Authors: Gloria Harchar
"
You can read my thoughts?"
she asked, aghast.
"
Huh?
"
He wet his finger and held it up
, then nodded at whatever conclusions the test had given him
.
Belatedly he fluttered his wings and glanced back at Nicola, as if remembering her question. "Oh. Of course I can't read your thoughts. Who do you think I am—God?"
"Ha!"
With sudden distrust, she
eyed
the
pixie
who rubbed his chin and avoided her gaze. He had answered too quickly.
"
Then how did you know what I was thinking?
"
"
Hmmm. Westerly winds. What? Oh, you were frowning.
But if you decide to smuggle Ramsey out of the country, I
'
d suggest you be very, very tricky.
"
"
Why?
"
"
The Black Falcon
is as treacherous as his name. He is usually three steps ahead of his adversary.
"
Nicola
gulped at the sudden dryness in her throat.
A gust of air whipped
Glissando
'
s balloon away, in a magical, glittering mist. A rumbling reverberated through
Nicola
, and she wondered if a storm was brewing, although the sky was clear. Abruptly she realized it was
Glissando
stirring up the weather
. She strained to make out his words. They sent a shiver through her.
"
Let me just say, if he catches
you
trying to help Ramsey, I wouldn
'
t want to be in
your
petticoats!
"
"
The hat is too tawdry,
Miss
Moore
.
"
Impatience bubbled inside
Nicola
over Lady Kensington
'
s declaration.
"
But it'
s all the rage in London, I hear.
"
The Baroness turned her head to view the bonnet from a different angle in the reflecting glass. Her lips curved downward as if she
'
d just tasted a lemon.
Nicola
glanced around the room
crammed with crates setting on and under three tables
in the back—crates that were
full of fabric, netting, beads, buttons, pearls
, and her discoveries from the dump
. She wished she had a nicer shop than the back room of the only mercantile in town, designed for storage. Although the two windows lent some cheeriness by letting in the sunshine, the walls were a putrid mustard color, which surely must have an
adverse effect
on her customers.
The table next to the doorway was only big enough for five hat stands. The other bonnets she
had been forced to store under
table
s
in boxes. Too bad her workroom was also in sight of her display, for she was none too neat. When she was in a creative mood, she tended to leave scraps of fabric, ribbon and wire piled up on the scarred but sturdy desk in the back, out of the way but an
eyesore
nonetheless.
If only she could afford to rent the empty shop on Piccadilly Street. The building was slightly rundown, but with a little paint it would be nice and so much more spacious. She knew she could make that place inviting.
Of course, if she
'
d been able to claim her
dyes
as her own, she
might
have forgone making these tedious hats. But she wanted an identity. She wanted to be appreciated for her creativity. Ignoring the pang near her heart, she concentrated on her customer.
"
I have never seen the style,
"
the Baroness said.
"
Why, it
'
s positively unbalanced.
Whatever
possessed you to put those gears
together
and
all cock-
eyed
on one side like that? And who would want to wear all these flowers
with the gears
? Your sense of design needs developing, my dear.
"
Nicola
glanced at the Baroness
'
s bright red bodice and clashing orange skirt and d
ecided the woman didn't know much about designs, herself
.
"
I assure you, pictures I
'
ve received from my friend
,
Mrs. Peabody
, who not only travels throughout England but in Europe, too, she says mixing anything with mechanical parts is
all the rage.
"
The Baroness shook her head, her ringlets bouncing.
"
Well.
It isn
'
t what I
'
m accustomed to wearing.
"
"
I understand. However, I cannot help but say the close fit
of the hat
emphasizes your lovely neck. It makes you appear quite svelte.
"
Pride swept
Nicola
.
Although t
he Baroness
had a double chin, in the hat, she
could be considered svelte—if the one doing the considering was Goliath.
Lady Kensington
blinked and stared at her image in the reflecting glass framed with parts from an old cotton mill that had been demolished
.
"
Do you think so? I thought you were going to
dye
the hat your father
'
s fabulous
Clockwork
Blue
.
"
Nicola
bit her lip, knowing she shouldn
'
t resent the fact that everyone thought the
Clockwork Blue
was her father
'
s creation. But she did.
"
Father isn
'
t prepared to market any more of the
dye
quite
ye
t.
"
"
What? Surely he isn
'
t waiting until you are
wed.
No offense, my dear, but that could take a while.
"
"
Oh no,
"
Nicola
replied
, wishing for the thousandth time that her father hadn
'
t impulsively announced her dowry.
"
If you wish, I could adorn the hat with some ribbon
dyed
the
Clockwork Blue
.
"
"
Not quite as grand as dying the cloth—
"
"
You can wear it to the Garland Ball.
"
Lady Kensington studied her reflection a moment longer, clearly undecided,
and then
removed the hat.
"
I think not. I
'
ll forgo the style for now. Too conspicuous. But I
'
ll take the gypsy hat.
"
The woman
'
s choice was half the price and looked half as good on her.
Nicola
stifled a sigh and threw her a
forced
smile.
"
Very well, my lady.
"
A familiar whirring buzzed near her ear, alerting her that Allegro had appeared.
"
She looks like an old woman in a baby bonnet,
"
the
pixie
whispered.
Startled,
Nicola
laughed. As the Baroness threw her a strange look, she ended the giggle in a coughing fit.
"
Excuse me, my lady, I seem to have developed a slight tickle.
"
She quickly wrapped the purchase in brown paper and handed it to Lady Kensington. Her customer gave her five shillings, the agreed price. Taking a deep breath,
Nicola
forced down the disappointment and watched the woman leave.
"
No offense, Miss Moore, but
why do you put up with
an old grouser like that
?
"
"I must if I'm going to be a successful businesswoman."
"At the risk of being scolded, I would like to point out an obvious solution."
"I know. Marriage to the Earl. But I don't want be a Countess. I want to be my own woman with a successful endeavor that I can claim as mine."
"You can have that. At least I think you can. The Earl could help you establish the shop. Or, he wouldn't have to do anything other than marry you, which is what he wants. Simply marrying into the aristocracy is bound to bring you respect."
"But is it worth throwing away any chance at real love?"
"You don't know that. You might surprise yourself and fall in love with Falconwood."