Ob C4

Chapter 4

After that unrestrained yawn passed, only an expression of boredom remained.

Watching her lean back against the bench as if she had never possessed even a shred of decorum, Ray let out a quiet scoff and stopped himself from lighting his cigarette.

Right. Of course not.

Do they teach people in Bolton that it’s fine to behave differently depending on whether someone is watching? At this rate, she looked ready to lie down across the bench entirely.

Perhaps hearing his approaching footsteps, Rose turned her face toward him. Ray did not miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed her expression.

Just as he found her bothersome, it seemed his presence was equally unwelcome to his wife.

What a perfect pair.

Suppressing his self-mockery, Ray stood beside the bench and removed the cigarette from his lips.

“You look like you desperately want one.”

At his words, the drowsiness lingering in her green eyes was instantly replaced with suspicion.

“…If I say yes, will you give me one?”

Her gaze locked precisely onto the cigarette in his hand.

She wasn’t even capable of a polite denial.

After an entire month in the Crawford estate, where she must have been exhaustively taught the art of polite lies—what people called manners or social grace—she was still like this. For the first time, Ray felt a hint of sympathy for his mother and the house staff.

“I’m not enough of a boor to hand a lady something I’ve already had in my mouth.”

Even if this woman looked like she would gladly take it regardless, there was no reason for him to lower himself to that level.

As if she hadn’t expected anything to begin with, Rose’s expression returned to its usual indifference.

Ray reconsidered and slipped the cigarette back instead. It was, in his own way, a small concession for someone who clearly struggled with quitting.

When he extended one arm, she silently placed her hand on it and rose from the bench.

“I must have been out here too long.”

Perhaps it was her voice, or the strong Antaka accent woven into her speech, but sometimes her words sounded almost like a melody—subtly rhythmic.

Instead of replying, Ray gestured toward her wrinkled skirt.

Letting out a small sigh, she smoothed it down with a careless motion.

“You always keep your manners, even when no one is watching.”

Her quiet voice blended with the sound of footsteps over grass.

“There is me, and there is you. That alone is reason enough for propriety. And…”

She was still saying such naïve things. At this point, he wondered what exactly she had been doing during the past month in the Crawford estate.

“It would be a mistake to assume no one is watching.”

Her hand resting on his arm carried no weight at all.

It was always like this. As if she would never lean on anyone, she merely placed her hand like an ornament and walked on her own.

That only made her seem more awkward, more unstable.

Ray could feel her body stiffen whenever his arm or hand made contact with her.

The more she did that, the more she looked like someone sitting in a place that wasn’t hers.

“Even in Bolton, you were photographed walking down the street. There are eyes everywhere. Even inside the Crawford estate where we live. By now, you must understand why I asked you to quit smoking.”

Two weeks ago, a large photograph of her eating fruit on the street had been published in an Orturan newspaper.

It had been taken before their marriage.

There was only one explanation.

Archibald Avery.

That shameless man had prepared it in advance and released it deliberately. And it meant he would continue doing such things to keep Ray in check.

The Minister of the Interior, Archibald Avery, seemed more interested in harassing Ray than in managing the nation’s affairs. With the newspaper he owned, he played his games far too often.

“I didn’t realize Orturan journalists had so much free time back then.”

Ray looked down at her, wondering if she was being sarcastic, but her face revealed nothing.

“Now that I understand Orturan a little better, I’ll try to be more careful.”

It was true that her unusual position—as a politician’s wife and the lady of a ducal house—made her life more difficult.

But she seemed particularly weary of Orturan itself.

Aside from the risk of becoming a newspaper headline, her life here was far better than in the countryside of Bolton.

Even if her father was wealthy, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who spent generously on his daughter.

The stares of others—their jealousy and contempt—were nothing compared to what Crawford possessed.

Depending on one’s mindset, even such gazes could become ornaments.

“Try putting yourself in her place. She lived quietly before. Of course it’s overwhelming.”

His younger sister Beth’s words resurfaced in his mind. Like the naive girl she was, she had easily sympathized with her sister-in-law, who had married into a foreign land.

Ray thought differently.

If she couldn’t handle it, she shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.

If she chose to marry into the Crawford family, she should have been prepared for this much.

From her perpetually vacant expression, it was obvious she had entered this marriage without any thought, plan, or resolve.

His mother, who had expected Bolton women to be fiery, had said Rose was “obedient,” which was better than expected.

But Ray wasn’t convinced that it could truly be called obedience.

She simply had no thoughts at all.

No person with sense would agree to marry into Crawford with such an empty head.

Ray had always thought something about this woman was off.

“Living in a foreign country isn’t particularly difficult, in my opinion. But you seem to be struggling.”

He hadn’t intended anything significant by the remark, but she suddenly stopped walking.

“You’ve lived abroad too, haven’t you? Let me guess. Antaka or Planto?”

She was correct.

“…I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult for you. Antaka and Planto aren’t that different from Orturan, aside from the language.”

Taking his silence as confirmation, she began walking again.

“Duke Crawford. I don’t think I’m living in a foreign country.”

Her hand still carried no weight. Though they walked side by side, the distance between them felt vast—just like the formality of how they addressed each other.

“I think I’ve moved back a century. Because what doesn’t work here isn’t language.”

“I see.”

She had quite a way with words—essentially saying their ideas were a hundred years outdated.

“I’ve heard Bolton never had the chance to establish traditions. It must feel unfamiliar.”

A woman from a country that frequently overturned its political systems merely nodded without interest.

As if his words held no weight. As if she hadn’t even been listening.

Ray began to question the version of himself from a month ago—the one who believed he could control this marriage.

Back then, he assumed the woman he married, though lacking in status, would compensate by cooperating fully with the Crawfords.

But…

Looking down at her still expressionless, almost bleached face, Ray realized something.

There was something about her compliance that didn’t feel like compliance at all.

It was like a person tossing snacks to noisy dogs out of annoyance.

To her, all of Orturan—and Crawford himself—were nothing more than barking dogs.

At last, Ray understood what irritated him so deeply.

It was absurd.

Because it was the exact same attitude he himself held toward those insignificant people who gossiped about him.

Which meant—

To her, he was no different from those fools.