100. A Rose In Jeopardy (17 page)

Rosella looked at the garden, at all its richness and beauty glowing in the golden sunshine.

It was strange to think that she had been here now for almost a month.

Mimi was so right. There was everything here that anyone might ever need, but her heart still felt empty and cold and, in spite of the loving and affectionate family that surrounded her, she felt lonely and abandoned.

If only –

But she must not think of the young man she had danced with. He was a mirage, an illusion, something she had dreamt up in her longing to be loved and cared for.

He might have thought he cared for her, perhaps, for a moment or two, but his love had not lasted.

Almost as soon as he had written the love letter to her, he had torn it in half.

His feelings for her had melted and vanished, just as the words he had put on the paper had disappeared into a blue smudge.

He was Lord Brockley’s son and that was the only thing that mattered. He was the son of a man she detested and hated.

“Buon giorno.”

A man’s voice called. Giovanni was coming up the path into the garden.

His black eyes glowed when he saw Rosella sitting with his sister.

He greeted Mimi and then he took Rosella’s hand in his broad strong grip and raised it to his lips.

‘I think that he is beginning to care a little for me,’ she thought. ‘And I should be grateful as I must think how I am to survive when all of Aunt Beatrice’s sovereigns are gone.’

But her heart did not stir at Giovanni’s touch and her eyes could not meet his.

*

Lyndon peered over the backs of the women who were thronging around the colourful displays of fruit and vegetables in the market.

“We are out of luck, old chap,” he sighed to Pickle, who was gripping tightly onto his shoulder. “It’s not the time of year for nuts yet.”

The bird seemed to have grown fond of Lyndon and seemed quite happy to continue sitting on his shoulder.

It was certainly far better to bring him out than to leave him behind on his own, when he would scream and scream and disturb the whole building.

“What would you think of those cherries, eh? Or perhaps a peach?”

Lyndon bent over a colourful display of fruit.

Suddenly Pickle gave a squawk, flapped his wings and was gone, flying over the market stalls.

“Hey, come back,” Lyndon called out.

But the bird had not gone far.

He had landed on the blue hood of a market girl, who was helping another young woman to unload several baskets of bright red tomatoes onto a stall.

Lyndon pushed his way through the excited crowd, who were pointing and laughing.

“Bad bird! Come back here!” he shouted.

Pickle did not budge. The girl did not seem afraid at having such a large bird landing on her head and she was reaching up to pet him.

“I’m sorry,” Lyndon began and then his heart stood still, as her blue eyes looked at him and he saw the gold hair escaping from under her hood.

“Thank God! It’s you!” he exclaimed.

She turned away, as if she was afraid of him.

“Please, please we must talk – ” Lyndon now found himself gabbling, the words tumbling over each other,

“I – have thought of you every moment – I cannot lose you again.”

He fell onto his knees among all the debris of the marketplace and caught her hand, holding it to his lips.

A wave of joy broke over his body as she turned back to him and he felt her fingers touch his hair.

Rosella’s heart soared at the same time.

Her dream man from the painting at New Hall had appeared once again in her life and this time she absolutely knew that he would stay with her for ever.

It was her destiny, and his, written in the stars thousands of years ago.

*

Summer was almost over in Venice and a cold wind was blowing off the Adriatic, as Rosella and Lyndon stood on the wide golden sands of the Lido, waiting for the boat that was to come and carry them away to Greece.

“Where is Giovanni, do you think?” Rosella asked. “He said he would come before dark.”

A tremor of fear stirred in her heart, as she knew that the handsome gondolier had been more than a little in love with her.

It must have been hard for him to see her over the last few weeks always with Lyndon.

But he had promised to help them. He was a good man, he would not let them down surely.

“He will come, he gave us his word.”

Lyndon drew her nearer to him, holding her against the warmth of his body.

“Soon we will be far away from prying eyes and it will be just the two of us and then we will be married,” he sighed.

She closed her eyes, feeling the complete bliss of his nearness.

“When I think of all the times that I almost flung myself into the Grand Canal, just like Lord Osborne did,” he was saying.

Rosella shivered, for the thought that he might have ended his life, destroying for ever the incredible happiness they both now felt, was unbearable.

“Now that I have found you again, I am so utterly happy,” he continued and pressed his lips to her forehead.

She felt her happiness bloom inside her, like a full-blown, sweet-scented rose.

“The days I have spent with you in that garden on the island have made me want to live forever,” Lyndon said and she felt the passion in his voice vibrating through her body.

“To be with you always, Rosella. I did not know that life – that love, could be like this.”

Now his lips found hers and Rosella felt her soul fly to join with his, as her body lay against his warmth and strength.

His kisses then took her into the sky and she was touching the stars and the moon all at the same time, as he became more passionate and demanding.

“But, my love, we will have so little,” he said after a moment.

“I would love you if you had nothing,” she replied at once, hating to see the look of doubt that shadowed his eyes.

“And Pickle – you told me once that you would never part with him.”

Rosella laughed.

“He is in parrot Heaven!” she said. “Mimi and her Mamma adore him. He has all the fruit and vegetables he can eat and a storeroom full of nuts! It would be cruel of me to take him away.”

Lyndon smiled.

“I shall miss that bird,” he sighed, “but I think you are right.”

Her reassurance had made him happy again and the brightness in his face reminded her of the painting in her bedroom at New Hall.

She knew now that it was a portrait of his ancestor, Lord Osborne. It had been painted in Venice and sent home to England after Osborne’s death.

Rosella understood too that her strange visions had not deceived her, as they had brought her to his moment and to the love that was the centre and the whole purpose of her life.

Perhaps the spirit of Lord Osborne, who had met such a sad end, had conspired to bring her here to ensure a happy ending for her and Lyndon.

