*Rapunzel*
It’s hard not to feel resentful this morning. Horace’s eyes glowed when he told me that last night was better than his wildest imaginings. I hate that I lied to him. I hate it.
I take a deep breath, about to confess, when there’s a knock on the door. Horace calls, “Come in,” and in bustles Mary, followed, to my horror, by Horace’s valet. And on their heels are maids carrying breakfast trays.
My chance is gone. I nibble toast while Trundle lays out Horace’s dressing gown, and Mary begins preparing my toilet. When Horace finishes eating, he gets out of bed and goes to his room, where he listens to some sort of report about paddock fencing while he dresses.
I tell myself that marriage involves compromises.
If only I hadn’t lied… My stomach clenches every time I think of it. Bu
