?  I am sure you are always very welcome.”

“Thank 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.

“I 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.”

“No. 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.”

“Gregor – painted Lady Bescombe?”

“Indeed. 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.”

“You think – Gregor will be at the – at the ball?” Eugenia asked in a low voice.

“Undoubtedly.  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.”

“Hmph! 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 accepted the Marquis's invitation.  She would go to the ball, she would dress in a gown of rose pink silk and she would dance with Gregor Brodosky.  She would dance all night, only with him, and his Russian heart would go
boom, boom, boom
to hold her in his arms!

*

Eugenia stood waiting to be announced. The stairway that led down to the ballroom was of white marble, with a runner of thick red carpet. Below, the ballroom was already crowded and the orchestra playing. Figures in resplendent costume swirled by.  But something was wrong. Each figure wore a mask. Eugenia felt her face with her fingers. She wore no mask. Would she be allowed to dance?

“Miss Eugenia Dovedale”

At the sound of her name, the various instruments of the orchestra began, one by one, to cease playing. Soon only the sound of a violin floated in the air.  The dancers stopped and turned to watch Eugenia descend.

There was something wrong. At each step she took, someone in the ballroom began to laugh. Soon there was a chorus of laughter.  A figure detached himself from the throng and came to the foot of the steps. His shoulders too were shaking.

“Her shoes! Look at her shoes!”

Eugenia glanced down. Her slippers were so worn that her toes peeped through. The hem of her dress was ragged and the sleeves ripped.

The laughter in the ballroom was now uproarious. Tears pricked Eugenia's eyes but she kept on walking down. Then the figure at the foot of the steps tore away his mask to reveal his identity.

It was Gregor, Gregor Brodosky, and he was laughing at Eugenia along with all the rest.

“Oh,” choked Eugenia, struggling awake. “Oh.”

She felt her face. It was wet with tears.

What a fool she was! The dream had told her that. How could she possibly go to the ball? She had no gown. Great-Aunt Cloris would never buy her one. It was all her own fault that she found herself in this dilemma. She had been so eager to dance with Gregor that she had entirely forgotten the state of her wardrobe.

Even as the memory of her mother's decision to sell off her jewellery surfaced in her mind, Eugenia suppressed it. She would
never
agree to a sale.

The Marquis would have received her letter of acceptance by now.  She had sent it yesterday.  Well, she would have to send him another, rescinding her decision. 

Mrs. Dovedale bustled in, humming happily.  Eugenia shrank in her chair.  She had told her mother last night that she had accepted the invitation to the ball. She had been ecstatic but Eugenia, fearful her mother might pry into the
reason
for her change of heart, had slipped quickly away to bed. Now she would have to explain yet another change of heart!

Her mother sat down and rubbed her hands together. “What fun we are going to have these next few days, Eugenia my dear.”

“Fun?” echoed Eugenia faintly.

“Preparing for the ball, dear.”

“Mama,” she said quietly.  “There isn't going to be any fun. You see, I-I have changed my mind.  I am – not going to the ball after all.”

Mrs. Dovedale spluttered. “Not going?”

“No.”

“You tiresome girl!  What do you mean by this incessant torment of your mother?”

“Mama,” pleaded Eugenia. “I cannot go. I have no dress. I will not go in any more hand-me-downs.”

“Oh, is that it?” Mrs. Dovedale looked as if she would faint with relief. “You do not have to worry about that. Everything is arranged.”

“Arranged?”

“I now have the money.”  Her mother looked triumphant. “Tomorrow we will go and choose the material and then hire a dressmaker.  She will have to work quickly. It is only a week to the ball.”

Eugenia paled. “How do you have the money? Have you sold your jewellery? I will absolutely refuse to see a dressmaker if you have sold your jewellery! And if I find out afterwards, I will never, never forgive you!”

Mrs. Dovedale hesitated. Her daughter's expression was so resolute that she could not doubt that Eugenia had meant what she said.

“N-no, dear,” she replied slowly.  “I have not sold the jewellery.”

Mrs. Dovedale pondered all through breakfast. She remained in the parlour after Eugenia went up to dress. When Bridget came in to clear the table she asked the maid to bring her a pen and paper.  She wanted to write a letter and it was warmer in the parlour than in her bedroom.

Bridget complied with Mrs. Dovedale's request.  She wrote slowly, considering every word.  Then she sealed the letter and handed it to Bridget.

“You are to take this directly to the address you see on the envelope. I shall give you a shilling for a hansom cab. And,” she added, “you must on no account tell Miss Eugenia.”

*

Sunday seemed long and tedious to Eugenia. Her mother made no further reference to the ball or indeed to the question of money and she, for all her suspicions, was happy to avoid the subject for the moment.

