Victoria, in the meantime, has dressed herself in the yellow outfit. It is more flattering to her figure than it ever was to Amara’s. Victoria holds out her arms to see how the material falls, stroking the fabric, and Amara realizes that she is struggling not to cry. She remembers how her own freedom first caught her like that, the sudden moments of joy and disbelief.

“You look beautiful,” she says.

Victoria puts her hand to her heart. “Thank you,” she says. “For everything. I can never, ever repay you.”

Martha returns with the tray and almost drops it when she sees Britannica sitting on the couch. “I thought . . .” she stutters. “Sorry. I thought it was a man.”

“I would hardly have a strange man in my private chambers, would I?” Amara snaps. “Just leave it, please.” Martha fumbles with the tray, clanking it down on the side table, spilling some of the wine. Then she hurries from the room.

Victoria is almost hysterical with laughter, and this time, Amara joins her. Even Britannica smiles. “I look like man,” she says, standing taller to show off her strength.

The three of them drink the wine together, growing ever giddier with excitement. Britannica does not speak much, clearly understanding more than she can say, but Victoria asks Amara endless questions, desperate to know all about her life. Most of all she wants to know when she can finally meet Amara’s patron.

“What a generous man he must be! To let you buy me!”

“He doesn’t know yet,” Amara admits. “I told him I was thinking of buying some musicians. I thought you could sing for him.”

“Of course I will!” Victoria says. “I can sing every hour of every day if that’s what he enjoys. Will he want anything else from me?” Her tone is matter of fact, making it clear her body is no less at Rufus’s disposal than her voice.

“No,” Amara says, not liking the suggestion. “Rufus is a romantic. I think that would offend him.”

“Well, you can ask,” Victoria shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Britannica says, folding her arms.

Victoria snorts, but Amara senses Britannica’s fear. “I know,” Amara says. “And I will never, ever force you to lie with a man, I promise.” She places her hand on the Briton’s arm. “That part of your life is over. Nobody will touch you.” Britannica clenches her jaw, unwilling to show weakness, but Amara can see tears of relief welling in her eyes.

“I hope that part of my life isn’t over,” Victoria says, pulling a face.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Amara says. “I’m hoping you might catch the eye of one of the guests Rufus brings here.”