The House of Happiness by Barbara Cartland

Author:Barbara Cartland
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-906950-91-0
Publisher: Barbara Cartland.com

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eugenia opened her eyes and closed them again quickly. Even through the curtains, the morning light seemed unbearably bright and her head was throbbing like a mill loom. Groaning, she turned her face to the pillow.

The bedroom door creaked and footsteps crossed the floor to the window.

“No – no – ” moaned Eugenia. “Don’t open the curtains.”

“Got to, miss,” came Bridget’s voice, strangely sullen. “It’s past twelve and I was told to wake you. Your mother and great-aunt are all agog to see you. Being as you’re now an engaged woman.”

Eugenia sat bolt upright in shock. Everything came flooding back to her.

“I – did it,” she murmured, her hand to her lips.

“You did it all right, miss.” Bridget turned and almost ripped the curtains apart. Light poured in and Eugenia shrouded her eyes. Bridget, hands on hips, regarded her almost balefully.

“You did it, miss,” she repeated. “What am I supposed to tell Gregor, eh? I promised I would – I bin doing what he asked – it ain’t – isn’t – my fault if you lose your head after a few glasses of champagne, is it?”

Tears pricked Eugenia’s eyes. “Is that what I did?” she muttered. “Lost my head? Oh. Oh.”

The enormity of what she had done descended on her like a heavy cloud. She sank back upon the pillow.

“You’ve made your bed,” said Bridget with unaccountable bitterness. “Now lie in it.”

‘You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.’

This phrase became a constant echo in Eugenia’s head as the day passed. When the Marquis called in that afternoon, she feigned illness rather than see him before she had absorbed the full extent of what had happened.

She could not believe that after all her fierce resistance she had succumbed to the wishes of the Marquis at a moment when he seemed the least interested in pursuing them.

‘It was all the fault of Lady Walling,’ she decided. ‘If she had not set her cap at the Marquis, I should not have been similarly tempted.’

This seemed a poor excuse even to Eugenia, but she did not wish to analyse her behaviour in any greater depth. The deed was done. She was engaged. She could not be so dishonourable as to change her mind.

She must banish all thoughts of Gregor. He must now take his place as the great, lost, romantic love of her life. The secret that must lie hidden forever in her heart.

She could not bring herself to admit that she felt a certain strange pleasure in this idea.

Bridget’s bitter response to the news was a puzzle. In the end Eugenia decided that the girl was perhaps a little in love with Gregor herself, enough to be jealous on his behalf that the object of his interest, Eugenia, had slipped his noose.

Mrs. Dovedale, of course, was beside herself with delight and Great-Aunt Cloris scarcely less so.

Seated at Eugenia’s bedside, both ladies eagerly discussed their plans for the wedding, which would take place at Buckbury early in the New Year.

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