Chapter Three

K ate’s insides churned as she accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She hadn’t expected to return to the widow’s office so soon. The woman worked quickly. Hadn’t she only met with the earl yesterday evening? She glanced at her aunt, who clutched her teacup handle, looking equally anxious.

The wife of an earl. Can it be true? Even Papa will not refuse such a prestigious match !

“I’m afraid the gentleman I had in mind for you is unwilling.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s words slashed Kate’s expectations, making her stomach plummet. “Unfortunately, he had too many reservations. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t give up so easily, and although I think he is amenable to changing his mind, we simply don’t have the time to try and sway him.”

“What can be done now?” Aunt Jane spoke the question Kate wanted to ask but could not articulate. It seemed fear and shock had captured her voice. She’d been foolish to assume the news would be good. Why on Earth would an earl want to marry me?

“Considering the time constraint, I propose an auction. It’s not something I do often, but it’s worked well in the past.”

Kate flinched.

“An auction?” Aunt Jane exclaimed. “That’s going too far. I cannot permit my niece to be sold like cattle. What kind of a man would purchase a wife?”

“It’s a blind auction,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon explained calmly, as though she’d expected exactly such a reaction from Kate’s protective aunt. “The men won’t know who or what they are bidding on. I will merely announce that the prize is a lifelong treasure—something priceless—something every man will covet. Furthermore, all the men will be given numbers and be required to wear masks so no one will know the winner’s identity. Your identity and his identity will be kept from everyone.”

Aunt Jane put down her teacup with shaking hands. “It’s too repulsive. I cannot allow it. And what if a married man bids on her?”

“You needn’t worry about that. I shall only invite my unmarried clients to participate in the auction,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

“Well, then, they will certainly have an inkling that they are bidding on a woman. Again, I shall have to ask what kind of a gentleman would participate in such an event?”

“A very drunk one. There is a reason I serve my customers the finest wine, brandy, and whiskey in all of England. They are gluttons for it, and that gets them into all sorts of troubling situations.”

“You plan to marry my Kate to a drunkard?” Aunt Jane reached for Kate and put a protective hand on her forearm.

“Of course not. The auction is a game with high stakes and men like to drink when they play. But habitual drunkards will not be invited to participate. Those men are trouble and are carefully monitored at my club.”

Kate sat frozen, staring into her teacup. She’d been such a fool—a fool to lay with Theo before they were married—a fool to imagine she could marry an earl—a fool to think any man worth his salt would marry her—a fool to hope she might ever be happy again.

“It sounds too ridiculous,” Aunt Jane said. “I don’t believe it can work.”

“Mrs. Seton, I don’t waste my time on schemes that won’t work.” There was a sharp edge to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice. “I know my patrons, and I know men. They are competitive creatures. I will plant two or three gentlemen who owe me favors in with the crowd, and they will get the bidding started. Then, you will see the bullish nature of wealthy, drunk men emerging in full force. I guarantee you will have barons, viscounts, and earls waging a bidding war for your niece’s hand in marriage.”

“Even so, I can’t—no, I can’t allow this.”

“Why don’t we let Miss Sheldon decide.” The widow turned to Kate. “It is time for her to speak up and take control of her future.”

Momentarily panicked, Kate glanced at her aunt. She didn’t want to go against her wishes.

“Don’t look to your aunt,” the widow snapped. “We know her opinion. And before you say anything, I’d like to remind you of your pressing circumstance.”

“Is there truly no other way?” Kate placed a protective hand on her belly.

“Considering the pressing issue of the growing babe in your womb—your options are limited. You have gotten yourself into a serious predicament, and that puts me in a bind as well. I need to protect my interests and reputation as well as yours. I must proceed with caution so as not to arrange a marriage for you that might later become a problem for me.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked. “What risk is there to you?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sighed. “If by some chance the gentleman you marry discovers that the child you are carrying is not his, I don’t want him coming back to me, complaining that I deliberately tricked him into marrying a woman with child. If, however, a man ‘wins’ your hand in a blind auction—an auction he willingly bid on—then he will only have his drunken foolishness to blame and so will shoulder the responsibility for the match.”

The color drained from Kate’s face. “Do you think he will discover the child is not his?”

“Anything is possible. But I think the chances are slim. You are very slight, and your figure shows no signs. Men are quite ignorant when it comes to birthing. Babes often arrive early.”

“But the doctor will know—surely.”

“Fortunately, many Harley Street doctors are patrons of the Lyon’s Den. I will ensure your doctor understands what he is supposed to do for you, your suitor, and my reputation.”

Kate swallowed the fear that rose in her throat. She had to do what was best for her child, even if that meant enduring something as humiliating as an auction.

“Your aunt paid me a great deal of money to help you, Miss Sheldon. If you do not allow me to fulfill my task, your aunt will forfeit her contribution. I do not return fees paid. You are free to walk away and solve this problem however you see fit, but the money will be lost to you.”

“I don’t care about the money, Kate.” Aunt Jane reached for Kate’s hand. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another solution.”

“No,” Kate insisted. “You said that Mrs. Dove-Lyon was the best person to come to for help—the only person capable of solving my problem. I trust your judgment, Aunt Jane.”

Aunt Jane closed her eyes and sighed. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded her consent.

“I’ll do it.” Kate turned to the widow.

