The day of The Whore's coronation arrived. As Mary lay in bed, her mind thought over the events of the day. How does one manage to show grace under fire? Family, friends, and faith that's the only way she will make it through this. Letting out a sigh, she stared at the ceiling.
Charles heard that sigh and threw a strong arm around her. This day can't be easy on her nerves. With his morning voice, he encouraged "Go ahead and tell me. If you keep it in, then it will bother you all day long."
"Fine. I really do not like that woman. She called me a bastard in front of the whole court. Now I have to play nice and act like her becoming queen is wonderful. Yet my mother now sits alone in disgrace having been divorced. Some days I feel fine and I don't let it bother me. Then other days, like today, it stings," she declared to him. Her hands balled up the comforter.
Turning to look at him, she shook her head. "I'm a mess. Why do you put up with me? You could have any number of women with less baggage than I do."
He smiled to himself and opened his eyes. "You, My Love, are not a mess. You are human. Like I told you before, don't let this turn you into a bitter old hag. If that happens I would have to set you aside because old hags are just creepy and full of all kinds of ugliness. Sort of like The Whore."
When she laughed at his comment, he knew he had broken through to her. So he continued talking. "And besides I don't want any other woman. Their baggage can't compare to yours. Yours is deep with many compartments and made of high-quality materials. There's is shallow and not huge enough to hold my secrets. Plus there is also a lack of authenticity."
His fingers danced over her face like a butterfly alighting on a flower. "You're not perfect, Mary, no one is. But you are always genuine. There's a difference. Plus those other women's trunks aren't as sturdy as yours. I happen to like your trunk. I'm fond of it."
At first, she thought he was talking about her actual luggage trunks, but then it hit her. "Is that your way of saying my bottom is fat?" Her eyes narrowed at him as she sat up.
Following her actions, he thought of how to get himself out of this. "No. I did not call you fat. There's not an ounce of fat on you. Although, you are more shapely than others."
Oh, she huffed out a breath and flung the covers off. More shapely than others! A sturdy bottom! Of all the nerve!
He tried to catch her before she got up, but he didn't. Instead, he now sat on the bed watching her stomp around gathering pieces of clothing. There it is. The Tudor temper is on display, except her temper, is... well it's cute. It made him laugh.
Spinning around on her heels, she fixed him with a look. Pointing her finger, she made him understand "I am upset with you, husband. In one setting you have told me I have a sturdy posterior, along with being shapely. It makes me think you see me like Lady Bertha of Norfolk, one of those Howard women."
His eyes grew as large as melons. He's seen Big Bertha. His face screwed up in disgust and a shudder ran through him. He may have also lost his appetite. "Mary, no! You are not a troll, not at all. I only meant your figure is perfect and your bottom is too. I like... no... I love all the parts of you— inside and out."
Fully nude, and not the least bit shameful, he walked over to his love. Taking the clothing from her hands, he set it aside. Then he grasped her hands and leaned in close. Nudging her adorable nose with his, he confessed "You are a true beauty, not some horrible beast. I love you, despite the size of your craft stash."
Now it was her turn for her eyes to grow large and round. "So you found my stash, did you?"
His face looked mischievous and his eyes twinkled, in the light of the candles and oil lamps. "The size of it is most impressive. I think it needs your attention."
A frown of reprimand came over her face. "A true lady never speaks of the size of her stash, even if it is magnificent," she told him. Then she heard him chuckle and saw the look of mischief on his face. "Why do I get the feeling you're not really talking about craft stashes?"
He shrugged and gave her a cheeky grin. She eyeballed him and stated, "Charles Brandon you have a wicked mind." He full-on laughed. Then she took her hand and smacked his bottom and quickly moved away from him.
It stung! "Ow, Mary! That hurt." He rubbed his sore bottom.
"It serves you right. That is your punishment," she explained. Her attention returned to choosing a dress for the coronation. It's chilly but sunny outside. Just as she was running her hand over each one, her feet left the floor. She eked out a shriek.
