Read Online 100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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giving her an anxious tired appearance.
“But you must not keep him waiting any longer – I have been looking for you for ages.”
Rosella handed Mrs. Dawkins her wet umbrella and made her way to the study.
“Come in!” Lord Brockley’s deep voice growled, as she tapped on the door.
She stepped inside, her heart beating fast and stood on the carpet in front of him.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she began, her voice a little shaky, as it always was when she had to speak to him.
“I am very pleased,” he said, after a long pause, “to have found a solution to two difficulties which have been bothering me this last week.”
His hooded eyes gleamed at her through the fog of cigar smoke that always surrounded him.
“I am sorry, sir. I don’t understand,” Rosella said, holding herself as straight as she could, as her knees felt very weak.
“ You are one of my difficulties, Rosella. You have no fortune. No place to go. And – if you stay here in this house, an unmarried girl of good family, there will be talk – scandal even.”
Rosella’s skin prickled with unease.
Lord Brockley was still talking,
“I don’t much care what people think, but I could do without the fuss and bother of it all.”
“I would not dream of causing any – trouble – ” she stammered.
“I should hope not,” Lord Brockley replied. “I have been watching you. You are a good girl. You rise early, you don’t over-indulge at table and you do everything you are asked to do, you are happy to be seen and not heard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But you are still a problem for me. I am plagued with so much indolence, intemperance and unpunctuality. Unecessary irritations preventing me from enjoying myself while I am here at New Hall. I think you could help me to stop all this. Would you do that, Rosella?”
“Of course, sir,” Rosella replied, although she was not at all sure what he meant.
“Excellent.” he smiled benignly. “Then surely your own good qualities of industry, restraint and punctuality will cure these irritations. Is that not common sense?”
“I – suppose so, sir.”
“You would like to stay here at New Hall, would you not?”
“Oh, yes!” Rosella’s heart gave a great leap of joy.
“Of course you would.”
Lord Brockley stood up and pulled the tasselled cord that hung by the fireplace.
A young parlourmaid came to the door.
“Tell Mr. Merriman I want him,” he said, “you will find him, no doubt, half asleep in the drawing room.”
The parlourmaid bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.
“May I go now, sir?” Rosella asked.
“No! You may not leave. I don’t think you have understood. If my solution to the problem is to be carried out, it is absolutely necessary that you stay.”
Lord Brockley gave short bark of laughter and went to the door.
“Ah – Merriman!” he greeted his friend, who was just about to come in. “She has agreed. I shall leave you to it!”
And with that Lord Brockley left the study.
*
It was getting dark and the wharf was quiet now – the sailors were either resting on board or enjoying a night off in one of the many inns and taverns around the docks.
Lyndon walked slowly along by the river, keeping to the shadows.
He did not want anyone from La Maschera to recognise him. But the beautiful ship was silent and no lights shone, just one lantern at the masthead.
He gazed up at the figurehead, the lovely carved woman with the jewelled mask over her eyes.
In the twilight she looked even more mysterious than before, as the rays from the ship’s lantern cast alluring shadows over her face and glinted on the mask.
Who was she? Someone real or a character from a story?
Lyndon closed his eyes and pictured row upon row of old buildings, their painted and gilded shutters reflected in the dark waters of the canals that flowed beneath them.
The Palazzos of Venice – he had seen so many paintings of them and now he longed to see them for real and see too the famous
“But you must not keep him waiting any longer – I have been looking for you for ages.”
Rosella handed Mrs. Dawkins her wet umbrella and made her way to the study.
“Come in!” Lord Brockley’s deep voice growled, as she tapped on the door.
She stepped inside, her heart beating fast and stood on the carpet in front of him.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she began, her voice a little shaky, as it always was when she had to speak to him.
“I am very pleased,” he said, after a long pause, “to have found a solution to two difficulties which have been bothering me this last week.”
His hooded eyes gleamed at her through the fog of cigar smoke that always surrounded him.
“I am sorry, sir. I don’t understand,” Rosella said, holding herself as straight as she could, as her knees felt very weak.
“ You are one of my difficulties, Rosella. You have no fortune. No place to go. And – if you stay here in this house, an unmarried girl of good family, there will be talk – scandal even.”
Rosella’s skin prickled with unease.
Lord Brockley was still talking,
“I don’t much care what people think, but I could do without the fuss and bother of it all.”
“I would not dream of causing any – trouble – ” she stammered.
“I should hope not,” Lord Brockley replied. “I have been watching you. You are a good girl. You rise early, you don’t over-indulge at table and you do everything you are asked to do, you are happy to be seen and not heard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But you are still a problem for me. I am plagued with so much indolence, intemperance and unpunctuality. Unecessary irritations preventing me from enjoying myself while I am here at New Hall. I think you could help me to stop all this. Would you do that, Rosella?”
“Of course, sir,” Rosella replied, although she was not at all sure what he meant.
“Excellent.” he smiled benignly. “Then surely your own good qualities of industry, restraint and punctuality will cure these irritations. Is that not common sense?”
“I – suppose so, sir.”
“You would like to stay here at New Hall, would you not?”
“Oh, yes!” Rosella’s heart gave a great leap of joy.
“Of course you would.”
Lord Brockley stood up and pulled the tasselled cord that hung by the fireplace.
A young parlourmaid came to the door.
“Tell Mr. Merriman I want him,” he said, “you will find him, no doubt, half asleep in the drawing room.”
The parlourmaid bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.
“May I go now, sir?” Rosella asked.
“No! You may not leave. I don’t think you have understood. If my solution to the problem is to be carried out, it is absolutely necessary that you stay.”
Lord Brockley gave short bark of laughter and went to the door.
“Ah – Merriman!” he greeted his friend, who was just about to come in. “She has agreed. I shall leave you to it!”
And with that Lord Brockley left the study.
*
It was getting dark and the wharf was quiet now – the sailors were either resting on board or enjoying a night off in one of the many inns and taverns around the docks.
Lyndon walked slowly along by the river, keeping to the shadows.
He did not want anyone from La Maschera to recognise him. But the beautiful ship was silent and no lights shone, just one lantern at the masthead.
He gazed up at the figurehead, the lovely carved woman with the jewelled mask over her eyes.
In the twilight she looked even more mysterious than before, as the rays from the ship’s lantern cast alluring shadows over her face and glinted on the mask.
Who was she? Someone real or a character from a story?
Lyndon closed his eyes and pictured row upon row of old buildings, their painted and gilded shutters reflected in the dark waters of the canals that flowed beneath them.
The Palazzos of Venice – he had seen so many paintings of them and now he longed to see them for real and see too the famous
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