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The expression left behind after a wide, unrestrained yawn had passed through was one of pure boredom.
Ray, watching the woman who, as if she had never been born with any sense of decorum to begin with, even slumped back against the bench, let out a soft laugh and stopped trying to light his cigarette.
Yeah, right. As if.
Do they teach in Bolton that it's okay to act differently when people are watching? In a moment, she looked like she might just lie down on the bench.
Perhaps hearing his approaching footsteps, Rose turned her face toward him. Ray didn't miss the flicker of annoyance that passed over her face.
Just as he found her bothersome, it seemed Her Ladyship wasn't exactly thrilled with his presence either.
What a splendid pair.
Hiding his self-deprecation, Ray stood beside the bench and took out the cigarette he'd been holding.
"You look like you're desperately in need of one."
As he spoke, the green eyes that had been slightly hazy with drowsiness immediately filled with suspicion.
"...If I say yes, will you give me one?"
Her gaze precisely fixed on the cigarette he was holding.
She was the type who wouldn't know how to say 'no' even as a polite refusal.
Even though he was certain his mother and the housekeeper had poured their heart and soul into teaching her for a month at Crawford's mansion how to say all sorts of polite, hypocritical, or so-called 'proper' things, seeing her like this made him feel sorry for them all over again.
"I'm not enough of a scoundrel to hand over something I've had in my mouth to a lady."
Even though this woman looked like she'd readily accept it even if it had been in his mouth, there was no need for him to stoop to her level, no matter what kind of woman she was.
As if she hadn't expected anything anyway, Rose's expression became listless again.
Ray changed his mind and put the cigarette back in his mouth. It was his own form of consideration for a woman who looked like she was having a very hard time quitting.
He extended an arm, and the woman silently leaned on it to rise from the bench.
"I must have been out here too long."
Whether it was because of her voice or her strongly Antaka-accented speech, sometimes her words sounded like a song. There was a subtle sense of rhythm.
Instead of answering, Ray gestured with his eyes toward her wrinkled skirt hem.
The woman let out a small sigh and straightened her clothes with an indifferent gesture.
"You always observe propriety like this, even when no one is watching."
Her quiet voice flowed in between the sounds of their footsteps on the grass.
"I am here, and you are here. That alone is reason enough for propriety. And..."
She was still a woman who said such incredibly naive things. At this point, he really wondered what she had been doing for the past month at Crawford Manor.
"It would be a problem if you thought no one was watching."
No weight could be felt from Rose's hand resting on his arm.
It was always like this. As if she would never truly lean on anyone, this woman merely placed her hand like an ornament and walked using her own strength.
Did she not know it looked more awkward and unstable that way?
Ray could feel her body stiffen every time his arm or hand touched her.
The more it happened, the more she looked like someone sitting in a place that wasn't hers.
"You're someone who gets photographed even on the streets of Bolton. Watching eyes are everywhere. Even inside this Crawford Manor where we live. You must have guessed by now why I advised you to quit smoking."
The photo of her eating fruit on the street, splashed across the front page of the Orturan newspaper two weeks ago, had been taken in Bolton.
Since it was taken before she even married him, there was only one answer.
Archibald Avery.
That shameless man had prepared it in advance and deliberately released it now, meaning that from now on, that fellow would continue such acts to keep him in check.
Archibald Avery, the Minister of Internal Affairs, seemed to consider Ray, a member of the same party, his lifelong rival, showing more interest in tormenting Ray than in tending to the nation's internal affairs.
He was a fellow who played many tricks using the newspapers he owned.
"I didn't know Orturan journalists were so idle back then."
Wondering if she was being sarcastic, he looked down at her, but no expression could be read on the woman's face.
"Now that I know a bit more about Orturan, I'll try to be more careful."
It was true that the special position of being a politician's wife, the mistress of a ducal house, made her life more difficult, but this woman was peculiarly weary of the country called Orturan.
Even though, aside from the fact that she could become the subject of newspapers, her current life should be much better than living in the Bolton countryside.