Swinging his wife over his shoulder, Charles gently laid her out on the bed. Hovering over her body, his eyes fixed hers with a pleading look. "My Lady, I lay my penance at your adorable feet."
Still feeling the amusement from being lifted over his shoulders, and already breathing heavily from it, she absolved him. "You are forgiven, My Lord."
Then he spoke words of passion. "I woke up this morning wanting your lips on my own, your arms around me, our hands laced together. I woke up wanting to swim in your deep pools of blue eyes. I woke up wanting you, My Love."
Lacing their fingers together, he proceeded to leave her breathless. Some of life's best moments are the ones you can't tell anyone about. It would be unseemly, but they show by the expression on the face. Sometimes it glows, which Mary's did.
The glow still hadn't left her, even when she and Charles made their entrance in Westminster Abby. Now she knew this is the stepmonster's big day, but she has always been a fan of fine embroidery. So when she donned the colorful, floral masterpiece, it was with no thought of the future queen.
Again her aim is to make her husband look good and by virtue their Duchy. Always one who would prefer to not stand out, her dress and crystal belt had the opposite effect. In fact, it looked ten times more attractive than the dour thing the new queen wore.
Many a lady of the lower nobles, whom she has come to enjoy, complimented her. Words of "Your Grace, that frock is fabulous," or "My Lady, where do you purchase your gowns" left mouths. She accepted the kind praise with thoughtfulness of character. However, she was not willing to part with her secret, skilled seamstress.
So she would say "Superb, accomplished hands created them. Any expert tailor should be able to craft similar designs. I can send you the rendings."
In truth, she was not mindful of the coronation ceremony. Her mind wandered to matters of the Duchy, more specifically the craft festival. During the crowning and the blessing, she thought about ideas for the different demonstrations.
By the time of the benediction, she had come up with several great ones. Demonstrations ranged from ceramics, textiles, calligraphy, cooking (which Cook will love), candle making, blacksmithing, jewelry design, and weaving were some of her best notions. And of course, no festival demonstration would be complete without some show of weaponry. She made a mental note to ask Charles about demonstrating the weaponry.
After the ceremony, there is to be a parade of the nobility trekking back to the castle. The King and Queen are to lead the way, followed by the higher lords, then the lesser lords. Many fine carriages were lined up along the route, which started at the Abbey. Since the day is sunny every carriage has the top off.
The higher lords of the court decided to ride their stallions while their wives sat in the carriage. The Duke of Suffolk kissed his wife's hands before taking his place on his trusty steed. Their position in line was behind the new queen's family but in front of the Seymours. In other words, they were important.
The coronation parade began with a flourish of court jesting and fire breathing followed by prancing ponies. Of course, His Majesty would do such a thing. He loves showing off.
Once the carriage began to move, Mary started waving at the crowd. Harris had reviewed how to wave, polishing it up until it perfectly gleamed like diamonds worthy of nobility. She waved and waved, smiling at everyone on the route.
It's funny because the people cheered louder for her father than they did his new queen. They also offered their blessings to him and not to her. This made Mary snicker to herself. Ironically they also cheered for her. Loud claps, shouts, and blessings could be heard every time her carriage passed by.
As she glanced over the crowd, she spied children from the London orphanage. There are a lot of them, and they're also towards the back— having to peer over adults, that is if they can see at all. No. This will not do.
Stopping the carriage, she told the driver to keep moving and not wait for her. Stepping down onto the ground, she fixed the satin of her dress and wished she had listened to Joan. Her maid had wanted her to wear comfortable shoes today.
Gracefully walking over to the children, a hush fell around her. This is unprecedented and a break with protocol. It's just never done. In fact, as she moved to them, eyes were yet again on her. Eyes ranging from the lords and ladies to the guards, and especially those of her husband.
After kissing their heads, her kindhearted voice told them "I think I should like to have some children accompany me. Would you like that?"
The orphans let out excited babbles and shouts. "I realize I am not a queen or a princess, but I am a Duchess. I hope that's OK and not too disappointing for you."
