Chapter Two
“What do you think of this shade, my lady?”
The question had come from an older woman, her neck and head tightly wimpled in white, wearing the brown broadcloth garments of a servant as she held up a piece of wet fabric that she had been stirring in a stone cauldron.
The woman she was addressing had just come down the stone steps that led into this den of activity.
As weak sunlight streamed in through a series of small, barred windows, the woman on the steps peered closely at the fabric without touching it.
“A lovely shade of yellow,” she said. “Well done, Edie.”
The older woman carefully put the cloth back in the stone vat and continued to stir carefully. “Onion skins and as much saffron as we could spare, mixed with the alum,” she said. “It makes a beautiful color.”
She wasn’t looking at the young woman, now bending over the vat to inspect the color of the water.
If she happened to look up, she would see what she had always seen – a petite lass with a womanly shape, big breasts, and eyes of the purest and palest blue.
They were almost unnatural in their magnificent beauty.
But she would also see a face full of tiny spots.
Some called them witch’s marks, some called them sun spots, and some even called them freckles.
Whatever they were, they were that by which Dacia of Doncaster was defined.
It was a pity, too. Dacia, under any other circumstances, would have been one of the most sought-after women in all of England because she was the sole heiress to a vast and rich dukedom.
Unfortunately, the fates had not been kind to her, and just after her first birthday, a sea of freckles began to appear on the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
That had only been the beginning.
Her nursemaid had kept her covered up and out of the sun but, still, the freckles kept coming.
By the time she was five years old, they covered her nose, her cheeks, and down her neck.
Since Dacia’s parents had died when she had been very young, the only person to tend to her had been her nursemaid, who had been convinced that the devil was trying to mark her charge.
As a child, she’d had a few friends and had been allowed to interact somewhat normally with allies and children her own age.
But as she grew, the freckles darkened and the comments began to come.
When the rumors and whispers started, and the children grew cruel, the withdrawal from normal life came.
Dacia of Doncaster retreated from the social circles.
As a result of this stringent and paranoid upbringing, Dacia had never been sent away to foster.
She had been kept at Edenthorpe Castle, considered a safe haven, because of her zealously religious nursemaid.
Even on her deathbed, the old woman was still convinced that the devil had been trying to mark her beloved Dacia and made her promise to always keep her face covered.
All Dacia had ever known was to hide those marks from the world.
Oddly enough, however, she grew into a thoughtful, intelligent, and well-educated young woman who was determined to do good in the world.
She had a genuine desire to help the less fortunate, possibly because she knew what it was like to be an outcast. There was no lingering hint of the strangeness her nursemaid had imprinted upon her other than the fact that she rarely left Edenthorpe and when she did, she was covered from head to toe in veils to disguise the heavy dusting of freckles.
Marks of the devil, the old woman had called them.
Unfortunately for Dacia, she had to live with that stigma.
Even so, she didn’t let it weigh upon her as heavily as it could have.
She had gotten used to hiding her face from the world, which now was uncovered in a rare moment.
The woman stirring the dye happened to look up, right into Dacia’s face as the woman bent over the vat.
She thought that, perhaps, the freckles had faded with age.
They didn’t seem as dark as they used to be and, at a distance, one couldn’t really tell she had them. But at close range, they were clear.
A pity, too. Dacia had an exquisite face of lush lips, well-shaped nose, and those magnificent blue eyes, but the scattering of freckles marred that picture.
The woman stirring the dye tried not to feel pity for the lonely young heiress. When her days should be filled with parties and her nights with handsome suitors, she’d never attended a party in her life, nor had she ever known a suitor.
No one should have to be so lonely.
“This will make for a beautiful garment, my lady,” the old woman said. “It was kind of you to have it made for Lady Amata’s day of birth. It will go well with her pale hair.”
Dacia Mathilde Violette de Ferrar de Ryes grinned as she watched the woman stir the material. “She is my cousin as well as my friend,” she said simply. “Oh, I know you do not like her, Edie, but I do look forward to her visits.”