Her father was rich, but he didn't seem like a man who spent much money on his daughter.
Considering what Crawford possessed, the gaze of people, the envy and contempt contained within it, were nothing.
Depending on one's mindset, even such gazes could become ornaments.
"Try to see it from her perspective, won't you? She's someone who lived quietly. How burdensome must it be?"
He recalled the words his younger sister Beth had said to him, almost scolding. Like a young girl, his sister had quite easily taken pity on his wife, who had married into a foreign country.
Ray's thoughts differed from his bright-eyed sister.
If you can't handle it, you shouldn't have started in the first place, right? If you decided to marry into Crawford, you should endure that much.
Judging by her always dazed expression, it seemed clear the woman had agreed to this marriage without any thought, plan, or resolve. Without any preparation.
His mother, who had held the prejudice that Bolton women were fiery, had said Rose was better than she'd worried, as she was more 'docile' than expected, but Ray doubted if that could truly be called 'docility'.
The woman simply had no thoughts at all.
Any sensible person wouldn't have decided to marry into Crawford with such an empty head.
Ray had always thought. This woman has something wrong with her somewhere.
"I thought living in a foreign country wasn't such a difficult thing, but you seem to be having a bit of a hard time."
It wasn't a remark made with any great intention, but the woman suddenly stopped walking at his words.
"You must have lived abroad before, Your Grace? Let me guess. Antaka or Planto, right?"
She was correct.
"Yes... It probably wasn't very difficult for you, Your Grace. The only difference between Antaka or Planto and Orturan would be the language."
Perhaps taking his continued silence as affirmation, the woman began walking again.
"Duke Crawford. I don't think I'm living in a foreign country."
Still, no weight was placed on his arm at all. Even walking side by side, the distance between them was only vast. As vast as the titles they used to address each other.
"I think I've moved back a century. It's not the language that doesn't work."
"I see."
Her skill in implying that your ideologies were as outdated as something from a hundred years ago was considerable.
"I've heard that in Bolton, traditions never had a chance to take root. It must be unfamiliar, I suppose."
The woman from a country that overturned its political system whenever it felt like it merely gave an indifferent nod at his words.
As if such words held no sting at all. No, it was questionable if she was even listening to him in the first place.
Ray began to doubt his own self from a month ago, who had thought he could control this marriage.
Back then, he hadn't worried much, believing that the woman who would marry him, though her qualifications were somewhat lacking, would cooperate with Crawford as humbly as possible to offset her significantly lower position.
But...
Ray looked down at the woman's still expressionless, almost bleached face, and thought.
There's something about this woman that makes even her cooperation not feel like cooperation.
"...What conversation did you have with the Antakan ambassador at the embassy party?"
That was the reason he had sought her out so early in the morning.
"The Antakan ambassador? We just exchanged greetings..."
A voice as lifeless as her face answered.
"The ambassador sent a letter today insisting I bring you to the luncheon."
Of course, he had no intention of taking Rose.
He just thought he should check what conversation they'd had in his absence for the ambassador to send such a letter.
"We really didn't talk about anything special. He complimented my Antakan, so I just mentioned that my mother was Antakan."
Perhaps sensing Ray's continued suspicion, the woman let out a soft laugh. But it was fleeting.
"If I had said anything strange, it probably would have been in the papers by now... Why don't you check the papers?"
She had returned to her expressionless state and was merely looking up at him calmly.
Saying it in an extremely polite tone, as if crafting words that could be either sarcastic or teasing.
Ray finally realized what about the woman was so grating.
No sense of will could be felt in her cooperation or docility.
It was an attitude similar to an owner who, annoyed by dogs barking noisily, casually throws them a few treats.
He finally realized that to her, this entire Orturan, and even Crawford, were nothing but dogs barking at her.
It was absurd.
It was exactly the same attitude Ray had when lightly dismissing those who gossiped about him.
So, to this woman, he was on the same level as those pathetic fools. "Try to see it from her perspective, won't you? She's someone who lived quietly. How burdensome must it be?"
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