The children did not mind at all. "You are so kind and pretty," said one sweet girl with blonde braided pigtails.
Mary smiled fondly at her. "Thank you, sweet girl. Now in order for us to be in the parade, we must wave and smile. So show me your waves and your best smiles."
They did and it made her giggle to see some missing front-toothed grins. Once the waving, happy children were ready Mary led them to the parade route. A few ladies from lower estates joined her. "Your Grace, do you mind if we join you?" asked Lady Hargrove. She was accompanied by Lady Shively and Lady Tipton.
Feeling encouraged by this gesture of goodwill, she nodded. Then told the children, "This is Countess Hargrove, Baroness Shively, and Baroness Tipton." A few of the children took the lady's hands, who smiled at them. "Alright group, let's walk." And with that, the group of children and ladies rejoined the parade on foot.
Sitting atop his horse watching and wondering what his wife is doing, Charles waited patiently for her. Other carriages and members of the court passed him by, giving him perturbed looks. Unphased he smiled and nodded at them.
But when he saw his wife striding towards the children, planting kisses on their heads, he knew her aim. Once she was joined by several lower ladies, it became clear. As the unique group made their way into the parade, his pride beamed out of him like the sun. His Mary is always thinking of others, especially orphaned children. They always have her personal care and notice, even when she was abandoned in Ludlow.
He caught her eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible, bow of the head. Mary's beat faster at his gesture. He approves. The invisible weight lifted and she held the little blonde girl's hand, smiling and waving as they went. By far it's the most fun in any parade she has had in a long time.
Leading the way, King Henry felt the slow down of the carriages. He opted to ride his horse as well in order to let his new queen have the carriage, and the people, all to herself. It was when he heard loud shouts coming from the tail end of the procession that made him wonder. Today is supposed to be his queen's day. The beginnings of annoyance flickered in him.
In a spirit of inquiry, his horse trotted back to the commotion. What he saw left him even more perplexed. His daughter was parading, not in her carriage as she is supposed to, but on foot. And with straggly children at that.
Feeling a bit incensed, he thought to give her a tongue lashing back at the palace. However, when he saw the liveliness of the crowd he paused. He rescinded his tongue lashing when a lower lord trotted by saying things like "Bravo to you Sire. Having Her Grace Suffolk parade with orphan children is genius. It boasts goodwill to you and your queen."
Not only did this lord say that, but many others uttered similar sentiments. He accepted the words with aplomb as if he had thought of it himself. When his daughter neared him, he cast a smile and a nod of approval her way. Then he galloped his stallion back to the head of the parade.
Again she finds it interesting how both her husband and her father give her similar gestures with different results. Every day it becomes easier to not seek her father's approval. And just when she decides she's doesn't want it anymore, he seems to give it to her all the same.
But she will not be sucked into that black bottomless pit again. The pit of longing and never having. She forgives him, but she's also learned her lesson. Never will she ever let him get close enough to hurt her anew. She cannot suffer her forgiveness to become foolishness. Finally, clarity and reason broke through. She was never asking too much from him. She was just asking the wrong person. Her husband comes out the better man yet once more.
The children interrupted her thinking with talk of "The King smiled at us!" Putting on her happy face, she began talking about His Majesty with praise. Praise to The King but not her father.
When they reached the castle, her feet were tired but her heart was alight. At the sight of her husband joining her, the children went wild. "The Duke of Suffolk! You're so brave," they said. He, of course, wore his brilliant smile and spoke to them. The little boys ate up his attention like candy.
As for the little girls, they stuck close to the three noble ladies. Some of them made the connection of "So you're the Duchess of Suffolk then. Your Duke is my favorite."
Looking at her husband, she stated "He's my favorite too." Charles had taken his sword out and showed it off to the boys. It was then she became overcome with thoughts of blue-eyed, brown-haired children with semi-unruly locks (like their father's). But she kept those thoughts inside her heart for another time.
