Chapter 1

I was in the middle of restoring the Henson family's Song-dynasty woodblock edition of Xin Qiji's collected verse when my husband, Anthony Henson, pushed the door open and laid the divorce papers gently on top of the rice paper.

He told me that Isabel Fox, the one he'd never gotten over, had come back to the country. That she'd once saved his life. That he wanted to give her a home.

I signed the divorce papers without hesitation, then looked up and asked whether he needed me to move out of the main house today.

He froze for a few seconds. He probably hadn't expected a woman who'd supposedly schemed her way into marrying up to give in so easily.

1

I finished signing and said in a flat voice, "You don't have to give me much in the settlement. I only have one condition."

"That batch of antique books in the west wing of the old estate, the ones your grandfather left behind. I finish restoring them."

"Until they're done, I stay there."

Anthony looked mildly surprised, then his mouth curled. "Penelope Pruitt, don't try to pull anything."

"Those books are a Henson family heirloom. They're not a bargaining chip you get to use against me."

"Mr. Henson treats marriage as a chip to repay a debt," I said calmly. "I treat my work as my duty. Neither of us is more noble than the other."

"I'll move my things over today. I won't be an eyesore to you and her."

He stared at me for a few seconds, then left it at one word. "Fine."

That afternoon I moved into the old Henson estate.

I'd barely finished laying out my bedding when I heard footsteps outside the courtyard gate.

Anthony leaned in the doorway of the wing, his lip twisting. "And here I thought you were so above it all. Turns out you're just finding a new way to cling to the Hensons."

"Playing hard to get, Penelope. Don't you ever get tired of that game?"

I was wiping down a bronze book weight and didn't bother to turn around. "If Mr. Henson has that much time on his hands, he should go keep his savior company."

"Everything here is old paper and old ink. Wouldn't want any of it getting on you."

The words had barely left my mouth when Isabel Fox arrived.

She wore a white tulle dress and carried a limited-edition handbag, frowning as she looked the courtyard over, distaste written all over her face.

"Tony, so this is where you've been."

"No wonder you insisted on coming to this shabby little courtyard. Someone's been keeping her hooks in you and won't let go!"

She walked right up to me, chin high. "You must be Penelope."

"Let me give you some advice. Be smart about this, pack your things, and get out."

"Tony has only ever had me in his heart. You've occupied my place for three years. That should be enough for you."

I gave a small, contemptuous laugh. "Miss Fox, I handed the position of Mrs. Henson back to you yesterday."

"You couldn't keep his heart tied to you, and now you come storming over here to throw a fit at me. Isn't that a little beneath you?"

Isabel's face went ugly. She spun around and grabbed Anthony's arm, her voice cracking into tears in an instant. "Tony, look at her. She's already divorced and she's still this arrogant. She's bullying me!"

Anthony frowned at me, his tone dropping cold. "Penelope. Apologize to Isabel."

Isabel jumped in. "Even if she apologizes, I won't accept it. She has to be driven out of the old Henson estate today!"

I raised an eyebrow and said mockingly, "Miss Fox, the old estate belongs to the Hensons, true. But the job of restoring these books was entrusted to my grandfather by old Mr. Henson himself, before he died, with his own words."

"Go ahead and ask Anthony. Does he dare throw me out?"

Anthony's face darkened, but he didn't contradict me.

The old man had valued my grandfather's craft above anything else, and on his deathbed he'd told Anthony again and again to treat the Pruitt family's descendants well. Anthony really didn't dare touch me carelessly.

Seeing that he said nothing, Isabel got so angry her eyes reddened further. She stamped her foot, turned, and ran.

Anthony shot me a glare and strode out after her.

I watched them go, my fingertips running over the bamboo-grain pattern on the bronze book weight, and felt nothing stir in me.

Three years of marriage. Whatever girlish feelings I'd once had were long since worn smooth by his cold looks.

Now I only wanted to finish the work my grandfather never got to complete, and then live my own life in peace.

I just hadn't expected that Isabel's provocations were only getting started.