“Very well,” the widow said. “The auction will take place tomorrow evening, but you needn’t worry yourself with the details. My staff will take care of everything.” Mrs. Dove Lyon picked up her teacup and raised it in Kate’s direction. “Just think on it, Miss Sheldon, tomorrow night all of your problems will be over.”

Kate raised her teacup, hope and fear warring within her for what the future might hold.

Cloaked gentlemen, each wearing a distinctive animal mask, gathered in the center of the candlelit, smoke-filled room, waving fistfuls of money in the air whilst chanting, “Auction, auction, auction!”

Servants weaved between the gentlemen, carrying silver trays of brandy and whiskey-filled glasses that were quickly emptied and refilled. Having sampled a few glasses himself, Oliver knew the spirits were potent and of the finest quality. The men were indulging, and most of them were heavily intoxicated.

Helena, another of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s female wolves, stood on an elevated podium addressing the gentlemen. She wore a silk red empire dress embellished with peacock feathers and a glittery red mask over her eyes that added to the carnival-like atmosphere in the room. The scene fascinated Oliver, who’d been intrigued when he’d received an exclusive invitation to a blind auction. He had no intention of bidding, but curiosity had compelled him to attend.

“The lucky gentleman who casts the winning bid,” Helena announced, silencing the crowd with her surprisingly stentorian voice, “will earn a prize so precious and priceless he will be the envy of all.”

The men cheered, clapped, and whistled.

“Who is brave enough to cast the first bid?” Helena scanned the room. “You, sir!” She pointed to a gentleman in a cat mask.

“Twenty pounds,” he shouted.

“We’ve got twenty pounds from the black cat. Are the rest of you fine gentlemen going to let him take the prize for a mere twenty pounds?”

“Twenty-five!” A hand shot up in the middle of the crowd.

“That’s twenty-five pounds from the rat. Are the rest of you gentlemen going to let a rat outbid you?”

Jeers and shouts erupted from the crowd.

“Thirty!” Another hand raised in the air.

“The hyena thrashes the rat at thirty pounds. Do we have anyone willing to take on a hyena?” Hermia bated the drunk crowd.

“Fifty,” a gentleman in a tiger mask shouted.

“Oh, the tiger is showing his claws, gentleman. He’s a true fighter. Is there anyone brave enough to take on a tiger?”

“Sixty.” The gentleman next to Oliver raised his hand. He wore the face of a green snake.

“The snake has finally come out of the grass and shows his face! Who is going to win this battle, the snake or the tiger?”

“Seventy!” Tiger Mask shouted, and the crowd cheered.

“Ninety!” The snake’s determined voice sounded above the ruckus.

Oliver frowned. These fools don’t even know what they are bidding on.

“How about you?” Helena pointed at Oliver. “Is the King of Beasts going to join this fight?”

“Lion, Lion, Lion!” the crowd chanted.

Oliver shook his head.

“Lion, Lion, Lion!” the men chanted, but Oliver continued to shake his head.

“One hundred pounds!” Tiger Mask shouted.

The room exploded with cheers. “Tiger, Tiger, Tiger!”

“One hundred and ten!” Oliver’s snake-masked neighbor shouted above the ruckus.

Whistles and applause followed his bid. “Snake, Snake, Snake,” the crowd chanted.

“One hundred and ten pounds to the snake! Does anyone wish to bid one hundred and fifteen? This is your last chance to be a winner! What do you say, King of Beasts? Is it time to step in and snatch your prey from this weaker opponent?”

“Lion, Lion, Lion!” the men chanted, but Oliver continued to shake his head.

“And you, Tiger? Are you going to let this silly little grass snake tame you?”

“One hundred and twenty,” Tiger Mask shouted.

One hundred and forty,” Snake Mask bellowed without a moment’s hesitation.

“Tiger, Tiger, Tiger!” The crowd chanted, wanting to keep the game going, but the gentleman in the tiger mask shook his head and turned out his pockets.

“Then I declare the gentleman snake our winner!”

Cheers and deafening applause filled the room.

“Gentlemen,” Hermia bellowed over the noise, “keep your masks and cloaks in place as you exit through the two back doors. A servant will strip you of your disguises as you pass through the darkened exit room one at a time.”

Just then, Puck and Theseus, two of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s male wolves, appeared and started herding the men toward the exits. Oliver stayed where he stood, deciding it was wise to wait for the crowd to dissipate before exiting. “This is utter madness. “Oliver said, turning to his snake-masked neighbor as Helena weaved her way through the crowd toward them. “You just paid one hundred and forty pounds for Lord knows what.”

“Oh, I am certain it will be worth my while,” Snake Mask said.

“Gentlemen.” Helena approached them. “Good evening.”

Both Oliver and Snake Mask bowed in response.

“May I escort you to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office? she said, addressing the snake-masked winner. “She has some papers for you to sign.”

“Papers?” Oliver remarked, wondering what sort of prize could involve paperwork.

“Indeed.” Snake Mask rubbed his hands together. “And will I be meeting my prize this evening?”

“Of course,” Helena said. “As soon as the money has been paid in full.”

Oliver frowned as he watched Snake Mask follow Helena out a third exit, which no doubt led to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office.

Something very odd is afoot , he thought as he turned to leave. Something very odd, indeed.