Now he gripped her arm.

“Look, Rosella!”

A tall ship had appeared just offshore and sailors were rushing to bring down the full sails so that she might come to a standstill.

“It’s
La Maschera
, Lyndon gasped. “I saw her in Limehouse. The Contessa’s ship.”

“We must run!” Rosella cried, her heart pounding.

But there was nowhere to hide on the wide empty beach of the Lido.

Now she could hear, faintly on the wind, someone calling her name.

“It’s Giovanni,” Rosella said, her heart sinking, as she saw the gondolier climbing over the side of the ship and leaping into a rowing boat.

“He – must have told the Contessa.”

How could it be that in one moment her happiness could turn to such black despair?

Lyndon gripped her cold fingers tightly.

“Wait, my love,” he urged. “Giovanni is all alone, he cannot force us to go with him.”

Rosella shivered at the thought of the gondolier’s strong hands and brawny arms, so powerful from years of plying the oar of the gondola.

What would happen if it came to a fight?

But Lyndon was without fear.

“Be brave, my darling,” he said. “I will not let you come to harm.”

The rowing boat drove into the sandy edge of the beach and Giovanni leapt out.

He ran towards them, a large white envelope in his hand.

“Giovanni – what are you doing?” Rosella began. “You promised you would help us.”

He held out the envelope.

“A letter came for you,
Signorina
.”

Puzzled, Rosella took the envelope from him.

It was indeed addressed to her and in large uneven letters, as if a child had written it. She would read it when they were safely on their way to Greece.

“Giovanni, we must leave tonight – you said you would find a boat for us.”

The gondolier bowed his head.

“
Signorina
, I have come from the Contessa. Her mood has been so dark, so bitter, since you left. When the letter came and she saw your name, she wept,
Signorina
. She cried out that she could not forgive herself for sending you away. And I told her – ”

“Oh, Giovanni – ”

Rosella felt tears of disappointment spring into her eyes. The gondolier had betrayed her just as she suspected.

“Wait,
Signorina
. Listen! I told her you were safe and happy and that you were with your love.”

Giovanni glanced over at Lyndon and there was a brief moment of regret in his black eyes, but he quickly continued,

“I told her that you wished to marry him and to go somewhere far away from Italy, from England, from the people that might know you.”

“How could you?” Lyndon cried.

“
Signore
, I did what I thought was right and the Contessa told me, ‘if they wish to go, Giovanni, then let my ship carry them wherever they wish to go and I will ask no questions. But if they will come back to the Ca’ degli Angeli, I would welcome them with my open heart.’ She is a good woman,
Signore
.”

Lyndon shook his head, bemused.

“Rosella, what do you make of it?”

“I – don’t know – I can’t think,” Rosella said, torn between a great longing to see the Contessa again and an even greater desire to leave everything behind and set sail at once for Greece with Lyndon.

Giovanni was clearly waiting for their answer, but she simply did not know what to do.

“What about your letter?” Lyndon said suddenly.

He took it from her.

“Who has written to you?”

“I don’t know,” Rosella replied. “I don’t suppose it matters now. Read it, if you want to.”

Her need to be gone and to escape was growing stronger, as she looked at the graceful ship that stood just off the shore.

Lyndon then slit open the envelope and, as his eyes skimmed the contents, he turned very pale.

“What is it?”

“My darling Rosella, I think we will not be going to Greece, after all.”

“But – why not?”

Lyndon reached to take her hand.

He seemed to have grown taller suddenly and a new strength had come into his face.

“Your letter is from someone called Thomas,” he said. “Your gardener’s boy you told me about.”

“Thomas?”

Rosella remembered the brown-haired lad who had helped her and then had inadvertently led Mr. Merriman to find her in Venice.

“There are few words – but he says he is sorry that the Head Gardener opened your letter and gave it to his Lordship.”

“That is all in the past now –” Rosella began, but Lyndon had not finished.

“And he says that my father, Carlton Brockley is dead. What is this – I cannot quite – ”

Lyndon frowned as he tried to decipher Thomas’s handwriting.

Rosella suddenly realised how cold she was in the wind that blew off the sea.

“Ah! He became ill at dinner one night and died suddenly.”

Lyndon turned to Rosella, his expression grave, yet his eyes shining with a new clear light.

“We shall not be going to Greece, my darling. I am taking you home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am his only son. New Hall is mine now.
I can
take you home
.”

Rosella was speechless, as the joy that filled her heart was pulling it up and up like a kite into the patch of blue sky that was opening up in the clouds above them and she cried,

“Look, Lyndon. The sun is coming out!”

“Yes. We shall have a fair voyage home.”

He caught her to his breast and she closed her eyes, surrendering to the heavenly bliss of being in his arms once more.

“But shall we go and see the Contessa first?” she whispered after a moment.

“Of course,” he answered. “And before we leave we must give our thanks to Venice –
La Serenissima
– the serene and lovely City that brought us together.”

“I shall never forget her,” Rosella sighed, “she will always have a special place in our hearts.”

Lyndon then caught her up in his arms in the bright sunshine and carried her to the rowing boat to begin their joyful journey home to their new life together.

The Barbara Cartland Pink collection is available for download at the following online bookshops :-

www.barnesandnoble.com
 - epub format for the Nook eReader

www.whsmith.co.uk
 - epub format for the Smiths/Kobo eReader

www.firstyfish.com
 - epub format

ebookstore.sony.com
 - epub format for Sony eReaders

www.amazon.co.uk
 - For UK Kindle users

www.amazon.com
 - For international Kindle users

itunes.apple.com
 - for Apple iOS users

www.barbaracartland.com
- Printed paperbacks