More servants set up a perimeter: an insubstantial barrier of bollards and ribbons, reinforced by a guard that Flora knew to be returned soldiers and sailors, recovered sufficiently from their wounds to serve in the cold of a single day but no longer fit for foreign duty. The Society had found rooms for them all.
Flo and Georgie strolled among hundreds of thebeau mondewho crowded the marquee—many of them people would never otherwise put their hands in their pockets for the charitable cause in question. With every step she scanned the crowd looking—
Flo felt foolish, realizing she searched the crowd for the sight of Lord Ethan Alcott, who, she knew, lay well-cared for at Welbrook House and whose health could not be risked on the Thames ice. She determined to be happy about the size of the crowd and the success of the auction, whomever her luncheon companion may be.
The unusual setting had undoubtedly drawn many to the event, that and the talk the Society's members had been assiduously spreading about how all fashionable people would be present. Flo wondered if their idea that each lady offered her company along with the lunch basket had caused enough titillation to draw others to witness the scandal.
Good. We can use the money!
They passed some particularly sour-looking matrons, and she looked up to see Georgie’s eyes dancing as one tried to discuss the impropriety without ever—God forbid—criticizing the Duchess of Haverford herself.
It came as a relief when Brigadier General Lord Redepenning stepped up onto the stage, accompanied by Her Grace.
The duchess spoke first, briefly explaining the purpose of the Society, encouraging everyone to open their purses and be generous, and then handing over to Mrs Beresford, as the chairwoman of the Society’s organizing committee.
Mrs Beresford confined herself to welcoming them all before inviting Lord Henry (as he was known by all but his subordinates in the Horse Guard) to begin the auction.
Flo glanced nervously around the room. Her brother had promised to be here for the bidding, but she saw no sign of him, nor did she spy the distinctive white-blond head of the Marquess of Glenaire towering over the company.
Lord Henry briefly explained how the auction would work: the winner of a basket also won the right to share the contents with the lady who donated it. The usual rules of propriety prevailed, and no lady would lunch without a chaperone, unless, of course, her basket was purchased by a close family member. With the lady’s permission, the successful bidder might also claim a dance at the ball to follow in the evening.
A footman in Haverford livery handed Mrs. Beresford the first basket, and she brought it to Lord Henry.
He mimed opening the top, held it to his nose, and gave a deep theatrical sigh. “Magnificent. Your Graces, my ladies, my lords, gentlemen, I give you a picnic basket that, if it tastes as good as it smells, will be a rare treat. One made even pleasanter, dare I say, by the company of the lovely Lady Priscilla Fenton.”
He lifted the label again, and added, "Oh, and it says, her elder brother and his wife." Speaking over the laughter, he added, “Ah, well,” which set them off again.
The bidding was fast, and no one was surprised when Lord Wrathall, who had been courting Lady Priscilla for the last several months, allowed himself to be cozened out of nine pounds ten shillings for the privilege of walking off with the basket and the lady.
Three baskets later, Lord Henry moved to a familiar heavily-laden basket from the Chadbourn kitchens. A hush came over the crowd when he announced the lady to be Lady Georgiana Hayden. Flo heard an incredulous stage whisper behind her, “The Recluse of Cambridge? Does Sudbury know she is here?”
She turned to the source in time to see Sir Harold Malford, red in the face, storming toward them. "What are you thinking," he hissed at Georgie. “Your mother will…”
“Quiet in the ranks," Lord Henry called out. "Are you bidding, Sir Harold?”
“I will not be a part of this disgrace,” the man snapped.
“Then I suggest you sit down, Harold, and be quiet,” Lord Henry retorted.
Georgiana stood as tall and proud as only a Hayden can, but a faint flush to her cheeks showed her distress as Harold sputtered, people tittered, and no bids were forthcoming, afraid of drawing the wrath of the Duke or Duchess of Sudbury.
Flo heard the man standing by Matilda Grenford comment, “Is the man calling an event organized by Her Grace the Duchess of Haverford a disgrace?” He did not bid, however, and Flo’s heart ached for her friend, who looked stoically ahead.
“They are all afraid of Sudbury,” Flo whispered. Georgiana said nothing.
“Twenty guineas,” a commanding voice from the rear said. All heads turned to see the Marquess of Glenaire look unwaveringly at Lord Henry.
“Ah!” Lord Henry said. “Offered by a man who has undoubtedly experienced picnics prepared by Lady Georgiana and knows their worth.” He held the gavel as his eyes scanned the room, and the comments and laughter stilled. Finally, he brought it down. “Sold to the Marquess of Glenaire.”
The Marquess paid his shot, accepted the basket, and came to offer an arm and an encouraging, if muted, smile to his sister and lead her away. Will came to stand by Flo when they moved on.
The bidding continued briskly, and they had no time to speak. She saw Viscount Sterling scoop Lady Emma Frampton and her luncheon on offer out from under Lieutenant Branson and Beau Fishingworth. Several others went quickly, ten pounds here and twelve there, until the Earl of Trehallow shocked the company by outbidding the Marquis of Aldridge by the outrageous sum of one hundred pounds for the privilege of luncheon with Miss Cummins.
“Going once, going twice,” Lord Henry intoned, “With no further bids, sold to the Earl of Trehallow. Sir, pay the purser to my left and claim your prize.”
After an awed pause caused by the earl’s bid, the auction continued, and Flo began to grow anxious until at last she saw her basket lifted to the table. Her brother would buy it, of course. That would be proper.
She bounced on her toes when the general intoned, “A lovely basket from Lady Flora Landrum, sister of the Earl of Chadbourn. Do I spy lemon cakes? The Chadbourn House kitchens are famous for them. Shall we begin bidding at ten pounds?” Silence.
