Free The House of Happiness by Barbara Cartland Page A

so kind a friend? Was it simply out of sentimental regard for his late High Steward, Eugenia’s father? 
    Most of the time, however, she was not thinking about the Marquis at all. Once her mother came to regard the accident that had befallen her as almost fortuitous, Eugenia felt less guilty about the role her secret passion for Gregor had played in that event. She felt free to dream of her secret love again.
    As the days at Buckbury passed Eugenia was much occupied in tending to her mother.  She read to her, wrote letters for her, brushed her hair and ate with her.
    All in all, Eugenia had very little time to herself. This would not have grieved her were it not that for the fact that these duties prevented her doing the one thing that she longed to do. They prevented her from seeking out ‘ Paragon ’.
    The formal gardens of Buckbury Abbey had been created in the first half of the eighteenth century.  There were fountains and pools, avenues of trees and pavilions erected in hidden glades.
    A great, central lawn extended from the South face of the house for over a mile, terminating in a long, serpentine stretch at the end of which stood a pavilion with a domed roof. Beyond this construction – known as the Apollo Pavilion – another lawn ran down to a river.  On the other side of the river, the Buckbury estate woods began.
    Eugenia often gazed longingly from her window at these woods.
    Somewhere amidst those oaks and beeches stood ‘ Paragon ’, but Eugenia never had time to explore. She was only ever able to snatch an hour or so to walk in the afternoon, when her mother took a nap. That was simply not enough time to make the return journey of the mile and a half that constituted the gardens, let alone reach the trees on the far side of the domed pavilion.
    She wondered who was living at ‘ Paragon ’ now.  She wondered what had happened to her pets, Sugar the cat and Bud the pony.
    Mrs. Dovedale and Eugenia had been at Buckbury for nearly a month when one afternoon there was a sudden sense of greater activity than usual about the place.
    Strolling through the South gallery, she became aware that the large double doors leading to the private chambers of the Marquis were, for once, thrown wide open. In the room beyond, servants scurried about whisking white sheets from the furniture, while two maids were busy waxing the floor.
    â€œWhat is happening?” Eugenia asked.
    One of the two maids rose and gave a bob, cloth in hand.
    â€œIf you please, miss, the Marquis has sent word that he is at Kettering and will be here shortly.”
    â€œI had no idea,” said Eugenia, startled.
    â€œWe’re ever so pleased, miss.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œOh, yes, miss. There never was a better Master.  It’s time he came home for good.”
    Eugenia made her way back to her room, musing on what she had learned from the maid. The Marquis was a popular Master, it seemed. 
    He arrived at ten o’clock. He did not care to disturb his guests but dined alone and retired by midnight.
    The following morning he sent to request that he might call on Mrs. Dovedale and Eugenia. Mrs. Dovedale demanded Eugenia bring her pots of rouge and face powder to the bed. She urged her daughter to make herself more presentable, but Eugenia replied coldly that she did not consider herself to be on display.
    After the Marquis had made solicitous enquiries of Mrs. Dovedale’s health, he enquired of Eugenia whether she had been able to take advantage of the extensive gardens. Eugenia admitted she had barely begun to explore. She could not go far on foot, she added, as she did not like to leave her mother for too long.
    The Marquis expressed surprise that she had not availed herself of one of the fine horses in the stables and suggested that she ride out with him that very afternoon. Eugenia hesitated, unwilling to commit herself to time alone with the Marquis, but Mrs. Dovedale