Chapter 637
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
astonishment. To them, the new mistress wasn’t just beautiful-she was talented
as well.
After two hours, most of the painting was done. Gwyneth felt a little lightheaded,
so she sipped some tea and picked out a few of her favorite pastries.
She’d noticed earlier that the butler had sent tea out for her. Even after all this
time, it was still piping hot, thanks to the clever black stone slab beneath the pot.
The stone kept anything placed on it warm, but never too hot-so her tea had
stayed at the perfect temperature, the flavor unchanged.
She’d seen plenty of clever things in her life, so this didn’t surprise her.
After stretching her legs by the pond and feeding the fish a little more, Gwyneth
returned to her seat and took out a block of red sealing wax, ready to carve a new
stamp.
When she’d come to Greenvale, she hadn’t brought much with her. She’d only
thought of the city as a quiet place to rest and hadn’t planned on staying long, so
she packed light.
Her first job here had been demanding, leaving her with little time to pick up her
art or enjoy a slower pace of life. She’d thrown herself into work, hoping the
busyness would numb the raw edges of old wounds she preferred not to touch.
Only when she was painting or carving-losing herself in the careful, steady work
-could she find peace.
Head bowed, her delicate neck seemed to glow in the winter sunlight. Wood and
stone took on new life in her hands, and after another ninety minutes, she’d
finished carving the stamp just as she’d pictured it.
She remembered, as a child, visiting
her great-grandfather’s house and
marveling at his collection of
old-fashioned stamps and seals.
He’d let her play with them, and
eventually she’d learned to carve her
own. The more she practiced, the
more fascinated she became with
traditional designs.
Whenever she visited and asked for
more, her great-grandfather would
feign forgetfulness, muttering about
his poor memory and pretending he
didn’t know where he’d put them.
She suspected he was just hiding
them so she wouldn’t make off with
too many.
Still, her memory served her well-she could recreate the intricate patterns from
childhood recollection. By the time she finished carving, it was well past
lunchtime. The butler, knowing she’d had a late breakfast, hadn’t come to fetch
her.
It wasn’t until Hawthorne returned and found her absent from the house that he
discovered she’d spent the better part of the morning and afternoon out in the
garden.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked, appearing with a brown paper bag.
He handed her the savory pastries and a steaming cup of rich stew he’d picked
up on his way home. The delicious aroma made Gwyneth’s stomach rumble in
anticipation.
She devoured three pastries before
realizing just how hungry she was.
She’d completely skipped lunch, and
it had been nearly five hours since
breakfast-a stretch made even
longer by her intense concentration
and energy spent throughout the
day.