100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland Page B

have never had a proposal of marriage before. I must have time to get used to the idea.”
    “Do you know what you are asking me, you wicked girl?” he interrupted. “Have you any idea what agony it is to want you so much?”
    “I know how much you care for me,” Rosella said, lowering her eyelashes modestly. “Please, just a little time, is all I ask and then – ”
    “And then, believe me, I shall take all the kisses I want!”
    Algernon sounded disgruntled, but, at long last, he released his grip on her waist.
    Rosella then smoothed her skirts, trying to keep her trembling hands steady.
    “So, I would suppose that now we have reached an agreement, I might allow you to come down and join us at dinner,” Algernon smirked with a tweak of his moustache.
    Rosella shook her head.
    She could face neither the hot roast goose nor Lord Brockley, as she was sure that his Lordship would have no time for her little ruse and would see right through her.
    He would insist that she gave a definite answer immediately.
    “I am not at all hungry,” she said. “I would like to stay here and think about your proposal, Mr. Merriman.”
    “You will say ‘yes’, won’t you?” he said, turning back to look at her as he was about to leave her. “Of course you will! I shall tell his Lordship the good news.”
    And then, at long last, he was gone.
    Rosella sat down on the end of her bed, shaking from head to foot.
    Outside the rain still fell in sheets and it would not be dark for several hours.
    She must prepare herself for what she had to do, and then she must wait until the conditions were absolutely perfect for her escape.
    *
    It was not till the early hours of the morning, when the sun was about to rise and the Park was full of soft grey light, that the rain stopped.
    Many times through the night Rosella had almost climbed out through the window and let herself down onto the orangery roof.
    But she was afraid of slipping on the wet tiles and a little afraid too of the dark as there was no moon.
    But now she had to go.
    The purse of sovereigns was tied onto a belt at her waist and hidden under her skirts.
    In a small carpet bag, she had packed a couple of her dark blue cotton dresses and a few essential items.
    She would have so loved to take the portrait of the young man in the turban, but it was too big and awkward for her to carry.
    “Goodbye,” she nodded to him, as she stood by the open window. “I will never forget how you have helped me tonight.”
    His eyes seemed to move a little in the dim early morning light, as if he heard her words and was wishing her well on her journey.
    “Be brave, Rosella,” he seemed to say. “All will be well.”
    She did not feel very brave, as she tossed her carpet bag out of the window and then, clinging onto the rope she had made by plaiting her bedcovers together, she lowered herself down onto the orangery roof, next to the smashed remains of Pickle’s cage.
    From the distant trees in the Park, a few birds were tuning up, beginning their dawn chorus.
    With a pang in her heart, she thought of Pickle and wondered where he was and how he was faring out there in the wild.
    All through the night, as the rain fell, he had been on her mind. He was not used to such conditions, having spent most of his life indoors.
    But then she remembered that once he had been a wild bird and had lived in a tropical forest where rain fell almost all the time.
    Perhaps he was glad to be free again, at last.
    And she, Rosella, was free too.
    For, now that she was embarked on her escape, it was relatively easy to clamber down the drainpipe at the side of the orangery.
    Now she must go to Winchester, through the Park and over the wet farmland, staying away from the roads in case anyone should see her.
    She was just setting off under the trees that grew at the side of the drive, when she heard a call that turned her veins to ice.
    “Lady Rosella. Lady Rosella.”
    Someone was coming after her!
    Too afraid to