The faces of those wealthy matrons shifted through a spectrum of colors—shock, embarrassment, barely concealed fury. Avery paid them no more attention. She turned and walked straight down the corridor toward the display area where Dorothea was.
Before she could get close, a burst of shrill, mocking laughter rang out from the end of the hall.
“Ha! Come look! This is what the freak made!”
A child’s voice, dripping with the glee of a successful prank, shattered the quiet of the children’s display area.
Avery’s steps halted. Her gaze shot straight toward the corner.
Three older boys stood there. The ringleader was a chubby boy in a tailored little tuxedo—young Bonner, heir to the old industrial fortune.
He snatched the auction tag from the back of Dorothea’s chair, crumpled it into a bal
