*Bryant*
I don't know why I'm surprised that the room chosen is my bedchamber. I'm certain the artist is conspiring with my mother to accomplish something that I do not desire.
The furniture in the seating area has been rearranged, brought nearer to the windows, where the drapes are drawn back to allow in the afternoon sunlight. In a pale blue gown with a scooped neck that reveals the upper swells of her breasts, Madelyn sits on the settee.
At her throat is the string of pearls I gave her on the morning of our wedding. It had once belonged to my grandmother. If my mother hadn't put it away for safekeeping, I would have sold it long ago. I find it difficult to be sentimental about things that might have been responsible for my previous state of poverty. I want to tell her that it is not
