A Wedding Toast

Today Pegman took us to Portsmouth, Hampshire, UK. Having never heard of it I zipped over to Google and found the HMS Victory and this gazebo. 149-words later I present Cuthbert-the-Cad.

Cuthbert and I were to be wed within this gazebo. Standing tall in my gold-trimmed dress, breathing in a mixture of wax from one-hundred candles and the scent of seawater, I noted him waving his hat from the deck of the HMS Victory. The jingle of the small silver bells hanging above my head turned to a cacophonious clang.

Surprise overwhelmed me, for although he mentioned Lord Nelson readying the ship for war, Cuthbert never broached the subject of joining the Battle of Trafalgar. My fiance was a physician, not a soldier.

Mother cried when I destroyed my dress. Father stormed when I threw my silk slippers into the sea.

I expected to be grateful upon Cuthbert’s return. Unhurt he swaggered down the plank to whisper, “It was I who thought to preserve Nelson’s body in a barrel of brandy.”

“Pour yourself a toast,” I replied before turning away.