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Chapter : 4
After the yawn she made without even bothering to cover her mouth, only an expression of boredom remained.
Watching the woman throw herself lazily against the bench as though she had never been born with any sense of dignity, Ray let out a quiet laugh and stopped himself from lighting his cigarette.
Right. Of course not.
Did they teach people in Bolton that it was acceptable to behave differently when someone was watching? At this rate, she looked ready to lie down across the bench entirely.
Perhaps she had heard his approaching footsteps, because Rose turned her face toward him.
Ray did not miss the flash of annoyance that crossed her expression.
Just as he found her bothersome, it seemed his existence was equally unwelcome to his wife.
What a perfect pair.
Hiding his self-mockery, Ray stood beside the bench and removed the cigarette from his lips.
“You look desperate for one.”
At his words, the sleepy haze in her green eyes was instantly replaced with suspicion.
“…If I say yes, will you give me one?”
Her gaze fixed directly on the cigarette in his hand.
She truly was a woman incapable of even pretending otherwise.
For the past month, the servants and his mother had surely spent endless effort teaching her all the polite lies and formalities known as manners, yet she still turned out like this.
For the first time, Ray almost felt sorry for his mother and the housekeeper.
“I’m not enough of a scoundrel to hand a lady something I’ve already had in my mouth.”
Though, honestly, this woman looked as though she would accept it immediately even if he had been smoking it himself.
Still, no matter what kind of woman she was, there was no reason for him to lower himself to the same level.
As if she had never expected anything to begin with, Rose’s expression quickly returned to indifference.
Changing his mind, Ray put the cigarette away again.
It was, in its own way, consideration for a woman who seemed to be struggling terribly with quitting smoking.
When he held out one arm, she quietly used it to rise from the bench.
“I must’ve been out here too long.”
Perhaps because of her voice, or perhaps because of the strong Antakan accent mixed into her speech, her words sometimes sounded almost like singing.
There was a subtle rhythm to them.
Instead of replying, Ray gestured toward the wrinkled hem of her dress.
Letting out a small sigh, Rose lazily straightened her clothes with careless movements.
“Even when no one’s watching, you’re always this proper.”
Her quiet voice drifted between the sounds of grass beneath their feet.
“There’s you, and there’s me. That alone is reason enough for manners. And besides….”
She still said things this naïve.
At this point, Ray genuinely wondered what exactly she had been doing during the entire month she spent at the Crawford estate.
“It’s dangerous to assume nobody is watching.”
The hand resting on his arm carried no weight at all.
It was always like that.
As though she would never truly lean on anyone, she merely placed her hand there like decoration while supporting herself entirely on her own.
Did she not realize that only made her look more awkward and unstable?
Whenever his arm or hand touched her, Ray could feel her body stiffen.
The more she did that, the more she looked like someone sitting in a place where she did not belong.
“You’re a woman whose photograph was taken even while eating fruit on a Bolton street. Eyes are everywhere. Even inside the Crawford estate itself. By now, I assume you understand why I advised you to quit smoking.”
The large newspaper photograph published in Orthuran two weeks ago—showing her eating fruit on the street—had been taken in Bolton.
And it had been taken before she even married him.
That left only one explanation.
Archibald Avery.
That shameless man had prepared it beforehand and deliberately released it now.
Which also meant he would continue pulling such tricks in order to keep Ray in check.
Minister of Internal Affairs Archibald Avery seemed more interested in tormenting Ray than governing the country.
He owned newspapers and enjoyed using them for petty games.
“At the time, I didn’t realize Orthuran reporters had so much free time.”
Ray looked down at her, wondering if she was mocking him, but no expression could be read from her face.
“Now that I understand Orthuran a little better, I’ll try to be more careful.”
It was true that her unusual position—as the wife of a politician and the mistress of a ducal household—made life more difficult for her.
Still, this woman seemed especially exhausted by Orthuran itself.
Even though, aside from possibly becoming newspaper gossip, her current life was clearly far better than living in the Bolton countryside.
