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 longshes 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 newdy 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, Gwh made her way to the study to


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


    frompiszuli, 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, tranting the


    garden''s lively charm onto canvas.


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


    sneaking nces 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. Gwh 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 ck stone b beneath the pot.


    The stone kept anything ced on it warm, but never too hot-so her tea had


    stayed at the perfect temperature, the vor 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, Gwh


    returned to her seat and took out a block of red sealing wax, ready to carve a new


    stamp.


    When she''de to Greenvale, she hadn''t brought much with her. She''d only


    thought of the city as a quiet ce to rest and hadn''t nned 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 ny 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 y 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 ate breakfast, hadn''te 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 Gwh''s stomach rumble in


    anticipation.


    She devoured three pastries before


    realizing just how hungry she was.


    She''dpletely 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.