Then she took another look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened in astonishment. Apart from her disordered hair, she didn't look in the least like herself. The stays pushed up her breasts so that they swelled invitingly over the decolletage of her gown, and the wide, swaying hoop emphasized the smallness of her waist. The costume gave her figure an air of enticing maturity that she found thoroughly disconcerting, although she was aware of a pleasurable prickle of excitement beneath the disquiet.

But did she look like a harlot? She put her head on one side and considered the question. The answer was definitely no. She looked like a woman of fashion. There was something indefinable about the gown that set it apart from Lady Forsett's London imitations-a touch of elegance in the fit or the style that could not be imitated.

"Oh, miss, ye look lovely," Bella said, darting around her, twitching at ruffles, adjusting the opening of the gown over the petticoat. "Now, if’n ye'd jest let me do yer 'air," she added wistfully, picking up a green velvet ribbon that exactly matched the gown.

"No, thank you, Bella. I'll do it myself." Juliana picked up the hairbrush from the dresser. She tugged it through the tangled curls until they fell in some semblance of order onto her shoulders, then twisted them into a knot on top of her head, thrusting pins into the flaming mass with reckless abandon. She felt like a hedgehog at the end, and wisps still escaped from the knot. She knew that within five minutes the whole thing would begin to tumble of its own volition and she'd be spending the evening adjusting pins in a desperate and finally futile attempt to keep it in place; but she stubbornly decided that she'd rather.10 that than obey the instructions of Richard Dennison or the duke.

"Will ye wear the ribbon as a collarette, miss'" Bella was still holding the velvet ribbon. "It would set off the neck of the gown."

Juliana acquiesced, and the maid looked somewhat happier as she pinned the ribbon around Juliana's throat. The deep green accentuated the whiteness of her skin, the slenderness of her neck, and drew the eye down to the swell of her breasts.

" 'Ere's yer fan, miss." Bella proffered a chicken-skin fan.

Juliana opened it and examined the delicate pattern of painted apple-green leaves. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to assemble this outfit.

"I'll show ye to the dining room, miss." Bella ran to the door, opening it wide. "Dinner's at four and it’s almost five past."

Juliana snapped the fan closed and essayed a step. She realized immediately that her usual swinging stride from the hip was impossible with the hoop and the shoes. She was required to take mincing little steps, the hoop swinging gracefully around her. She could handle the little steps, she decided, so long as she didn't lose her balance and fall in a disorderly heap with her skirts thrown up around her head. Not that it would be the first time.

"I'm ready," she said grimly. "Lead on, Bella."

Bella pranced ahead of Juliana, down the curving staircase to the front hall. Juliana proceeded much more slowly, one hand resting with apparent negligence on the banister, although in fact her finger, were curled over it as if it were a lifeline.

Mr. Garston came forward with a stately tread as she reached the bottom of the stairs. To her astonishment he bowed. " 'Ow nice to see you downstairs, miss. If ye'd care to follow me."

Her circumstances had definitely altered in the last hours. Juliana merely inclined her head and followed him to a pair of double doors at the rear of the hall. He flung them open and announced in ringing accents, "Miss Juliana."

"Ah, my dear, welcome." Elizabeth Dennison was all affability, as if the altercation in Juliana’s bedchamber had never occurred. "Oh, yes, how very fetching that gown is. The color is perfect, isn't it, ladies?" She came toward her, extending her hands in welcome. "Let me present you to our little family."

Taking Juliana's hand warmly, she drew her forward to the oval table where ten young women stood at their chairs. She recognized Lilly and Emma from the encounter in the hall on her first day. Names and faces of the others blended with the speed of the introduction, but she managed to mark Deborah and take note of her hair. Bella was right that it didn't have the sparking vitality of her own. For some reason the recognition was satisfying. Juliana began to wonder what was happening to her. She rarely gave a passing thought to her appearance, and yet here she was, examining the other girls as if they were some sort of rivals. Rivals for what?

Lord of hell! She was beginning to think like a whore. It must be something to do with the atmosphere in the house.

She curtsied politely to each woman, receiving a similar salute in return, and she was aware that she was being assessed as shrewdly as she was assessing them.

"Sit down, my dears." Elizabeth waved a hand around the table. "Now we're all assembled, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Juliana, take your place beside Mr. Dennison."

The seat of honor? Juliana took the chair to Richard's right. He drew it out for her and bowed her into it as if she were indeed the guest of honor.

A footman moved around the table filling wineglasses. "Will you taste the partridge, Juliana?" Lilly inquired, deftly carving the breast of a bird on a platter before her.

Juliana noticed that most of the girls were occupied with one of the serving platters, filleting carp swimming in parsley butter, carving ducks, pigeons, and partridges.

"Are you skilled at carving, Juliana?" inquired Richard. "We consider it a necessary domestic art for a well-educated young lady of fashion."

For a whore? Juliana was tempted to ask, but she managed not to. It was not appropriate to insult her fellow diners even if she was engaged in a conflict with their keepers. "My guardian's wife also considered it necessary," she said neutrally. The fact that she could no more carve a bird elegantly than she could sew a straight seam was neither here nor there. She was well versed in the principles of both, just too ham-fisted to do either skillfully.

She took a sip of wine and listened to the conversation. The women in their rich gowns chattered like so many bright-plumaged birds. They all seemed to be in the greatest good humor, told jokes, discussed both their customers and the prospects of other women who'd left the house for secure establishments with some member of the nobility.

Juliana said nothing, and no one tried to draw her into the conversation, but she was aware of sidelong glances as they talked, as if they were assessing her reactions. She wondered whether this display of conviviality had been put on for her benefit… whether they'd been instructed to try to persuade her that they led charming, amusing lives under the Dennisons' roof and had only the brightest of futures to look forward to. If so, it was making not a dent in her prejudice and did nothing to relieve her suspicion and apprehension.

Richard Dennison also said little, leaving it up to his wife to direct the conversation. But Juliana felt his eyes were everywhere, and she noticed that some of the girls would hesitate in their speech if they felt him looking their way. Their whoremaster clearly exerted a powerful influence.

She could find no fault with the dinner, though. The first course was removed with a second course of plover's eggs, quail, savory tarts, Rhenish cream, a basket of pastries, and syllabub. Juliana quashed her apprehension for the time being and ate with considerable appetite, remembering how she had sat in her chamber trying to identify the various toothsome aromas wafting from the kitchens. Boiled beef and pudding, steak-and-kidney pie, stewed fish, were all very well for filling one's belly, but they did little to titillate the palate.