Read Online 100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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thatch of fair hair.
“I have not seen you for so long,” Rosella said. “Is everything all right with you?”
Thomas hesitated a moment before he replied,
“Yes, it is, my Lady.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I am going to the bookmakers to place a bet for his Lordship.”
“But surely that is not your job, Thomas.”
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“Well, my Lady. Things ’ave changed ’ere. I don’t spend so much time in the garden. I have other duties. The gentlemen are always findin’ things for me to do.”
Rosella sighed.
That would explain why there were so many weeds pushing up through the path that wound through the Rose Garden and why dead heads still clung to the bushes.
“My Lady, you should not be out in this weather, you’ll get soaked,” Thomas remarked.
Rosella could feel cold water leaking through the sole of her right shoe and big drops were sliding from the edge of her umbrella and splashing onto the grass.
“You are right, Thomas. I suppose I had better go in and you must go on your errand.”
She watched him walk away down the drive and wondered why Lord Brockley had not thought to order the pony and trap for Thomas, for it was several miles into Winchester.
Or why, indeed, he had not sent his friend Mr. Merriman to run the errand.
Mr. Algernon Merriman, who, at this very moment, was lounging languidly on the sofa in the drawing room, doing absolutely nothing except to recover from too many helpings of roast beef and gooseberry pie at luncheon.
She had seen him there every afternoon for the last week, sipping brandy – ‘for my digestion’ as he liked to say and reading the newspaper.
If Rosella was there, he would ask her to read to him. She had never known a man so lazy – or so greedy.
Even Lord Brockley seemed somewhat impatient and exasperated with the slothfulness of his companion.
But in truth, Rosella reckoned, she preferred Mr. Merriman like this.
For sometimes, when he saw her, he would rouse himself and become full of energy and enthusiasm, which was very unpleasant.
This was the reason that Rosella was out in the Park now despite the rain, as she simply could not bear to be in the same room as Algernon.
Over the last week he had followed her everywhere, calling her endlessly ‘my little angel’ and constantly trying to kiss her hand.
She shivered at the memory of his plump fingers against hers and then the wind shook the tree above her and icy drops slid down her umbrella, soaking her dress.
The rain was falling more heavily now and Rosella was getting very cold from standing around so long in it.
Perhaps if she was very quiet, she might be able to creep into New Hall by the back door and escape to her bedroom without anyone noticing her.
At first her plan seemed to be working. Rosella slipped through the back door and was just about to go up the narrow back staircase, which was usually only used by the servants, when Mrs. Dawkins came out of the kitchen.
“My Lady!” she called. “Thank goodness. You’re wanted in the study.”
Rosella’s heart sank. The study! So Lord Brockley wishes to speak to her.
What could he possibly have to say? She had kept out of his way all week and, although she had caught him watching her sometimes with his hooded eyes, he had not made any further remarks to her about her fortune or the necessity of her finding a husband.
She had kept Pickle out of earshot in her bedroom and she had been quiet and respectful at table, despite the rude and unpleasant behaviour of him and his companion.
Every evening after dinner she and Mrs. Dawkins had helped the drunk and helpless Algernon safely to his bedroom door.
Surely there could be nothing for Lord Brockley to criticise in her behaviour.
“Does he look – angry, Mrs. Dawkins?” she asked.
“For once, he seems quite cheerful,” Mrs. Dawkins replied with a little sigh.
Several new lines had suddenly appeared on the housekeeper’s face,
“I have not seen you for so long,” Rosella said. “Is everything all right with you?”
Thomas hesitated a moment before he replied,
“Yes, it is, my Lady.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I am going to the bookmakers to place a bet for his Lordship.”
“But surely that is not your job, Thomas.”
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“Well, my Lady. Things ’ave changed ’ere. I don’t spend so much time in the garden. I have other duties. The gentlemen are always findin’ things for me to do.”
Rosella sighed.
That would explain why there were so many weeds pushing up through the path that wound through the Rose Garden and why dead heads still clung to the bushes.
“My Lady, you should not be out in this weather, you’ll get soaked,” Thomas remarked.
Rosella could feel cold water leaking through the sole of her right shoe and big drops were sliding from the edge of her umbrella and splashing onto the grass.
“You are right, Thomas. I suppose I had better go in and you must go on your errand.”
She watched him walk away down the drive and wondered why Lord Brockley had not thought to order the pony and trap for Thomas, for it was several miles into Winchester.
Or why, indeed, he had not sent his friend Mr. Merriman to run the errand.
Mr. Algernon Merriman, who, at this very moment, was lounging languidly on the sofa in the drawing room, doing absolutely nothing except to recover from too many helpings of roast beef and gooseberry pie at luncheon.
She had seen him there every afternoon for the last week, sipping brandy – ‘for my digestion’ as he liked to say and reading the newspaper.
If Rosella was there, he would ask her to read to him. She had never known a man so lazy – or so greedy.
Even Lord Brockley seemed somewhat impatient and exasperated with the slothfulness of his companion.
But in truth, Rosella reckoned, she preferred Mr. Merriman like this.
For sometimes, when he saw her, he would rouse himself and become full of energy and enthusiasm, which was very unpleasant.
This was the reason that Rosella was out in the Park now despite the rain, as she simply could not bear to be in the same room as Algernon.
Over the last week he had followed her everywhere, calling her endlessly ‘my little angel’ and constantly trying to kiss her hand.
She shivered at the memory of his plump fingers against hers and then the wind shook the tree above her and icy drops slid down her umbrella, soaking her dress.
The rain was falling more heavily now and Rosella was getting very cold from standing around so long in it.
Perhaps if she was very quiet, she might be able to creep into New Hall by the back door and escape to her bedroom without anyone noticing her.
At first her plan seemed to be working. Rosella slipped through the back door and was just about to go up the narrow back staircase, which was usually only used by the servants, when Mrs. Dawkins came out of the kitchen.
“My Lady!” she called. “Thank goodness. You’re wanted in the study.”
Rosella’s heart sank. The study! So Lord Brockley wishes to speak to her.
What could he possibly have to say? She had kept out of his way all week and, although she had caught him watching her sometimes with his hooded eyes, he had not made any further remarks to her about her fortune or the necessity of her finding a husband.
She had kept Pickle out of earshot in her bedroom and she had been quiet and respectful at table, despite the rude and unpleasant behaviour of him and his companion.
Every evening after dinner she and Mrs. Dawkins had helped the drunk and helpless Algernon safely to his bedroom door.
Surely there could be nothing for Lord Brockley to criticise in her behaviour.
“Does he look – angry, Mrs. Dawkins?” she asked.
“For once, he seems quite cheerful,” Mrs. Dawkins replied with a little sigh.
Several new lines had suddenly appeared on the housekeeper’s face,
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