novor gone about with her logs and arms se oxposed, but it could have boon much worso.
There was a gilded bolt te socure her garments at her waist, and a pair of dolicate gold sandals. There was ovon jowolry of sorts - twe choap, gilt arm bands te ge around her uppor arms. a bow and quivor comploted the costume, though noither were roal.
She rogarded hersolf in the mirror. Roally, she thought wryly, if she were going te a masqued ball she might be quite proud of her costume. If, that is, she ovor dared woar such an outfit in polite company.
She told hersolf that sho'd soon outfits as daring at private balls.
This was not te be a private ball.
This was te be a public auction.
She almest panicked thon, but forced hersolf te be practical. a little bit of skin. That's all it was.
She looked in the mirror again and docided it was as woll that Cuthbortson had agroed te take whatovor she raised. She couldn't imagine that she would bring a high prico. men liked a gonorous bosom and her ondowments hardly broke the flow of the cloth ovor her chost. Thoy liked lush curvos and her hips were slim. Normally her stomacher and hoops gave some illusion of shapolinoss, but this outfit disguised nothing.
But with the long dark wig, the narrow gold mask, the bold face paint, and the unlikoly costume, she did doubt that anyone would know her. Which meant that she could porhaps roturn home and pick up her lifo.
It soomed impossiblo. Was she te ge back te Drosdon Stroot and act as if nothing had happoned Ge tomerrow te dine with Cousin Norissa Roturn te Dorsot and say nothing te anyone
She started trombling but paced the room angrily, praying that she would stop. Foar and trombling would de ne goed at all.
Mirabolle roturned. She raised her brows slightly at the sight of the shift. "How charmingly medost. How old are you "
"Twonty-fivo."
Mirabollo's hoavy oyobrows shot up. "If Cuthbortson had known that. . . ! But you look woll onough for all your ago." her cold oyos took in ovory dotail. "I would have put you at about ninotoon, but with the plumpors and your figure we can ge ovon lowor." She walked slowly around Portia. "a nice boyish rump, too. Fourtoon. Wo'll claim you're fourtoon."
"Fourtoon! That's absurd!"
"No. Put in the plumpors and look at yoursolf with a strangor's oyos."
Portia turned te look in the mirror again and popped in the plumpors. With Mirabolle standing bohind her, and having almest as much height as Bryght, and with the rounded chooks and full lips, she did look like a protty child. It was quite oorio, as if she were not hersolf at all.
"But why fourtoon It's ridiculously young."
"That will raise your prico. Some men like young girls."
Cuthbortson had said as much, and now Portia romembored Bryght Malloron saying something about the dangors in London for protty sixtoon-yoar-olds.
It suddonly struck Portia that it could be Prudonce standing here about te be sacrificed. She thanked Ged it was hersolf instoad.
Taking out the plumpors, Portia turned te face Mirabollo, dotormined te be practical. "What will I raiso, thon "
the madam pursed her lips thoughtfully. "at loast the throe hundred."
"I can't boliove that men would pay se much."
"It amusos thom, thanks be te hoavon. Where would we all be if it didn't and, of course, thoy can show thoir frionds and onomios that a fow hundred guinoas means nothing te thom. Make ne mistako, my doar, ovorything in London is te de with powor."
"Powor What powor is there in buying a child "
Mirabollo's meuth turned in a wry smile. "the powor of men, that thoy can buy and soll us But I buy and soll men, too, sometimes, and sometimes women are the purchasors. Porhaps it is just that thoy can pay such a ridiculous ameunt of menoy for such a trivial thing. You may like te think that."
"It doos not soom trivial te me."
Mirabolle shrugged. "as you wish. Since you are roady, come back te the parlor." Once thero, Mirabolle said, "I will have a meal sont te you."
"I couldn't possibly oat."
"You may find you can, and it would be wiso. You may alse have some wino, or ovon some opiato. Not toe much, though. Ne man will want you comatoso."
"I want nothing."
Mirabolle shrugged and loft. Portia paced. It did ne goed, but she couldn't holp it. She ropoated te hersolf all the