The Duke and Duchess said goodbye to the children, as well as the three lords and ladies. Charles turned to her "Fancy a stroll in the maze?"
She was going to say yes, but a page boy brought Her Duke a message. Knowing it's from her father, she could only chuckle. The King seems to have a habit of interrupting them.
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he didn't have to tell her anything. "It's OK. I know he sent for you, he needs you. I'll find something to do before the ball tonight."
He kissed her forehead and escorted her into the palace. Once he left, she decided to take in the palace wanting to see the changes. Walking down a long corridor of windows, she heard the sound of a lady's voice. Not caring to make conversation, she hid behind an oversized tapestry.
"Honestly, how uncouth and rude does one have to be? The parade was for The Queen, not the bastard of The King," said one woman.
Another clucked her tongue. "I agree with you, Daphne. And did you see her dress? It's like she's trying so hard to gain favor and yet it's not working."
The woman who spoke before, apparently named Daphne, added "Although, she is married to the Duke of Suffolk. He seems interested enough in her charms."
"For now. He'll grow tired of her. He always does. Then he'll come crawling back to all of us. Besides she's not that pretty. Her hair is ugly and styled for the country. Her body is misshapen and her breasts are too much," the other woman said. They laughed.
Then another voice spoke. It's one she knows well. Her old lady-in-wait Marge. "When I served with her, she never really cared for herself. At least she does that now. Her breasts are larger, but not a few years ago. Her face is ugly like her mother's. As you said his lust will abandon her. It happened with her aunt, so it will her too." They all three laughed and continued walking down the corridor.
Feeling hurt, and sad, a few tears started to roll down her face. She wants to go back to her room. Turning in that direction, her pace quickened. Until she came face-to-face with The Queen and her retinue.
The Queen stepped up to her bastard stepdaughter. She took her hand and slapped her ugly face, hard. "You dare to try and upstage me on my day?! The poor, pitiful, creature you are. You are a bastard. You are nothing. My child will be heir and you will still be nothing. I can make you very miserable indeed. Sooner or later your husband will see you for what you really are: an ugly, penniless, bastard. Then he will leave you and you will continue to be nothing and have nothing."
The women with her laughed as the vile woman turned and walked away from Mary. Feeling the sting of rejection so soundly, she forgot who she is and returned to the scared, wounded, abandoned girl she was not so very long ago. She also turned and ran.
Charles was listening to The King drone on and on about The Whore's pregnancy. How he just KNOWS this is a boy, an heir. Please. No one knows that sort of thing unless you're God. The last time he checked, his friend most surely is not. Although, he does like to think he's God from time to time.
Getting up, he moved to the window. As he gazed out of it, Henry began talking about Mary. "I have to say I have been most impressed by her. She—"
He failed to hear what The King said because the lady herself came into view. The seconds seemed to tick by because she is running across the grounds heading into the woods? She never runs. This troubled him because she has to be troubled herself in order to dash into danger wearing a nice dress.
Without a second thought, Charles faced his friend. "Please forgive me but something is wrong with my wife. I just saw her sprinting across the lawn going straight to the woods. I must go! I have to retrieve her."
When Henry gave his consent, he was off. Rushing out of the castle, onto the grounds, he made a mad dash for the tree line. His heart pounded with every sprint and step taken. Not only because of the exertion but also for the concern of his Mary.
She ran and ran and ran until she tripped and fell. Fallen low to the ground, she lifted a hand and saw blood. Staring at it brought her pain. She gave up and laid down among the dirt and other gross things. It's fitting for an ugly bastard like her, lower than dirt. Sobbing into her arms it never registered that she was being lifted up.
He found her laying on the ground weeping. Whatever happened has left her low and hurt. Picking her up into his arms is easy, but putting her heart back together is the difficult part. But he really, really wants to know what happened between him leaving her and her running into the forest.
With purpose, he strode into the palace and headed straight for their rooms. His face is fixed and his goal is clear. When he gets like this it's best to stay out of his way.
