Chapter 2

"But... we can't just let this slide! Madam Langley cares about you the most. Let's go ask her for help!" Agnes said anxiously.

"There's no need," Isabel replied, shaking her head. "I don't want to involve anyone else in this."

Isabel felt dead inside. No matter how hard she tried, nothing would change.

On the seventh day of her house arrest, it was the third anniversary of her marriage to Geoffrey.

For the past two years, Geoffrey had been posted at the frontier. The first year, he'd sent her a wolf-hair brush unique to that place. The second year, he sent nothing at all. And this year, he was right here in the city, yet somehow, he felt more distant than ever.

Isabel cooked a whole spread, every dish one of Geoffrey's favorites, like roasted river trout, butter-seared prawns, and duck stew.

She didn't send anyone to fetch him. She knew he wouldn't show up.

Right now, Geoffrey was probably at Adeline's Fragrant Garden, comforting the fragile woman who had just "lost her child."

Isabel sat alone at the table, poured herself a drink, and poured another for the empty chair across from her.

"Geoffrey," she murmured, as if speaking to him and to herself. "This first toast is for the day we met. The rain was falling among the orchard blossoms, and you rode past in a white dress upon a black horse. I thought you were the most remarkable man I had ever seen."

She drank it all in a single gulp.

"This second toast is for the three years I've been your wife. I've run your household, cooked your meals, and given you everything I had. I have no regrets," she whispered.

She finished the second glass in one swift motion.

"And this third toast..." Isabel's voice caught, but she forced herself to go on. "To ten years of blind devotion, and the day I finally woke from my dream. From this moment on, let's part ways and set each other free. May we both find our own happiness."

With the third glass emptied, her tears fell in silence.

She stood up, walked over to her writing desk, prepared the ink, and spread out a sheet of paper.

What she wrote wasn't a poem or lyrics. It was a divorce agreement.

Her handwriting, like herself, was graceful yet resolute. Every character seemed to carry the last of her life's warmth.

When she finished, she placed the divorce agreement and a seal she had carved herself, engraved with the name "Geoffrey," into a brocade box. This seal was meant to be his third anniversary gift. Now, it was only right to give it back.

With everything done, it felt as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt lighter than she had in years.

The next morning, before dawn, Isabel slipped into a simple green dress and tied her long hair with a plain ribbon.

She opened all her vanity cases, but left behind every piece of jewelry Geoffrey had given her, or that she'd bought just to please him. Not a single one went with her.

She only brought Agnes, her loyal maid, and the most ordinary pair of pearl earrings her mother had left her.

The guards at the Langley estate didn't dare stop her.

She slipped away without a sound, just as she had spent the last three years.

After wrapping up his official business the next day, a servant brought about Isabel. Only then did Geoffrey remember his wife, who'd been locked away for seven days. With the air of bestowing a favor, he strode into House Isabel.

Geoffrey mused. 'Seven days should be enough for her to cool down. I'm basically giving her an easy way out by showing up.'

But when Geoffrey stepped inside, he was met with nothing but a cold, empty room.

The place was spotless, everything arranged perfectly. But the familiar presence he expected was nowhere to be seen.

On the table, a brocade box rested in silence.

Geoffrey frowned, his expression darkening as he walked over and opened it.

Inside, he found a letter and a custom seal he'd never seen before.

He picked up the letter and unfolded it.

It read, "To my husband, Geoffrey Langley."

"After we part ways, may we find the strength to start anew. May we meet someone worthy. Let's let go of all grudges and never hate each other again. From now on, we walk separate paths. May we both find joy and freedom."

"Isabel Whitmore, farewell."

The lines slammed into Geoffrey like a sledgehammer. "From now on, we walk separate paths. May we both find joy and freedom."

'Shouldn't I be furious?' Geoffrey thought, his mind reeling. 'A woman actually dared to leave me? That's unheard of. An unthinkable humiliation!'

But strangely, what surged within him wasn't anger at all. Instead, it was a vast, hollow sense of panic.

Geoffrey whipped around and barked, "Where is she? Where did my wife go?"

The servants fell to their knees, quivering as they stammered, "G-General, Lady Isabel left the estate early this morning. She said... she was visiting her family home."

"Nonsense!" Geoffrey snapped, his anger boiling over. "The Whitmore family is gone. She has no family to return to!"

Isabel's parents had died long ago, and all her relatives were far away in Helmfirth. Here in Perlshaw, the Langley estate was the only place she could call home.