Her father might have been wealthy, but he certainly did not seem like the type to spend generously on his daughter.
And the gazes of others—the jealousy and contempt inside them—were nothing compared to what the Crawford name possessed.
Depending on how one chose to think, even those hostile stares could become decorations.
“Try putting yourself in her position. She lived quietly all her life. Don’t you think this would be overwhelming for her?”
Ray suddenly remembered what his younger sister Beth had once told him reproachfully.
Being a young girl, Beth had pitied her foreign sister-in-law rather easily.
Ray, however, thought differently from his cheerful younger sister.
If she could not handle it, then she should never have agreed to it in the first place.
If she decided to marry into the Crawford family, then she should have been prepared to endure at least this much.
Judging from that constantly absent-minded expression, it seemed obvious the woman had entered this marriage without any real thoughts, plans, or determination.
Without any preparation at all.
His mother, who had assumed Bolton women would be fiery and difficult, claimed Rose was more “obedient” than expected.
Ray doubted whether it could truly be called obedience.
The woman simply seemed empty-headed.
No sensible person would agree to marry into the Crawford family while being so utterly unprepared.
Ray had thought this all along.
There was something wrong with this woman.
“I thought living in another country wouldn’t be particularly difficult, but you seem to be struggling with it.”
He had spoken casually, without much intention behind the words, but suddenly Rose stopped walking.
“So you’ve lived abroad before too, Duke? Let me guess. Antaka or Planto?”
She was correct.
“Right…. It probably wasn’t difficult for you. Other than the language, Antaka and Planto aren’t really different from Orthuran.”
Apparently taking his silence as confirmation, she started walking again.
“Duke Crawford. I don’t think I’m living in a foreign country.”
Even now, no weight rested on his arm.
Though they walked side by side, the distance between them felt enormous.
Just like the formal titles they used for each other.
“I think I’ve moved back a century in time. Because the problem here isn’t the language.”
“I see.”
She had quite a talent for saying, “Your thinking is a hundred years outdated,” in a polite manner.
“I’ve heard Bolton never had enough stability for traditions to truly take root. I suppose this all feels unfamiliar to you.”
Even after hearing that, the woman from the country famous for repeatedly overthrowing political systems merely nodded without interest.
As though his words had not offended her at all.
Or perhaps she had not even truly listened.
Ray began doubting the version of himself from a month ago who had believed he could control this marriage.
At the time, he had assumed that although the woman marrying him came from a far lower position, she would cooperate with the Crawfords as much as possible in order to compensate for it.
So he had not worried much.
But now…
Looking down at the woman’s still expressionless face, pale as though all color had been washed away, Ray thought:
There was something about this woman that made even cooperation feel unlike cooperation.
“…What exactly did you discuss with the Antakan ambassador at the embassy party?”
That was the reason he had sought her out this morning.
“The Antakan ambassador? We only exchanged greetings….”
Her voice sounded as lifeless as her face.
“The ambassador even sent a letter asking me to bring you to today’s luncheon.”
Of course, Ray had no intention of taking her.
He merely wanted to confirm what sort of conversation had led the ambassador to send such a request while he was absent.
“We really didn’t talk about much. He complimented my Antakan, so I mentioned that my mother was from Antaka.”
Perhaps sensing his continued suspicion, the woman let out a brief laugh.
But it lasted only a moment.
“If I had said something inappropriate, it probably would’ve already appeared in the newspapers…. Why don’t you check them?”
She returned to her expressionless face and calmly looked up at him.
Speaking in an extremely polite tone that made it impossible to tell whether she was mocking him or teasing him.
At last, Ray realized what exactly irritated him so much about her.
There was no will behind her cooperation—or her obedience.
It was the same attitude as a person tossing snacks at barking dogs simply because their noise was annoying.
To her, all of Orthuran—
—and Crawford himself—
were merely barking dogs.
Ray finally understood that.
The realization was absurd.
It was exactly the same attitude Ray himself used when lightly dismissing those who gossiped about him.
Which meant that, in this woman’s eyes, he stood on the same level as all those pathetic fools.