So eager was she to attend the ball now she knew that Gregor would be there that she did not wish to speculate too keenly on where money might have come from. As long as it was not from the sale of her mother's jewellery!  Perhaps Great-Aunt Cloris had somehow been prevailed upon to pay for new gowns. No doubt the old lady would let her know soon enough.

After returning from Church the weather became inclement, which meant there would be no walk that afternoon. Instead, Mrs. Dovedale asked Eugenia to come to her room to read to her.  Eugenia scanned the room for sight of the jewellery box and was relieved to see that it sat undisturbed in its usual place. When her mother seemed asleep, Eugenia tiptoed over to the box and, lifting it, gave it a little shake. It was locked so she could not be sure, but it seemed full. Satisfied, she set it down again.

Her mother stifled a smile in her pillow, thankful that she had thought to fill the box with loose buttons and bobbins of cotton.

All she required now was a positive response to the letter she had written earlier that day –

Reassured that her mother had indeed not sold her jewellery, Eugenia felt free to daydream again of the ball and the dances she would share with Gregor Brodosky.

The following morning she put a tortoiseshell comb in her hair.  Every few minutes she ran to the mirror to pinch her cheeks. She must keep them looking rosy for Gregor.

At ten o'clock she heard a carriage draw up outside. Her heart quickened. Perhaps Gregor had decided not to walk to the house this morning. It was still raining, after all.

The doorbell sounded. She waited, heart pounding, but nobody ascended the stairs. Puzzled, she opened the door and walked out on to the landing.

The Marquis and her mother stood in the hallway below, talking in low voices. As Eugenia watched the Marquis drew a large packet from his overcoat.  He handed it to Mrs. Dovedale. She appeared to thank him and then ushered him into the drawing room.

Eugenia frowned. What was the Marquis doing here, so early in the day? She hoped she was not going to be summoned to take tea with him. She might miss the arrival of Gregor.

At ten thirty the bell sounded again. This time it
must
be Gregor! She heard voices, louder than before and stepped out onto the landing. The Marquis was on the point of leaving and had stopped to exchange greetings with Gregor. Drawing on his gloves as he spoke, he glanced up over Gregor's head and saw Eugenia gazing down. 

She flushed under his stare and drew back. The Marquis departed. Gregor waved Bridget away – she was preparing to escort him to Great-Aunt Cloris's room – and bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time. Eugenia stepped out again from the shadows.

“Ha! Little flower,” he said.

“Gregor – ” Eugenia flushed again at the sound of his name so openly on her lips. “Gregor – did you know that – I too am going to the ball?”

“At the Lady Bescombe's house?”

“Yes.  Will you – will you dance with me there?”

“Every dance that is not promised to another, I will dance!”

Eugenia blenched. “Are there many you have promised – to others?”

A strange look crossed Gregor's features.  “You are questioning me?” he growled.

“No.” Eugenia was nonplussed. “No. Why do you use that tone?”

Gregor regarded her darkly from under a lank of hair. Then suddenly he tossed his head and grinned.

“What a delicate creature! How the wolves would gobble you up?”

“W-wolves?”

“In Russia, there are wolves.” Gregor came close. Eugenia trembled as she felt his breath on her cheek. “They eat young girls. Like this.”

His mouth touched her face. Her lip, her nose, her chin. Then he drew away laughing. “We will dance.  Never fear.” he cried, and ran on up to Great-Aunt Cloris.

Eugenia, stunned, gazed after him.

She could not fathom his character, but what did that matter? He was surely the most exciting man she was ever going to meet!

A little later she was summoned to her mother's room.

Eugenia could not help noticing the jewellery box on the bedside cabinet. It was ostentatiously open, revealing all the jewellery that Mrs. Dovedale had once threatened to sell.

Before Eugenia could ask, her mother ventured the information that the Marquis had called earlier to offer them the use of one of his carriages for the ball.

Eugenia thought she would enjoy driving to Lady Bescombe's in a beautiful carriage, even if it did belong to the Marquis. She refrained from expressing her enthusiasm, however.  She was painfully aware of the inference her mother already drew from the fact that Eugenia had agreed to go to the ball. She told herself it was not her fault if her mother imagined romance where romance there was none.

She wondered aloud about the packet, however.  Mrs. Dovedale had not realised that Eugenia had witnessed the exchange and looked somewhat disconcerted. She plucked at a loose thread on her cuff for a moment before replying. 

“The Marquis had brought me some herbal remedy for recurring headaches,” she said.

Before Eugenia could pursue the subject her mother hurried on. The Marquis had, it appeared, also come to recommend a particular dressmaker in the Burlington Arcade, a Madame Lefain. Many ladies of his acquaintance had their gowns made by her. 

As intended, this item of information distracted Eugenia. She asked eagerly when she and her mother might visit the dressmaker and was told that they would leave that very minute.