“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, eachwearing 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.
