Nicola and the Viscount Read Online Free PDF

missing the point: Beckwell Abbey was not for sale. Nor, Nicola added, as she repeated this, was any of the land upon which it sat. The tenant farmers depended on Nicola’s renting them her land for their sheep. Where were the poor things to graze if they hadn’t access to the abbey’s fields?
    â€œSheep?” the Grouser had burst out when Nicola had put this question to him. “Who cares about sheep ? You foolish girl, we’re talking about twelve thousand pounds .”
    Nicola, who did not appreciate being called a foolish girl to her face, could not quite understand what her decision to sell or not to sell had to do with the Grouser. It wasn’t as if he would be enjoying any of the profits, since the abbey was hers. In any case, she had politely—Madame had instructed her girls very sternly that politeness was essential in all conversations, particularly ones with unpleasant relations—informed the Grouser that she hadn’t the slightest intention of selling, and that he might give this prospective buyer her sincerest regrets.
    To say that the rage this simple statement threw the Grouser into was extreme was as much an understatement as to say that the crowd here at Almack’s tonight was packed in as tightly as fish in a barrel. Nicola had quite thought her guardian would bite her head off. She listened to his ranting for a little while, then eventually stopped, and thought instead about Lord Sebastian, and his robin’s egg–blue eyes. How much more pleasant to think of the God than of the Grouser!
    â€œYou seem far away, Miss Sparks.”
    The deep voice, drifting across the dance floor, roused Nicola from her thoughts. She looked up and found herself looking into the very same eyes she’d been trying so hard to picture that morning during her unpleasant interview. Good heavens! This morning, all she’d been able to think about while talking with the Grouser had been the God, and here she was, dancing with the God, and all she could think of was the Grouser! How perfectly morbid.
    â€œI am sorry,” Nicola apologized, as they waited their turn to make their way down the line of dancers on either side of them. “I was only thinking about my guardian. He told me this morning that someone wants to buy Beckwell Abbey.”
    â€œWell, that’s a good thing,” the God replied. He was gazing about the room, his earlier protests that he longed for some fresh air evidently forgotten, since he looked to be enjoying himself immensely, despite the closeness of the room. “Isn’t it?”
    Nicola didn’t shrug, because that, of course, wouldn’t be ladylike. Instead she said, “I can’t see how.”
    â€œOh, well.”The God held out his arm, as it was their turn to promenade. “If the offer wasn’t good enough, by all means, you’ve got to turn it down. Like this fellow at Tatt’s today. Tried to sell me a horse he claimed was all right, but even a blind man could tell it was swaybacked.”
    Nicola tried telling him that it wasn’t that the offer hadn’t been good enough; it was the principle of the thing. But apparently the God was not capable of deep conversation while also concentrating on a quadrille, since he looked a bit baffled. It was only later, having spied Eleanor entering the assembly rooms with her family, that Nicola was able to share her concerns with someone who was able to offer a sympathetic ear and heart.
    â€œOh, Nicky, how odious,” Eleanor cried. “The Milksop, too? What was he wearing?”
    â€œChartreuse velvet,” Nicola said, and had to wait patiently for her friend’s laughter to die down before going on, “I just don’t understand it.”
    â€œOh,” Eleanor said. “I know. Chartreuse never looks good on anyone.”
    â€œNo,” Nicola corrected her friend. “Not about that. About the abbey. Why would anyone want Beckwell