Portia curtsied a gratified acceptance, and he left.
Nerissa immediately sent a command that her favorite mantua maker attend her. “Dear Trelyn to think of such a diversion. I adore clothes, but in my present condition there is little point to it. I tell you truly, this wifely business is quite tedious.”
“When is the baby due, Nerissa?”
“In May. Can you imagine how huge I will be? Already I have no waist at all!” She discontentedly smoothed her gown at the front, though under the layers of silk Portia could see no bulge. “I do not like it,” Nerissa said, almost to herself, but then shrugged. “But at least I can dress you.” She considered Portia once more. “You are rather thin. You should eat more. Gentlemen prefer curves, my dear.”
Your limbs are slender but strong, your body supple as willow.
The invasion of those traitorous memories loosed Portia’s temper. “But a little while ago, Nerissa, you were claiming I would have gentlemen swooning at my feet.”
It bounced off her cousin. “Oh, dearest, your thinness is not afatalflaw. I am merely thinking that it will do no harm to use frilling at the bodice to disguise your flatness there. And we must certainly not expose your shoulders. We will let Madame Baudelle decide. She can perform miracles. As for your hair, it is perilously close to red, you know, and despite the many nostrums advertised, I have never found anything that takes away freckles….”
Portia sighed and let her cousin chatter. She did not understand Nerissa at all. To talk of Portia attracting swarms of men was ridiculous, but she had never felt a freak. Nerissa’s artless comments were making her feel lacking in all departments.
She could only be grateful when Nerissa lost interest in critical evaluation and moved on to gossip. Her cousin wiled away the half hour before Madame Baudelle arrived with a monologue on Society. Portia found it boring, for she didn’t know the people, but she listened carefully. After all, this was how she was to earn her keep, by listening to Nerissa prattle, and she would be wise to find out all about the world she was planning to enter.
She grew interested despite herself. She sensed that Mirabelle had been correct—the underpinnings of this round of pleasure was politics and power. Whigs and Tories, Crown and Parliament, City money and Society rank: all these power struggles were being played out in ballrooms and boudoirs.
“You mentioned Rothgar,” Portia said at one point. “He is Lord Bryght’s brother, is he not?”
Nerissa raised a brow. “I thought you had no interest in the man.”
Portia damned her ready color. “I didn’t say that. I have no desire to be entangled with him, but I think it wise to know one’s enemies. Rothgar seems to have a great deal of influence.”
Nerissa’s face turned almost bitter. “The man has a lust for power and an uncanny way of getting it. He is dangerous.”
“Yet you wanted me to play tricks on Lord Bryght.”
“Bryght deserves to suffer for what he has done. It needn’t involve Rothgar. He is out of town.”
Portia had at last found a discussion that interested her, but at that moment the mantua maker arrived.
Madame Baudelle proved to be young and sharp-eyed. She was delighted at the thought of a profitable order of gowns, particularly at this dead part of the year. Soon she and her two assistants were fluttering around Portia, measuring and assessing. Drawings and fashion dolls were produced and considered, though Portia noted that madame consulted Nerissa far more than she consulted her.
An acute nose for where the true power lay.
Portia began to feel like one of the exquisite mannequin dolls herself, a mere frame for lovely fabrics.
“My cousin will require at least one gown quickly,” said Nerissa.
With a somewhat sly look, Madame Baudelle produced a swatch of beautiful material, a cream silk embroidered with multicolored birds. “With this,” she said, “a gown could be made quickly, for it would need little trimming.”
Portia gasped at the beauty of the fabric. It must cost a fortune.
Nerissa was staring at the fabric greedily, and Portia was sure she would demand that it be made into a gown for herself, but then she suddenly relaxed. “Why not? How soon?”
“Three days, milady.”
Nerissa nodded and waved her on her way.
Portia was unbalanced again, for to order such a gown was truly generous. She thanked Nerissa warmly. “I have never seen material half as fine. I’m afraid it will cost a great deal.”
Nerissa shrugged. “It is just money. Money is nothing.”
Portia was tempted to burst into hysterical giggles. She managed to control the urge. “For the immediate, I will have to make do with my old gowns. I must return to my rooms to collect my possessions.”
Nerissa agreed, but insisted that Portia go in the Trelyn carriage with footmen to attend her. So Portia returned to Clerkenwell in state. Half the street came out to gawk at the grand equipage and liveried servants, and Mrs. Pinney almost had palpitations. Portia instructed the woman to keep the rooms in readiness and to tell Oliver, as soon as he returned, where his sister was.
