You know I’m right. No gentleman is going to marry her, and she likes her fine clothes and pretty things, does Mary.”
Julian saw that it was pointless to argue with the old witch. “I’ll attend the auction.”
“Will you, now?” Mrs Dean said craftily. “You must first buy a ticket, and I’m afraid they’re quite expensive. I mean to keep out the riffraff, you understand.”
“How much?”
“Fifty pounds, sir, and not a penny less,” she said defiantly.
Julian did not flinch. “Will you accept my I.O.U.?”
She smiled. “I’m afraid I can only accept hard currency. You do understand, Mr Pope.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said Julian curtly.
Mrs Dean licked her lips. “The cost of the ticket is nonrefundable,” she said quickly, “and, of course, it only entitles you to participate in the auction tomorrow evening. I expect to open the bidding at five thousand pounds.”
“Then I shall return this afternoon for my ticket,” Julian said, starting for the door. “Naturally, I expect an interview with the young lady at that time. Perhaps I might walk with her in Regent’s Park early this evening?”
“I’m afraid my niece is engaged to go driving in the park this evening,” Mrs Dean replied, “but you might come to tea, Mr Pope. I shall be here to chaperone, of course. I could not risk putting damaged goods on the block, you understand. The man who gets her might feel cheated.”
Julian favored her with a pained smile.
“However, you must not speak to Mary of the auction. She’s quite shy about it.”
Julian looked at her sharply. “You mean she doesn’t know she’s being auctioned off,” he said contemptuously.
Mrs Dean blinked rapidly. “Of course she knows,” she cried, just a little too late to be credible. “Mary is a practical young lady, sir, and nothing better guards a girl’s virginity than self-interest, don’t you agree?” She laughed. “After all, virtue can be penetrated by seduction. Self-interest cannot. Do you doubt, sir, that she is a virgin?”
Julian glared at her. “No.”
“Of course, if you won’t buy Mary, someone else will,” Mrs Dean went on pleasantly. “I only hope he is kind to her. My first time was very painful, and Mr Dean would do it again and again, no matter how I begged him to spare me. I was only sixteen, Mr Pope, but he was my husband, and I had no hope in law. My brother the vicar wouldn’t help me, either. What God hath joined, and all that rot. He said it was my Christian duty to submit. Mary, at least, will be free to find another protector, if she wishes. I was not free until Mr Dean died, and then I was left penniless. Poverty, I soon discovered, is a worse prison than marriage.”
“How much would it take to stop the auction?” Julian demanded.
Mrs Dean shook her head sadly. “It is beyond my power, Mr Pope. I couldn’t cancel now, even if you should offer me the moon and the stars. I have sold nearly twenty tickets.”
“Then I had better go and see my banker,” Julian said grimly.
Mrs Dean was all politeness when he returned that afternoon. The young man parted with his money so easily that Mrs Dean never suspected that he had pawned everything of value he owned in order to raise the sum. Inclining her head graciously, she brought her guest into the sitting room, where she locked his money in her desk and brought him a large card in return.
“Your ticket, Mr Pope.”
Julian looked at it in surprise. Handsomely printed in gold letters on a card about the size of a playbill, it announced the auction of one Bijou, a superior purebred bitch donated by Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte. All proceeds were to go to an unspecified charity.
“There must be some mistake,” Julian said irritably. “I don’t want a dog.”
“A little subterfuge, Mr Pope…for the law’s sake,” Mrs Dean explained. “They can be so inquisitive about things that do not concern them. If anyone asks, the auction is for that stupid little dog someone left here as a present for one of my girls.”
Julian affected surprise. “Then she is not one of Princess Charlotte’s prize pups?”
“Don’t be silly, Mr Pope,” Mrs Dean laughed. “Everyone knows Her Royal Highness keeps Pomeranians.” Still laughing, she took the chair next to the fire. The tea table was already set up between the chair and the sofa, and a pot of tea was steeping under a quilted cozy.
Having pawned his watch, among other things, Julian checked the little French clock on the mantel. “Will Miss Andrews be joining us soon?” he asked.
“You must be patient, Mr Pope. Mary will join us presently.”
While they waited, Mrs Dean beguiled the time by counting her chickens before they were hatched. “With that face and that figure, there’s no telling how much she’ll go for in the end,” she sighed happily. “I shall be able to pay off all my creditors, I shouldn’t wonder. Ah, Mary! There you are!” she said as the girl came into the room. “Come and meet Mr Pope.”
Julian stood up, pleased and relieved to see that Miss Andrews appeared undamaged. Not a hair on her head was out of place. Her purple and white striped dress looked freshly ironed, and she was holding the white puppy in her arms. Bijou wagged her tail at the sight of Julian.
Viola had not expected to see the impudent young man again. “You!” she exclaimed.
“You know this young man?” Mrs Dean asked sharply.
Julian smiled at Viola, but his words were intended for Mrs Dean. “I have met your niece already. But she would not speak to me because we had not been introduced.”
“Mary!” Mrs Dean scolded. “How could you be so rude to Mr Pope?”
“Indeed, Miss Andrews was the soul of propriety,” Julian said quickly. “I was rude. But do not judge me too harshly, Miss Andrews. I have come to make amends, as you see.”
Viola found she could not hold a grudge against him. He had a certain audacious charm, and, of course, he was young and good-looking, a rarity amongst Mrs Dean’s acquaintances. She certainly preferred his company to that of Mrs Dean, and she was in no hurry to be rid of him. “By London standards, I think you were only a little presumptuous,” she said primly. “Of course, you were anxious to see your brother.”
“I was, but that is no excuse for bad manners. Shall we begin again? How do you do, Miss Andrews?” he said, presenting her with a formal bow.
“Very well, Mr Pope,” Viola answered, curtseying. “What a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance at last.”
“Indeed the pleasure is all mine, Miss Andrews.”
“Oh, don’t let’s argue, Mr Pope,” she said, taking her seat on the sofa and arranging the bichon in her lap. “Shall we say half the pleasure is mine, and the other half yours?”
“That
