The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 531

The butler regarded Gwyneth with a gentle, welcoming smile.

“Miss Langford, we weren’t sure about your preferences or dietary restrictions, so we prepared a little bit of everything—some classic comfort food, a few continental dishes, some light fare, and even a bit of Japanese cuisine. Please, have a look and see what suits your taste.”

One of the maids had thoughtfully laid out the cutlery for her. Another brought over a silver basin filled with warm, golden-hued water and set it in front of her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Gwyneth slipped her slender, pale hands into the basin. The water was just the right temperature, soothing against her skin. Almost immediately, another maid stepped forward with a soft towel for her to dry her hands.

The butler glanced at Gwyneth, a flicker of approval in his eyes. Most guests, unfamiliar with this custom, would have mistaken the golden liquid for some sort of consommé and wondered if it was meant to be drunk.

It was the first time he had ever seen someone instinctively use the basin to wash her hands, without waiting for guidance or instruction. Such a simple gesture, yet it told him all he needed to know. In his mind, this young woman was already worthy of becoming Mrs. Hawthorne.

After all, in this day and age, there were far too many pretenders—socialites in name only, self-proclaimed heirs with more façade than fortune. Elegance could be faked, fortunes forged, even identities borrowed. But true poise, that quiet assurance born from a lifetime of privilege and worldliness, could never be imitated.

The butler was thoroughly impressed. He finally understood why Mr. Hawthorne had remained unattached for so long; his standards were simply too high. Miss Langford, on the other hand, carried herself with exactly the right measure of grace and restraint. Even when her words had been a touch blunt earlier, she had never crossed a line. She was, he had to admit, a well-bred young lady. Mr. Hawthorne’s judgment, it seemed, was impeccable.

He continued to observe Gwyneth closely, awarding her silent points for every small gesture.

Meanwhile, Gwyneth was far too distracted by the rumbling of her stomach to notice the butler’s silent assessment—or to imagine the elaborate wedding he was already planning for her and Mr. Hawthorne in his mind.

She felt a little awkward under all the attention, but also genuinely touched by the care and thoughtfulness that had gone into preparing her dinner.

“Thank you,” she said, a little shyly. “I’m not picky—I can eat just about anything.”