Post by Lisenet on Nov 2, 2013 10:51:51 GMT -5
So rarely am I permitted outside, the endeavor must be met with the most effort possible expended on my appearance. My husband the duke has spread the lie that I am fragile with some reoccurring illness and must stay inside most of the time. This is his explanation for why the number of state suppers I have attended can be counted on one hand, and the number of people outside his keep who have actually seen my face can be counted even fewer. The duke is jealously, terribly possessive--no man has the right to look upon my face but himself. Even so, I still must be perfect--an epitome of female beauty--whenever I step through his barred doors, escorted by guards no less. By his order I must wear a full veil regardless, to protect my face from being seen, but even yet I must be perfect.
"Is your hair always gold?" my youngest daughter asked me when she, briefly, passed me in the hall. Most daughters would know better, that their mother's hair does not grow gold naturally. But I cannot blame her. We are permitted to see each other little enough. With six children, you would think that my time would constantly be filled by their presence. But no, my lovely children all have maids and manservants and attendants and tutors--according to their father, they have little need of me. They only needed me for a couple of months and then they needed me no more. By the way my children and I watch each other from across empty rooms when we are lucky enough to pass through them together, any stranger could see that this is not true--we need each other simply because as people we know that a child ought to know her mother, a mother ought to know her son. But the duke does not see it that way. His belief is that I ought to belong to him, and to him alone. My children already know better than to ever break the plane of space between the two of us, and I am not permitted to so much as raise my gaze to speak in defense of children learning too young the strength in his hard hands.
I knelt and lightly brushed a stray black lock of hair out of her eyes. "No, love, my maids brushed gold powder into it today. I am going out for a while."
She nods. She doesn't ask when I will be back because what does it matter to a child who is only permitted to speak with her mother once ever few weeks or so. The duke will hear from his guards that I stopped to talk to her as I left. Certainly I will hear from him later. I leave then, wary of prompting even more of the duke's wrath, and my guards shell me in as we stride toward the front doors. As the guards there retract the bolts, I reach to my hair and draw my white--it is nearly always white--veil down over my face. Tiny pearls are sewn into the hem so it doesn't flutter and reveal me, but there are tiny slits cut into it so at least I can see a sliver of the world as it appears directly before me. For the most part I must rely on my husband's guards to prevent me from running into anyone; I know very well they will prevent anyone else from touching me. The last person who tried is probably still scarred from the cut one of the guards put in her face.
Armed as I am with three guards, a handmaid, full veil, gold dust in my intricately-woven black hair, matching rings, gold and pearl jewelry, and a burgundy and lace-trimmed gown, with sleeves so long I can hardly expect to do anything for myself, I step out into the world for the first time in months. Since the duke's keep is not far from the market, only on the outskirts of town, I choose to walk, though he would have growled to see me do it. I am a lady now, and must act like one. At least while in his presence. With his guards, who can only tell him of what I have done for the day, I am permitted a shred more leniency as far as my actions and those of others. As soon as I reach the market, with the coin the handmaid carries I purchase for myself a silver goblet of mulled cider, and for her a pewter cup of the same. I would give her the goblet as well, but I know that my husband will hear of it and beat her for my generosity. He knows that beating me doesn't always work.
I don't often have the opportunity to walk this much, so already I've grown tired. I step toward a seat beside the bakery and one of the guards draws it out. Gleaning what I can from the tiny slivers I am allowed to see, I notice that they seem to be in placid enough moods today to probably allow me to speak to a couple of people without making much fuss. But who would dare? It has been nearly five months since the last time I, the ill, reclusive wife of the duke, emerged from seclusion and the last time someone tried to carry on a conversation with me my guards nearly drew steel on him. I am so infrequently seen at all, let alone in public, that for a moment, as always, I wonder if anyone will even recognize me without being able to see my face. But of course they do--I am the only one I have ever known not to be permitted to have one. My veil identifies me. I am the duke's wife. His property. I have been since I was fifteen.
