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It would have been much easier to endure if she could at least have a cigarette.
The smoking cessation that began with the unwanted marriage had already lasted a month.
The woman who was Rose Davis and is now Rose Crawford let out a sigh as she climbed the embassy stairs. The party at the embassy had been going on for a full three hours now.
"We can't have a toast without Orturan's most popular figure! Go get him. He's probably in the gallery room."
Reluctantly moving at the urging of the Prime Minister's wife to bring her husband back to the main hall, Rose was on her way.
The embassy's gallery room boasted a peculiar shape, with a door only at one end of an L-shaped corridor and just curtains hung where the corner turned.
As usual during parties, the door was wide open.
Her husband, sitting alone on the velvet sofa in the corner, didn't seem to notice her crossing the threshold, lost in thought.
Rose, approaching him slowly with an unwilling expression, suddenly stopped at a noise coming from somewhere.
"A Boltonian? Crawford has finally lost his mind. I simply can't fathom the reason."
Someone's loud voice of condemnation, followed by mocking laughter.
It was coming from behind the curtain, from the side where the exhibition paintings were hung.
"Just how much did Elliot Davis donate to the Conservative Party?"
"Oh, surely not because of that. It's not like the party is short on funds. I think the rumor that he fell for her face might actually be true. I was quite startled when I first saw her too."
"With a face like that, why couldn't she get married until that age?"
"Elliot Davis probably waited too long, weighing many suitors to sell his daughter at the highest price."
"Tsk, is the problem more that she's a Boltonian, or that she's Elliot Davis's daughter?"
"Both, making it the worst choice, don't you think? No matter how many foreigners of all sorts are crawling into Orturan these days, a Boltonian!"
There seemed to be about three or four people by the sound of their voices. Were they having such a conversation unaware that someone was in the opposite space, or were they talking like that even though they knew?
After a moment's thought, Rose guessed it was likely the former.
Orturans, at least to one's face, wouldn't speak so blatantly.
Of course, this wasn't the first time she'd heard such criticism.
The news that Orturan's most beloved young politician was marrying an uncivilized Boltonian woman had been treated like a tragedy, with all the newspapers making a fuss.
Patriotic newspapers subtly expressed concerns about whether the foreign upstart, sweeping away Orturan's money, might exert an even greater negative influence on this country through political connections gained from a marriage deal.
"Does Crawford even know that vulgar merchant is poking his nose into all sorts of urban development projects now that he's got a minister as a son-in-law? What a disgrace."
"Our disgrace? Crawford's disgrace."
"Isn't that Orturan's disgrace? The papers will be noisy again soon."
Her father, whom she hadn't seen once since the marriage, seemed to be living as if fanning the flames of that concern.
Listening quietly as various insults continued, Rose briefly clasped her trembling hands together.
Since coming to this country, a sense of unjust guilt had followed her constantly. Even though it was clear this marriage wasn't her fault.
Rose glanced at her husband, who had become the subject of gossip because of his marriage to her, and couldn't help but be shocked.
He, Ray Crawford, was simply smiling.
"Frankly, Lord Crawford has been too arrogant all along, relying solely on his popularity. I think God placed a stone in his path to teach him humility."
"Don't think that attitude is just because of mere popularity. He is a Crawford, after all. A Crawford."
"He is the King's own nephew, isn't he? That attitude is natural for him."
Listening to the relentless stream of various criticisms, a faint smile was clearly on his elegant, handsome face. Even in profile, she could tell.
Every time Ray Crawford slowly tapped his shoe, the red wine in the glass he held rippled ever so slightly.
What on earth is he thinking? Listening to such talk.
Another burst of laughter came from behind the curtain, and simultaneously, Ray Crawford's head slowly turned. Towards where Rose was.
He showed no surprise at confirming Rose had entered the room. Only the subtle smile disappeared.
Looking at Ray, who was still holding his glass, staring at her coolly and expressionlessly, Rose couldn't easily open her mouth.
