Nicola and the Viscount by Meg Cabot Page B

a girl like Nicola, who possessed such a small yearly income, and was freckled besides, had been overlooked by a good many of London’s most eligible bachelors. But Lady Honoria? Why, she had nearly five thousand pounds a year! Horse-faced or not, she ought to have had suitors banging down the door…as Eleanor, who lived just a few streets away, did.
    But Eleanor, of course, was a beauty…on top of which, having been Nicola’s particular friend for so many years, Eleanor had learned how to dress. Feathers on Eleanor, who was petite, would not have been at all inappropriate. But on the Lady Honoria…Disastrous! Nicola knew some drastic measures were called for, and so one morning not long after their trip to the Catch Me Who Can , Nicola stood before the open doors of the Lady Honoria’s wardrobe, a grim expression on her face, and a pair of scissors in her hand.
    â€œThey’re all going to have to go,” was her final, very firm assessment.
    Lady Honoria, perched on a tasseled stool some feet away, let out a sad cry.
    â€œOh, Nicola! No! Surely not all.”
    â€œAll,” Nicola said firmly.
    Even Charlotte, the Lady Honoria’s maid, who was French and knew instinctively that what Nicola was saying was true, could not help letting out a sigh of dismay.
    â€œ Alors ,” she said to Nicola’s maid, Martine, who had brought the scissors. “Many ’undred pounds they pay for each of zese gowns. Zey are from Paris.”
    â€œIt is too bad,” Nicola said, overhearing this. “It cannot be helped.”
    And, holding her scissors aloft, she reached for the first of the feathered monstrosities in her friend’s wardrobe, and began industriously to clip away the soft marabou. “We’ll replace this,” she said, as she hacked, “with jet beading. Martine?”
    Nicola’s maid consulted a box filled with assorted trimming that her mistress had collected over the years, and without which she never ventured very far.
    â€œ Oui ,” Martine said, holding up a strand of black beads. “Jet beading ready.”
    â€œExcellent.” Nicola tossed the denuded gown to Charlotte. “Next.”
    They had made their way through almost half the contents of Lady Honoria’s wardrobe before a housemaid tapped at the door and announced, when she’d been bidden to enter, “A Mr. Harold Blenkenship to see you, Miss Sparks.”
    â€œStuff and bother!” Nicola cried. She’d forgotten that the Milksop had written to ask permission to take her riding that morning. Under ordinary circumstances, she’d have declined the invitation with an apology that she had a previous engagement.
    Unfortunately, however, she had already turned down five such invitations from Harold. Another refusal might be taken as insulting. As it was, she had had to apologize repeatedly for the incident involving the Sir Roger.
    For, much as she disliked the Milksop, Nicola did not want to hurt his feelings. Madame had always been clear on one thing: Friends can be shed like gloves, but your family cannot. Best not to antagonize them, as they will be around for a while.
    â€œI must go,” Nicola said, giving her upswept hair a pat. Since it was only the Milksop, of course, she was not particularly concerned with her appearance. Still, she accepted the bonnet Martine brought her, one that she’d only just the day before trimmed in green satin to match a newly dyed green jacket. “Kindly refrain from touching anything while I am gone,” she went on, with a warning look in Honoria’s direction. She suspected the girl might try to salvage one or two boas, and that, of course, would be deadly. Nothing looked worse on a horsey girl than feathers about the face. “When I return, we will go through the rest of your closet.”
    Lady Honoria said nothing, merely looked sadly at the gowns Martine and Charlotte were stripping of fronds.
    It