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Chapter : 2
If she could at least smoke one cigarette, enduring this would have been much easier.
It had already been a month since she quit smoking because of the marriage she never wanted.
The woman who had once been Rose Davis, and was now Rose Crawford, let out a quiet sigh as she climbed the embassy stairs.
The party at the embassy had already lasted three long hours.
“You can’t have a toast without Orthuran’s most popular man! Go bring him back. He’s probably in the gallery room.”
At the Prime Minister’s wife’s insistence that she bring her husband back to the main hall, Rose reluctantly moved.
The embassy’s gallery room had a strange structure. Only one end of the L-shaped hallway had a door, while the corner was separated merely by curtains.
As usual during parties, the door stood wide open.
Her husband sat alone on a velvet sofa near the far corner, seemingly lost in thought. Even when she stepped across the doorway, he did not appear to notice her.
Rose slowly walked toward him with an unwilling expression before suddenly stopping at the sound of voices nearby.
“A Bolton woman? Crawford has finally gone mad. I truly cannot understand why.”
Someone’s loud criticism was followed by mocking laughter.
The sound came from beyond the curtain, where the exhibition paintings were displayed.
“How much exactly did Elliott Davis donate to the Conservative Party?”
“Oh, come on, it can’t just be money. The party isn’t lacking funds. I think the rumors are true—that he fell for her face. Even I was shocked the first time I saw her.”
“With a face like that, how did she stay unmarried until that age?”
“Elliott Davis probably kept comparing potential sons-in-law because he wanted to sell his daughter for the highest price, and missed the right timing.”
“Honestly, I can’t decide what’s worse—that she’s a Bolton woman, or that she’s Elliott Davis’s daughter.”
“Both. That’s why it’s the worst possible choice. Orthuran already has all kinds of foreigners crawling in, but Bolton? Seriously?”
Judging from the voices, there seemed to be three or four people.
Did they not realize someone else was nearby? Or did they know and simply not care?
After thinking briefly, Rose guessed it was probably the former.
Orthuran people, at the very least, were not usually this direct to someone’s face.
Still, it was not the first time she had heard such criticism.
The newspapers had acted as though it were some great tragedy that Orthuran’s beloved young politician was marrying a barbaric Bolton woman.
The patriotic newspapers hinted with concern that a wealthy foreign businessman who had already swept up Orthuran’s money might use the political connections gained through marriage to bring even greater harm to the country.
“I wonder whether Crawford even knows that vulgar merchant has already started poking around every city development project just because he now has a minister for a son-in-law. What an embarrassment.”
“Our embarrassment? It’s Crawford’s embarrassment.”
“And isn’t that the same as Orthuran’s embarrassment? The newspapers will be noisy again soon enough.”
The father she had not seen even once since the wedding seemed determined to fuel those concerns.
Listening quietly to the endless insults, Rose clasped her trembling hands together for a moment.
Ever since arriving in this country, an unfair sense of guilt had followed her everywhere, even though this marriage was clearly not her fault.
Rose glanced at her husband, who had become the subject of gossip because of their marriage—
—and froze in shock.
He, Ray Crawford, was smiling.
“Honestly, Duke Crawford had always been far too arrogant because of his popularity. I think God simply placed a stone in his path to teach him humility.”
“Don’t think that attitude comes only from popularity. He’s a Crawford. A Crawford.”
“He’s even His Majesty the King’s godson. That sort of attitude is natural for him.”
Despite hearing all those merciless insults, a faint smile clearly rested on Ray Crawford’s elegant, handsome face.
Even from the side, she could tell.
Each time Ray slowly tapped his shoe against the floor, the red wine in his glass rippled slightly.
What in the world was he thinking while listening to all that?
Laughter burst out again from beyond the curtain.
At the same moment, Ray Crawford slowly turned his head toward her.
Toward Rose.
Even after noticing her standing there, he did not look surprised.
Only the faint smile disappeared.
Still holding his glass, he silently stared at her with cold expressionless eyes, making it difficult for Rose to speak.