It seemed her voice might be heard by the people behind the curtain, and she also didn't know what to say to someone hearing such criticism.
Only one thing was certain: the man who smiled even while hearing criticism about himself became completely expressionless when looking at her.
Why did Ray Crawford marry her?
While finding it so unbearable.
That was something Rose herself was growing increasingly curious about. She didn't know what he received from her father as the price of the marriage, but perhaps it wasn't enough to make her presence welcome.
After a brief moment, Ray placed his glass on the side table and quietly rose from the sofa.
The series of actions—smoothing his clothes and walking towards her—were merely neat.
Though he didn't seem to be trying particularly hard to be quiet, he passed by her without making much noise.
Rose silently followed her husband-like husband.
Ray, who had been walking at a pace just fast enough that Rose wouldn't fall behind, stopped at the stairs and extended his arm.
This man, who clearly disliked her immensely, was impeccable in his manners.
As Rose quietly placed her hand on his arm, he whispered.
"Smile."
Then he slowly began descending the stairs.
Rose barely managed to pull up the corners of her mouth, which felt like they might cramp.
Having to smile at an unspecified multitude of people she didn't even know well was more of an ordeal than she had thought.
In Bolton, where she lived, if there was no reason to smile, no one smiled.
Boltonians often said this:
A person smiling for no reason is either a priest or a madman.
By the time they descended the stairs, a natural smile had already reappeared on Ray's face.
"Don't say anything unnecessary."
He whispered again, leading her forward.
The Orturans gathered in the hall greeted them with bright smiles.
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Tired from conversations with strangers, Rose absentmindedly tapped the table with her finger, vaguely following the piano melody of a nocturne amidst the noise.
The party had now passed four hours, and the headache was severe from the more than ten hairpins her maid Joan had stuck in.
A cold hand briefly rested on her unconsciously moving finger, as if telling her to stop, then lifted.
Looking up, Ray, her husband, was looking down at her. The formal smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth was as constant as if measured with a ruler, looking exactly like a warning.
The meaning of the smile he occasionally showed her was generally just that. A warning or contempt, something like that.
Rose stopped fiddling with her finger unnecessarily and instead took a sip from the wine glass Ray had handed her.
Her throat was dry.
As difficult as quitting smoking was the task of correcting all her habits, even the trivial ones she hadn't even known she had.
Those things were such minor habits that sometimes it felt less like correcting habits and more like chipping away at, bit by bit, the person that was her.
In any case, it was clear that everything constituting Rose was a target for 'correction.'
"But honestly, just looking at Lady Crawford's appearance, she doesn't seem much like a Boltonian."
Said a woman who was apparently some mayor's wife, sounding curious.
How many times had she heard that now?
She had heard it over a hundred times since coming to Orturan. These people seemed to believe Boltonians had three eyes or two noses.
"Ah, right. I think I heard your mother say she was not Boltonian but of Antakan noble descent, right? I heard Lady Crawford, the Dowager, mention it."
Her mother-in-law, Agatha Crawford, had spent the entire month packaging Rose this way, erasing her father as much as possible and mentioning her deceased mother.
Although they had fought over things like land or power for over a thousand years with the neighboring country Antaka, Orturans, while they might dislike them, did not ignore them.
Even that feeling of dislike wasn't a serious emotion like hatred but closer to the playfulness of facing an opponent of the same weight class, whose level they acknowledged.
Even this very gathering was a party privately hosted by the Antakan ambassador to Orturan, yet many Orturan nobles had gladly attended.
What Orturans looked down upon was only the lower-class Bolton caught between them.
Even when at war with Antaka, they were more displeased with Bolton, which didn't side with them, than with their opponent Antaka.
Agatha Crawford never liked the fact that her daughter-in-law was a combination of Antakan and Boltonian blood, but it seemed she judged that having Antakan blood mixed in was better. She always highlighted that point first.
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