The minute he reached the rooms, a servant was sent for the doctor. The man came and bandaged Mary up. He told The Duke "She has scrapes on her hands and knees. There will be bruising, and soreness but nothing too serious. I gave her pain medicine to ease the sting. She should rest and be good as new in the morning."
Charles thanked him for his assistance. When the man left, he removed his doublet, boots, and jewelry. Rolling the sleeves of the tunic up, he poured a shot of ale and collected his thoughts. Downing it, he entered the bed-chamber. All of the pillows and bed linens, surrounding his wife, served to make her seem small and frail. In truth, though she is tiny, Mary is one of the strongest women he knows. But she is a delicate flower and he wants to protect her.
Climbing beside her, he stroked his finger down her arm. He smirked seeing the goosebumps rise. Taking her hand, he inspected the bandage. When she started crying again, that's when he noticed it— the handprint on her cheek.
Unable to stop himself, he touched his fingers to it. When she winced, raw anger smoldered inside him. He has an idea who did this but needs to hear it from her. So he asked, "How did that happen?"
Just so utterly tired, confused, and hurt, she told him. She told him everything, from hiding behind the tapestry listening to the ladies. From Marge betraying her, and finally to The Whore's slap. She even told him the words all the women said. And when she was finished, she wept again. Except she turned away from him as if to hide herself.
It pained him greatly for her to do so. She's never turned away from him before. So, he did the only thing he could. Rolling her over onto her back, he pinned her down with tenderness and bore his eyes into her own.
His mouth grew dry before he spoke. "I cannot bear this. It wounds me to see you this way. It wounds me to hear you say those things. It wounds me, even more, to think you believe them."
He sat back on his knees and ran a hand over his face, then rested it on her thigh. "You have no idea, do you? You have no idea what you mean to me. I need you to hear me out and believe me, not those mean women. I won't call them ladies because you're a lady. And you would never dare do what they did."
Taking her bandaged hand, he put it over his heart. "I told you once you have this. It's still true. It will be true tomorrow, next year, and all the years after that. You have no idea how fast this heart of mine races when I see you. You give me the kinds of feelings men write poetry about, that romantic rubbish you read." He saw a ghost of a smile on her face at those words.
Pressing forward he continued. "The only thing I'm completely certain about is that I love you. So please don't doubt that." Tears left his eyes. His hand ran over his face again. He got up and began pacing. "I want to tell you about my first marriage. I thought I loved your aunt, I truly did. But I didn't. It wasn't love I felt just really strong lust. I married her on a drunken whim. Drunk on wine and on her. Two bad combinations."
He stopped pacing and sunk into a chair. "Our marriage was volatile, full of arguments and fights and sex. That was basically it. There was no peace to be had. No true connection. I always felt like I wasn't good enough. Everything I did wasn't worthy. So, yes I cheated on her with mistresses."
Hanging his head, he could not look at his wife. The shame of his past overwhelmingly sucked the air out of the room. "It's not like that with you. What I have with you, Mary is different and real. I actually have a relationship with you built on love, trust, and friendship. I have never cheated on you nor do I plan to. You mean too much to me and to break your trust would kill me, because it's not freely given. It's earned."
Standing he walked back to the bed and hovered over her again. "I realize I'm an unworthy man whore. But I love you. You're beautiful. I love your hair, your face, your smile, your eyes, your body. I love you. I don't have a habit of spending time with unattractive women. So you must know, I think you're a gorgeous creature. But you're not just gorgeous out here." His hand motioned up and down her body, then it stopped on her heart. "You're also gorgeous in there. You're not a bastard either. You're Mary Brandon, my wife, The Duchess of Suffolk. Get that into your heart and mind, My Darling. I want you and I am not leaving you."
She reached for him. Even though they're both a bit broken and bruised, by life, they try to heal each other. That is real love. They kissed and cried together and whispered vows of love. Then Charles stated, "And I love your breasts. I think they're fantastic too." To which she rolled her eyes.