Old Edie lifted an eyebrow as she continued stirring. “She comes here to gawk at your grandfather’s knights, pick over your jewelry, and steal your clothing,” she said with disapproval. “You should not be so generous with her. She takes but she never gives.”
“She gives me her companionship when she visits. That is worth a great deal to me.”
Edie shut her mouth after that. She was just thinking on how lonely her mistress was except for occasional visits by her greedy and silly cousin, Amata de Branton, who came to visit regularly even though she was petty, gossipy, and bordered on thieving.
She also had a tendency to mimic what the nurse had told Dacia, criticizing her face, insisting that her cousin remained covered at all times.
It was Edie’s opinion that it was out of jealousy and not concern, as Dacia chose to believe.
Edie had never liked Amata.
For good reason.
“She’ll be very grateful for your gift, my lady,” Edie said evenly. “You are a kind and generous soul, lamb.”
Dacia looked up from the vat, smiling at the old servant. “As are you,” she said. “Edie, I know you mean well about Amata… and do not think I am so blind to what she really is… but she is my cousin and I do crave her companionship. It is better than the alternative.”
Edie simply nodded. It was that lonely girl speaking again and she had nothing to say to the contrary. “What of her sister?” she said. “Why not have Sabine visit? She used to come quite a bit.”
Dacia shrugged. “Sabine is bound for the cloister,” she said. “Amata says she spends all of her time praying. She has no time to visit me any longer.”
Pity, Edie thought. Younger sister Sabine had been the kind one. Still, she wouldn’t dwell on it. “And when shall we expect Lady Amata’s next visit?” she said. “It has been a while since the last one.”
Dacia returned her focus to the dye vat. “Soon, I hope,” she said. “Her father was ill, but he is better now, so she should return soon. I hope so. I have missed her.”
Edie glanced up at her. “Mayhap you should ask your grandfather to make it so that Lady Amata stays on longer this time,” she said. “She could become your companion, your lady-in-waiting. You are to be a duchess someday and all duchesses need ladies.”
Dacia shrugged. “Possibly,” she said. “But becoming a duchess is a long time off yet.”
“Not as long as you think,” Edie reminded her quietly. “Your grandfather is old, my lady. You must prepare for the event of his passing. You must be prepared to take your rightful place.”
Dacia knew that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought on it before, but she didn’t like to think of the day her grandfather would pass away.
He was really all she had as far as immediate family went.
Even Amata was really a distant cousin. But Edie was right.
When her grandfather was gone, she would become the duchess of a great empire.
Having her cousin for a lady-in-waiting wasn’t a bad idea.
And she would have a permanent friend.
“Mayhap,” she said. “I will think on it.”
“If not a lady-in-waiting, why not a maid?”
Dacia waved her off. “Amata? A maid?” She shook her head. “She would sooner throw herself from the battlements than become a maid. Besides… I have more maids than I need, to be perfectly truthful. They do everything but eat and breathe for me. Sometimes I wish…”
She trailed off and Edie looked at her. “What, lamb?”
Dacia stood up from the vat. “Sometimes I wish they would all go away and leave me alone,” she said. “It’s strange, Edie… I feel so alone sometimes, but I am never really alone. I am always surrounded by people. God’s Bones, when I hear myself say that, I sound like a madwoman.”
Edie grinned. “You sound like someone who has great responsibilities and many people to help you with them,” she said. “That is why you have so many women, my lady. They are all there to serve you.”
Dacia nodded her head, but it was clear that Edie didn’t understand what she was saying. As much as the old woman loved her, it wouldn’t be the first time.
She was a bird in a gilded cage and no one seemed to understand that.
“That is true,” she said, but she didn’t want to continue along a subject that was both frustrating and sometimes painful. With a sigh, she turned for the door. “Grandfather should be returning soon from the festival. I hope he has brought me something from it.”
“You should have gone with him,” Edie said. “There is dancing and food and merriment. It would have been fun.”
Dacia was climbing back up the stone steps that led out into the bailey. “Not me,” she said. “You know I do not attend those festivals. They are not for me.”
Edie looked up from her dye vat, a hint of pity in her expression. “But… what happened was so long ago. Surely you could try again. You might enjoy yourself.”