Overcome by the positive response, Juliette watched and listened with increasing awe as the number rose to a staggering 480 pounds before it was won by Lord Yates. He winked at her as he settled back in his seat, his goodwill implying that he held no grudge against her.
Grateful, she thanked him with a smile and moved on to the next items. The silk ball gown from Madame Lizette’s brought in two hundred pounds, a cigar box with mother-of-pearl inlays ended up fetching 230 pounds.
The gift baskets were less successful. Containing soaps and perfumes, most of them went for fifty pounds, except for the one with a puppy inside, which was won by Baron Hawthorne for six hundred pounds.
“I’ve been looking for a greyhound exactly like this one,” he exclaimed with a burst of enthusiasm. “It reminds me of the one I had as a boy. The coloring is identical!”
Juliette grinned as she picked up the coveted bottle of cognac and held it up for all to see. A hush fell over the room, and then Lord Wilmington spoke. “I’ll start the bidding at five hundred pounds, if that’s acceptable to you!”
Juliette’s fingers trembled in response to the shocking sum he suggested. Fearing she might do something awful like drop the bottle, she set it aside carefully and nodded. “Yes. That sounds more than reasonable.” She’d intended to start at two.
“I’ll give you six,” another gentleman blurted.
Excitement increased as voices clamored for attention, driving the bidding up until Juliette felt somewhat dizzy. They were now at 1,000 pounds! She glanced at Vivien, who looked just as dumbfounded as she felt.
It wasn’t until the sum arrived at 1,500 that the voices weakened as fewer people engaged. Eventually, Wilmington got the bottle he wanted for an astounding 1,600 pounds.
Juliette blinked, still dazed from what had transpired. She dropped her gaze to the spot on the table where the card promising a dance with Florian rested.
Hesitantly, she picked it up and turned it over in her hand, her chest squeezing her lungs as she wondered which of these women he would end up having to dance with. And not just any dance, but the waltz. Her heart thrummed with an almost unreasonable desperation. He wasn’t her betrothed. He was simply a friend, perhaps a colleague, so for the idea of him waltzing with another to bother her so was ridiculous. And yet, she knew what it was like to be held in his arms, to have the intensity of his gaze fixed only on her, and the notion of sharing that experience with another woman broke something inside her.
Silence drew on as everyone waited for her to speak. Which she had to. Of course she did. Florian had told her so. The hospital needed the funds. She could not be selfish.
Bracing herself, she straightened her spine and hardened her resolve. She could do this. “Just as the gentlemen here were eager to bid on the cognac, I believe there are many ladies who would like to bid on the rare opportunity to waltz with Florian, the future Duke of Redding.”
Whispers ensued and Juliette clutched the card in her hands even harder. “As with the cognac, I propose we start the bidding at five hundred pounds as well.” She heard Vivien’s gasp and glanced toward her.
“What are you doing?” she mouthed.
Juliette wasn’t quite sure, except that it had occurred to her that a high enough sum might discourage anyone from bidding, which was really just as bad as telling everyone that the waltz was no longer available.
Desperate to steady her riotous nerves, she sought her anchor and found Florian’s gaze intent on her. The flutter in her belly, which had long since subsided, returned with a vengeance, stealing her breath.
“Five hundred and fifty,” someone called out.
Vivien gasped again, as did Juliette, her attention on Florian straying to the person who’d spoken. It was the older woman who’d told her friend about her intention to win.
Juliette bristled. “Five hundred and fifty pounds,” she repeated. Just in case someone else had missed it.
“Five hundred and sixty,” a lady said from across the room. Juliette recognized her as one of the debutantes she’d seen in the women’s retiring room at the Hawthorne Ball.
“Five hundred and seventy,” the older woman responded.
Her friend added an extra ten and other women joined in, sending the bidding higher and higher until it surpassed one thousand.
It was very strange, feeling happy and horrified at the same time.
“This is amazing,” Vivien said as another hundred pounds was added.
Juliette had to agree. She stared at Florian and saw he was looking equally stumped. And then her gaze caught Amelia’s right before she turned to whisper something in her husband’s ear. Coventry frowned, hesitated a second and finally nodded.
“Two thousand pounds,” Amelia said, her voice echoing through the room.
Juliette stopped breathing. Had Amelia lost her mind?
The stillness consuming the air illustrated the unified bafflement of those present.
Then someone spoke. “She can’t do that! It isn’t fair!”
