BARS
I was barely out of the schoolroom
when Mama said I must marry Henry. “He is Sir William’s sole heir, and you will
one day be mistress of the entire estate.”
Henry was pompous, with fat red lips
and damp hands, but Papa had lost everything in the crash and it was our only
way out of penury.
The house resembled a wedding cake
with its white pillars and delicate tracery, but the railings that surrounded
the estate loomed like cell bars.
My choice was stark – accept life in
a gilded cage or consign us all to a paupers’ prison.
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The photographic prompt for this week's story is by J Hardy Carrol, and posted on Rochelle's blog https://rochellewisoff.com/ for Friday Fictioneers. I am a tad later than usual this week - today is my birthday and I've been busy celebrating!
