But Lucy sighed again. “He does. It was his debts that caused most of our problems. We owe thousands. And to be honest, you have no dowry at all. This is a last, desperate effort.”
“No one wanted to wed me in the past,” Emma felt compelled to point out. “Why would anyone offer now?”
“I have three bids so far,” Lucy said. “I sent out invitations to every bachelor in London over a week ago. The men have been talking of little else.”
So there had never been a choice about avoiding the auction. Lucy had already done it. Tears pricked at her eyes, and it was all Emma could do to keep from breaking down. “Do you hate me that much, Lucy?”
“No,” her stepmother answered softly. “I love your father that much. And I will do anything—anything at all—to save him from prison or worse.” She reached out and touched Emma’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”
*
It had takeneverything in him to attend the ball. Cormac felt as if he’d battled a dragon, and he didn’t want his weakness to hold him back. But he’d never guessed that Emma would already be gone. He strode through the crowds, searching for her face, but there was no trace of her. Instead, he saw Lady Scarsdale.
“Forgive me, Lady Scarsdale. Have you seen Miss Bartholomew? I was supposed to meet her here this evening.”
“She l-left an hour ago,” the woman replied. Her voice was cool, and her expression held sadness. “Mrs. Harding was to meet her back at the school.”
“Was she all right?” Cormac asked. He suspected she would be angry with him for being late.
“I couldn’t say.” Lady Scarsdale turned to walk away, and Cormac cursed himself for not arriving sooner. He was questioning what to do when suddenly, he saw Mr. Gregor.
The man appeared uneasy, and as soon as he approached, Mr. Gregor asked Cormac, “Have you seen Miss Bartholomew, Lord Dunmeath? Did she return to the ball?”
“I haven’t seen her, no. Lady Scarsdale told me she went back to the school.”
“Miss Bartholomew never arrived at our school.” His voice held concern, and he added, “I came back to search for her.”
Cormac tensed, fearing the worst. “What about her mother?” he asked. “Do you think this was related to the auction?”
“Possibly.” Mr. Gregor paused and said, “I heard rumors that she had already begun accepting bids. Do you think...?”
“I’ll go to her house right now,” Cormac answered. He didn’t bother to consider other options, but Mr. Gregor hurried to his side. “Wait, my lord. We need more information about where she is.”
“No,” he snapped. “I have to stop this from happening.” He shrugged off the man and hurried back outside. Within a few minutes, he was inside his carriage on the way to the Bartholomew residence. He paid the driver to go faster, hoping to God he could get there in time.
His stomach lurched, but he pushed back the pain. It was an hour before midnight, and his mind flooded with self-loathing. He should have arrived earlier, regardless of his illness. If he had, he could have escorted Emma back. Instead, she was at her stepmother’s mercy—and he couldn’t let that happen.
It was strange to realize that Miss Bartholomew meant something to him though they’d only become acquainted recently. And he didn’t want her to fall prey to this auction. He had to get there in time to stop it from happening. His careless words had already caused enough problems for her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be trapped in a marriage she didn’t want. Although she’d already refused to wed him—and likely still wouldn’t agree to a match—he had to do something to help her.
When the coach arrived at her residence, he was startled to find the house dark with no other coaches nearby. If the auction was indeed happening, as rumor had it, then surely there would be many vehicles. Nonetheless, he hurried to the door and knocked hard. No one answered, not even a servant. True, it was quite late—but surely a footman or a maid would answer.
After no one did, he was forced to return to his carriage. It was then that he remembered Hawkins telling him this evening about the invitation from the Bartholomew family. Cormac had mistakenly thought it was the one he’d already answered—but now he realized that a new one had been sent out. Damn it all, he was losing time.
Woodenly, he returned to his carriage. He should have opened the invitation earlier. His carelessness had cost him—and perhaps Emma as well. He was about to drive home when another carriage pulled up beside his. Mr. Gregor bolted outside and held out the new invitation. “It’s here.”
“Thank you.” He gripped the man’s hand and gave the address to his driver. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.
*
Emma sat ina chair on a small, raised platform. Beside her was an easel with a landscape painting. She doubted if it was valuable at all, but of course, she knew that the male guests weren’t truly here to buy art.
She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. Her skin felt frozen, and the men were all a blur of dark coats and white cravats. She didn’t know who was here or whether they were simply entertained by this spectacle.
Her stepmother remained quietly in the background while another gentleman presided over the “auction.”
More than anything, Emma wanted to run away from this humiliating spectacle. She still wore the rose ballgown that exposed her shoulders. Her stepmother had taken down her hair, and it hung down her back in soft waves, as if she’d just awakened from sleep.
God help her, she hated everything about this. And yet, what could she do? She couldn’t let her father be sent to debtor’s prison. It would kill him, without a doubt.
