OB C5

Chapter 5

“So, I’m not going to that luncheon?”

By the time they reached the mansion doors, Rose stopped walking and asked.

Being treated like some stray dog wasn’t exactly pleasant, but Ray lowered the arm he had used to escort her and smiled faintly, hiding it well.

“My lady is unwell.”

“Me?”

Ray gave no further explanation. He simply tilted his head slightly and turned away, heading toward the carriage without hesitation.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

By his standards—by the standards of the world he belonged to—not knowing one’s place or circumstances properly was considered quite a serious illness.

“I feel as if I’ve moved a century back in time.”
“Why not check the newspapers?”

As her soft voice and manner replayed in his mind, Ray let out a quiet laugh.

Ray Crawford had known from the very first day he met Rose Davis—on the day of that funeral, when he saw her stumbling to her feet beside the tree—

—that he would come to dislike this woman.

Her background, her father—those inconvenient factors had been bothersome, yes, but they hadn’t made him dislike her.

But the moment he saw her in person, he knew.

He would never come to like her.

Her frail body that looked as though it might collapse at a touch.
Her pale, delicate features that gave off an impression of weakness.
Those green eyes, so devoid of strength that they seemed as though they might fill with tears at any moment.

Everything about her felt weak.

And everything about her irritated him—in the most unpleasant way.

His prediction had been correct.

But what he had misjudged… was the extent of it.

Ray Crawford truly, genuinely hated the woman who had become his wife.

Far more than he had expected.

* * *

What an awful bastard.

As she chewed her food, Rose tried to imagine that what she was biting into was her handsome-faced husband.

After declaring a perfectly healthy person to be sick, he hadn’t shown even a hint of shame.

When she had asked, “Me?”, he had merely tilted his head—as if to say, “Isn’t something wrong with your head?”

If only she could smoke a cigarette.

But in Orturan’s conservative society—where a woman smoking was treated as though she’d fall straight into hell—she had no choice but to quit.

Her younger brother Ben was still attending a boarding school in Orturan, and she didn’t want unnecessary rumors in the newspapers either.

If she could just smoke one cigarette after dealing with her infuriating husband and the people of this country, everything would be much easier.

“Rose, you’re definitely going to like Sophia!”

Beth’s voice rang out beside her.

Beth—her husband’s younger sister, and perhaps the only person in this household worth liking—had already said that more than ten times.

“There’s no one who wouldn’t like her,” Agatha added warmly. “Such a person simply doesn’t exist.”

Rose, who had been forcing down the tasteless egg dish, looked up in surprise.

There was a warmth in her mother-in-law Agatha Crawford’s face that she had never seen before.

Ever since hearing that the Earl and Countess of Greenwood would be visiting the Crawford estate today, Beth had been this excited.

Since Rose’s marriage, the Crawfords had stopped inviting guests—so these Greenwoods must be extremely close to them.

Close enough to overlook the flaw that was Rose.

“Sophia plays the piano too. And she’s really good at it!”

Ever since learning that Rose used to play the piano, Beth had brought it up at every opportunity.

Perhaps because she herself lacked talent, she seemed to admire those who could play well.

Seeing the hopeful look on the girl’s young face, Rose had spent the past month pretending not to notice.

“Sophia too? What do you mean by that?” Agatha asked.

“Rose, you can play the piano as well?”

“…I’m not particularly good.”

“Particularly.”

Agatha repeated the word.

“Yes?”

“It’s not particuly, it’s particularly. You pronounce it incorrectly. Pay attention.”

Agatha often corrected Rose’s pronunciation mid-conversation. She was especially sensitive to vowel sounds.

“Mother, Rose isn’t a native speaker of Orturan.”

“And do you think I don’t know that? I’m not scolding her, Rose. I’m teaching you.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Rose knew well that Agatha held no ill will. She was simply fulfilling her duty—refining a daughter-in-law who didn’t match the family’s standards.

“In any case, you don’t need to be exceptional. It’s enough to know how. How nice. You should play with Beth sometime.”

“Come on, Rose, you’re joking, right? If you’re not that good, how could you teach children?”

At Beth’s words, the previously peaceful atmosphere at the table changed instantly.

Agatha stared at Rose in shock.

“…What did you say?”

“Hm?”

“You said you taught piano… to someone?”

“I mostly taught female students.”

Agatha looked even more confused, as though she couldn’t process such a simple situation.

“…Why? Was it volunteer work? Did your late mother ask you to do it?”

“…No, I did it to earn money.”

The napkin slipped from Agatha’s hand the moment Rose finished speaking.

“In other words…”

She seemed so shocked she didn’t even notice.

“You’re saying… you worked? Like Miss Gordon? In Bolton?”

Miss Gordon was Beth’s governess.

“You’re saying you did that kind of work?”

Rose couldn’t understand why it was so shocking.

Then again… remembering what had happened on her first day here, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

That day, when Rose had tried to dress herself—

“Good heavens, you’re not a maid!”

Since then, every time she did anything herself, Agatha would repeat that same line.

And now she wore the exact same expression.

As though a servant—not a daughter-in-law—was sitting at her table.

“What does your father do?”

“He had some financial difficulties at times.”

That was true—there had been times when he couldn’t even send child support.

Later, he simply stopped sending money altogether.

But saying more would likely make her refined mother-in-law collapse.

“Is earning money through piano really so wrong? I heard the Countess of Greenwood plays as well.”

“Good heavens, how can you compare the two! Sophia plays as a hobby. That falls under refinement—basic accomplishment!”

“Then… are you saying women shouldn’t work or earn money?”

Agatha’s face hardened.

“A lady should not. Never ask such a question again.”

“Mother, things aren’t like that these days. Even Lady Sullivan writes for newspapers.”

“And is that the same? Does she get paid? And this is not your place, Beth.”

“What’s wrong with being paid? If you work, you should be compensated. Should I write to her tomorrow and ask?”

“Elizabeth Mary Crawford. That’s enough. You need to stop reading those novels.”

Beth, about to protest further, finally fell silent at a subtle glance from Rose.

Rose didn’t want Beth defending her.

It would only make Agatha think Rose was a bad influence.

“I wasn’t a lady in Bolton,” Rose said calmly. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

“But your mother, Mrs. Davis—”

“There are no nobles in Bolton. Even if you hold titles from Antaka or Orturan, they mean nothing there.”

Of course, there were people who admired such things—but still.

“I know your mother and grandfather didn’t have titles. But that doesn’t change their noble origins. I heard your mother was well educated and had servants.”

“She had one maid. That’s all. I handled my own affairs.”

Judging by Agatha’s reaction, she hadn’t known much about Rose’s past life.