The Virgin's Auction Read Online Free PDF Page A

That person I was, with hopes and dreams, she is dead.
    I still have Peter though, and he has me. I will get him safely away; protect him from all this. He will never know. He can stay innocent, gentle and happy. His future lies ahead of him, not so bright as that of a gentleman’s son, but a future with perhaps some prosperity, and a family of his own.
    He will never cast me out, not dear Peter. I will always have a place in his home as his spinster sister, an aunt to his children.  I will . . . I will make that enough for me.
    And for now I will be whatever I need to be, to get us through this.
    She could not bear to look at her reflection for long.
    She sent Hetty off to her father’s man of business, requesting he visit her that day. She was not certain he would come, was prepared to go to his offices if Hetty returned with a refusal. But he did come. When he bustled into the library, an ugly little man with a pursed mouth and bifocals, thinning hair stretched over his balding pate, he spoke without preamble:
    “I thought I made myself clear, Miss Spencer. Until you pay your father’s outstanding bill there is no commission I am prepared to undertake. And there’s little enough I can do for you even then. There never was such a wretchedly careless man as your father. Never would he take my advice. Never-”
    “Mr Beaseley,” Melissa cut him off. She had no need to listen to him babble the same litany again. “I want you to take charge of selling the last of our household effects. Everything must go, as we will be moving into rented rooms. A shrewd man such as yourself will make perhaps several hundred pounds-”
    “Oh, one or two hundred perhaps,” he interrupted with his eyes darting about the room, taking stock of the contents. Such an awful creature he was, immediately trying to minimise her expectations Still, he would serve her ends.
    “And this will clear our account with you,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “And I do expect an itemised accounting, of course,” she said, raising her eyebrows and looking down her nose. He would think it odd if she didn’t ask for one. “The remainder you may deposit with Lloyds bank in an account in my name-”
    “Not your name, Miss Spencer. Master Spencer’s name.”
    “Yes, certainly in Master Spencer’s name,” she gritted her teeth to stay calm and polite. Toad of a man. “The proviso is that this must be started today.”
    “Tod ay? That simply is not possible,” he said with an authoritative flip of his hand. “I have too many-”
    She lost her patience. “That is unfortunate. Never mind then. We shall find another agent to handle the sales. Good day to you Mr Beaseley.” She stood to signal she had finished with him, and immediately he became placating.
    “But for th e sake of your sad loss I could – out of compassion – find time to serve you today, Miss Spencer.”
    Rather out of compassion for your own pocket, and the paid bill you see escaping from it, she thought grimly. Yet his motives were immaterial. None of these funds would be available before they left London.
    What she wanted was the comings-and-goings of a house cleared and all goods sold off, not to mention father’s businessman about the place. Every appearance must be of a great push to raise ten thousand pounds. The more bustle the better, to make the task of the watchers as complicated and wearying as possible.
    “Very kind, Mr Beaseley,” she said in a clipped tone, meaning nothing of the sort. “You may consider every single item for sale, other than the contents of my bedroom and Master Peter’s room. I shall not delay you further, as there’s much to do. Good day.” She disposed of him gladly. If she never had to talk to him again, it would be too soon.
    “Of course, Miss Spencer. I shall return within the hour. Good day.” He gathered himself up and left, examining the hallway furniture as he went, obviously already adding up numbers in his