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

mistress

as well.

painting was done. Gwyneth

tea and picked

had sent tea out for her.

thanks to the clever black stone slab beneath the

stone kept anything placed on it warm, but never too

at the perfect

clever things in her life, so this didn't

legs by the pond and feeding the fish a little more,

and took out a block of red sealing wax, ready to carve a

stamp.

Greenvale, she hadn't brought much

place to rest and

she packed light.

first job here had been demanding, leaving her

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

the raw edges of old wounds she preferred not to

carving-losing herself in the careful,

-could she find peace.

to glow in the

her hands, and

just as

remembered, as

her great-grandfather's house and

his collection

old-fashioned stamps and seals.

let her play with them,

learned to carve

The more she practiced,

she became

traditional designs.

she visited and

more, her great-grandfather would

feign forgetfulness, muttering about

memory