The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

She stood by the edge of the pond, scattering feed for the fish. Winter sunlight

warmed her shoulders, turning her dark hair into a waterfall of glimmering light.

Her long lashes fluttered gently with each breath and movement, and even in

profile, she was strikingly beautiful.

Around the garden, the housekeepers swept and tidied, but whenever the staff

caught sight of the new lady of the house, they couldn't help but marvel inwardly

-Mr. Hawthorne had truly married a beauty.

The butler, noticing how much she enjoyed herself, had refreshments sent out to

the garden. Most of the greenery in the Hawthorne estate had been chosen for

their evergreen resilience, so even in the dead of winter, the grounds felt vibrant

and alive.

After lingering for a while to enjoy the view, Gwyneth made her way to the study to

fetch her easel and paints-especially the precious ultramarine she'd had ground

from lapis lazuli, a gift from Hawthorne himself. He'd bought her all kinds of rare

pigments. At first, she'd hesitated to use them, thinking it a pity to waste such

treasures. Now, she realized it was even more wasteful to let them sit unused.

She set up her easel in the shade of a tree and began to sketch, translating the

garden's lively charm onto canvas.

The staff, never having seen anyone paint before, often found themselves

sneaking glances at her focused expression, then walking away whispering in

new mistress wasn't just

as well.

of the painting

and picked out a few of her

earlier that the butler had sent tea out for her. Even after

it was still piping hot, thanks to the clever

warm, but never too hot-so her

at the perfect temperature, the

plenty of clever things in her life, so this didn't

pond and feeding the

took out a block of

stamp.

she'd come to Greenvale, she hadn't

quiet place to rest and hadn't planned on staying long,

she packed light.

demanding, leaving her with

or enjoy a slower pace of life. She'd thrown herself into

raw edges of old wounds she

she was painting or carving-losing

-could she find peace.

neck seemed to glow in the

life in her hands, and after

just

remembered, as a

her great-grandfather's house and

his collection

old-fashioned stamps and seals.

her play with them,

learned to

The more she practiced,

she

traditional designs.

she visited and asked

more, her great-grandfather would

feign forgetfulness, muttering about

poor memory and pretending