The Pearl Of Great Price

Chapter 14: Competition

Over the next few days, words of life were spoken into Mary's spirit. Those words served to bring healing and health, better than any medicinal herb or ointment ever could. Naturally, Charles led the way.

It started with him telling her, "She's a liar for calling you nothing. You're something--- something extraordinary. All your hardships are preparing you for a great future. I don't know what that is, but I know it's beautiful because you're beautiful in every way."

Charles raked his hand through his straggly hair, his anger simmering underneath. Then he commented, "Also, you are not ugly. The only thing ugly about you is the time you were left in Ludlow. That ugly period of your life will be the most powerful part of your life's story. Because you turn your pain into power."

And he's right. Once you're Ludlowed, you can't get any lower. There's only one way to go, and that's up. What defines a person is how well they rise after a fall. So that's what she did, rose up.

It started with her rising up to pray, which also gave her strength. Then she got dressed for a walk because she hadn't left their chambers in days of shame of the bruises and slap. Charles assured her he was taking a walk with her too. "Even if your father calls for me, he will have to drag me from your side himself."

As she dressed, Charles examined the bruises some more. "Are you sure you're alright? You're bruised, and I don't want you to hurt."

She looked at the same ones he did and explained, "This is not a bruise. This is a lesson. It reminded me that I only have control over myself and how I choose to behave as a person. As for others, I cannot count on them to respect my feelings, or myself, even if I respect theirs. These attacks were sent to discourage me and make me feel inferior, like I'm nothing— a nobody."

A few tears fell from her lashes. "But that's not true. Even if I'm not a Princess of England, I'm still an Infanta in Spain. That's only because of my mother. I don't care about being a princess anymore because I'm also a Duchess. And I really don't care about being a Duchess because I'm a wife. And I don't care about being a wife because when you strip it all away, I'm just yours. That's the best title of all, yours. I'm only me— a hard worker with a creative mind, compassion for others, rubbish poetry, ostentatious shears, a bunch of beautiful dresses, and an enormous craft stash."

Charles added, "And an exquisite body that your husband adores." He heard her huff. So, he took her by the waist and held her to him. "Say it. Say you have a beautiful body." She murmured it low, but he shook his head. "No. I want you to love your body. It's a work of art. One day you're going to love it like I do."

A snort left her mouth. She told her Duke, "I will never love it like you do. But I will get better at being kinder to it with my speech. Is that agreeable, husband?" She held his gaze.

Love reflected in his eyes. "I suppose. It's better than nothing." He kissed her. They dressed and went out for their walk.

Mary recuperated and was ready to face the public again on the day of the tournaments. While confined to their apartments, she had tea with Lady Hargrove, Lady Shively, and Lady Tipton. They were full of lively conversation. The four of them got on well. She also met two of her husband's friends— Anthony Knivert and William Compton. She vaguely remembers them from childhood but enjoyed seeing a different side of Charles through their eyes.

The three men laughed and shared stories of youth. She listened with eager ears to learn more about her husband. At one point, his arms pulled to make her perch on her favorite spot, his lap. A small gasp left her mouth. It's improper to sit on a man's lap in polite company, even if he is her husband.