If she spoke, the people beyond the curtain might hear.
And besides, she did not know what kind of words should be said to someone listening to such insults.
But one thing was certain.
Even when hearing criticism directed at himself, this man smiled.
Yet when he looked at her, his face became completely expressionless.
Why had Ray Crawford married her?
When he clearly found her unbearable.
That was something Rose herself had begun wondering more and more lately. She did not know what he had received from her father in exchange for the marriage, but perhaps it had not been enough to make her presence welcome.
After a moment of silence, Ray quietly placed his wine glass on the table and rose from the sofa.
The simple act of adjusting his clothes and walking toward her looked effortlessly neat.
Though he did not seem to be trying to move quietly, he passed by her almost without making a sound.
Rose silently followed behind her husband, who felt more like a stranger.
Ray walked only slowly enough that she would not fall behind. When they reached the stairs, he stopped and held out his arm.
This man, who clearly disliked her deeply, was still flawless in manners.
When Rose quietly placed her hand on his arm, he whispered,
“Smile.”
Then he slowly began descending the stairs.
Rose forced the corners of her lips upward, which already felt ready to cramp.
Smiling endlessly at strangers she barely knew was far more exhausting than she had expected.
Back in Bolton, people did not smile unless they actually had something to smile about.
Bolton people often said this:
A person smiling for no reason was either a priest or a madman.
By the time Ray reached the bottom of the stairs, a natural smile had once again appeared on his face.
“Don’t say anything unnecessary.”
He whispered once more as he guided her forward.
The hall was filled with Orthuran people welcoming them with bright smiles.
Exhausted from talking with strangers, Rose absentmindedly tapped her fingers against the table while listening to the faint piano melody of a nocturne drifting through the noise.
The party had now passed four hours, and the headache caused by the more than ten hairpins her maid Joan had forced into her hair was becoming unbearable.
A cold hand suddenly rested lightly on top of her moving fingers as if telling her to stop, then quickly withdrew.
When she looked up, she saw Ray—her husband—looking down at her.
The formal smile on his lips was perfectly measured, almost like a warning.
Most of the smiles he occasionally showed her meant only that.
A warning.
Or perhaps disdain.
Instead of continuing to tap her fingers pointlessly, Rose took the wine glass Ray handed her and drank a sip.
Her throat was dry.
Something as difficult as quitting smoking was changing all her habits—even the tiny habits she had never realized she possessed.
Those things were so small that sometimes it felt less like correcting habits and more like slowly carving away pieces of who she was.
In any case, everything that made Rose who she was had clearly become something to be “corrected.”
“But honestly, Mrs. Crawford doesn’t really look like a Bolton person.”
A merchant’s wife said it with visible curiosity.
How many times had she heard that already?
She had heard it over a hundred times since coming to Orthuran. These people seemed to believe Bolton citizens had three eyes or two noses.
“Oh, right. I heard your mother was actually a noblewoman from Antaka, not Bolton. That’s true, isn’t it? I once heard the Duchess Crawford mention it.”
For the past month, her mother-in-law, Agatha Crawford, had carefully tried to present Rose in that way—erasing her father as much as possible while repeatedly bringing up her dead mother instead.
Orthuran and the neighboring nation of Antaka had spent over a thousand years fighting over land, power, and countless other things. Yet while Orthuran people disliked Antaka, they did not look down on them.
Their dislike was not serious hatred but something closer to rivalry between equals who acknowledged each other’s level.
In fact, this very party had been privately hosted by the Antakan ambassador stationed in Orthuran, and many Orthuran nobles had attended willingly.
The only nation Orthuran people truly looked down on was Bolton, caught between them.
Even during wars against Antaka, they often seemed more displeased with Bolton for refusing to side with them than with Antaka itself.
Agatha Crawford clearly disliked the fact that her daughter-in-law was born from both Antakan and Bolton blood.
Still, she seemed to think Antakan blood was the lesser evil.
That was always the first thing she mentioned.
