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Rose glanced at Ray, who was exchanging greetings with Count Greenwood, Sophia's husband.
His posture was as straight as ever, wearing a shirt and vest that fit his body perfectly, as if his weight had never shifted by a single pound.
The silver watch sparkled on his left wrist as always, and the impeccably fastened buttons and stiffly tied tie remained unchanged.
As expected, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't imagine it. That such a... cold and rigid man had once been a soft-hearted child.
“I can’t... imagine it.”
“Right? I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
The woman burst into a giggle at Rose's brief response.
“Few people have known Ray as long as I have. But he’s truly been consistent from then until now. No matter how many times I told him to live a bit more interestingly, he would just smile and let it go. I used to wonder who a man like that would ever marry.”
To be able to have such a conversation with that man suggested they were not only long-time acquaintances but also very close.
According to Rose's father, he was a match far beyond what Rose could ever hope for, but that didn't seem to be the case for Sophia.
“But he's lucky to have gained such a beautiful wife. Ray, Rose is far more beautiful in person than in the photograph.”
It seemed Sophia had also seen the photo of Rose that had graced the front page of the newspaper.
It was difficult for the real thing to be stranger than that photo. After all, she had been chewing on fruit with her mouth wide open in the middle of the street.
Agatha had been speechless upon seeing that photo, and much later, she had quietly taught Rose that eating food on the street was something only uneducated people did.
Whether by luck or misfortune, since coming to Orturan, Rose had not found any fruit or food delicious enough to eat right there on the street.
“...Indeed, Mrs. Greenwood. I wonder what merits I have accumulated to be blessed with such luck,” Ray Crawford replied coldly, with a smile that barely qualified as one.
The etiquette of the nobility was truly impressive. In reality, that man probably considered her the greatest misfortune to ever strike his life.
“See, how stiff he is. Since we married, he doesn't even call me by my name anymore.”
He didn't even call his wife Rose by her name, but Sophia seemed to be an exception.
It wasn't entirely his fault. Rose didn't call him by his name either.
“I heard Duke Crawford met with the Mayor of Marilyn this morning? How is it that you, the Foreign Minister, seem busier with domestic affairs than the Prime Minister or the Home Secretary?”
Count Greenwood, who had a gentle-looking face, spoke to Ray with a smile.
“It is my job to respond when help is requested.”
Rose unconsciously glanced at Ray as he replied quietly with his characteristic smile.
On his expressionless face, not even a hint of fatigue was visible.
He must have gone out early in the morning to meet the Mayor of Marilyn or whoever, and then met Ambassador Antaka for lunch.
So many people sought him out that the man always left early in the morning and returned late in the evening. He rarely ate meals at the mansion.
Yet, Rose had never seen him yawn even once.
An aloof expression, as if enduring the world's exhaustion was his duty.
She could vaguely understand that he wasn't doing this for money.
A sense of duty.
“Why wouldn't they request your help, Your Grace? Many believe Archibald Avery is not fit to be Home Secretary. Even in the by-elections, the Conservatives only won in the districts where Duke Crawford campaigned.”
“What would someone who merely ran a newspaper know? It's only natural that Ray should step in.”
At Agatha's response, laced with elegant slander, Rose recalled the facts about this family she had overheard from her father.
The fact that Ray Crawford's maternal grandfather was a famous war hero, and that his father had died from the aftereffects of a severe injury sustained in war.
And the fact that Ray himself had gained his current popularity and honor by participating in the war a few years ago.
That, too, must have been out of duty and service.
All of this still felt bizarre to Rose.
The fact that a person could be so loyal and dutiful to their country as to risk their life, while simultaneously being able to ignore and act so coldly toward the same person.
“By the way, Rose.”
Sophia suddenly lowered her voice.
“I'm curious about something...”
For some reason, Rose had a bad feeling.
“Do people really eat snakes in Bolton?”
And the premonition was correct.
It was one of the questions she heard most often since coming to Orturan. To exaggerate, she had received it about a hundred times.
“Oh, Sophia.”
Agatha smiled beside her, looking embarrassed. She seemed to be calling Sophia's name to try and stop her, but Sophia's innocent face remained unchanged.
“But Agatha, I'm just so curious. People talk about it as if it's a fact...”
The eating of snakes in Bolton had happened about a hundred years ago during a time of war and famine when there was nothing else to eat; now, no one ate them, and even Boltonians had forgotten about it.
Only after arriving in Orturan did Rose realize how a brief dietary habit from a century ago had been distorted in Orturan.
She had heard all sorts of things: wasn't it chilling to eat an animal closest to Satan, and couldn't Boltonians distinguish between what was edible and what wasn't.
When she first heard this question, Rose had been surprised and explained it with all her heart.
However, most people didn't seem to believe her, and in the first place, they didn't seem curious about Rose's answer.
Rose realized that the question was closer to mockery when she heard it for the twentieth time.
The snakes were merely a pretext. A way to tease her.
Eventually, exhausted, Rose began to vary her answers.
No, we only eat them occasionally when Orturan raises food tariffs too high. You're very interested in snake meat; I assume you've found it delicious? ...and so on.
Rose stared blankly at Sophia's face. She saw only curiosity, no particular malice.
Then again, as a specimen of a wonderful woman praised by both Agatha and Beth, she couldn't have harbored bad intentions.
But why was she so annoyed?
“Yes. In Bolton, we have no wheat, no oats, and essentially no food.”
At the serious lie told without a hint of hesitation, Sophia covered her mouth with her hand in surprise.
“Really?”
Shocked, Sophia's voice dropped even lower.
“Rose.”
She heard Agatha call her name as a warning, but Rose continued indifferently.
“Why would anyone go out of their way to eat snakes if there were anything else to eat?”
She meant that since Bolton wasn't actually devoid of food, why would they eat snakes, but looking at Sophia's expression, it seemed Bolton was already being painted as a severely impoverished nation in her head.
Usually, wouldn't people realize by now? Bolton was a country right next to Orturan. Surely it couldn't be devoid of wheat and oats.
She wasn't even angry anymore at these people who so easily believed Bolton was such a place.
Unable to watch the situation unfold, Beth intervened.
“Sophia. Rose is joking.”
“Ah?”
Sophia let out a flustered groan, then blushed with embarrassment and gave a smile.
“Ah, you mean you don't eat them? Phew, I thought... I was so surprised! Boltonians must be good at joking. I didn't notice at all, goodness.”
It was a relief that it ended with a laugh, but Rose wondered how long the label of 'Bolton' would be attached to and used to interpret all her actions.
Moreover, this kind of joke wasn't Boltonian at all. A true Boltonian never beats around the bush.
Uncle Howard, who lived next door, had always nagged Rose for not being like a Boltonian, yet since coming to Orturan, she was judged as a Boltonian even for simply breathing like everyone else.
No matter how hard she tried to forget the traces of her homeland, people would not let her forget.
Over the rim of her teacup, she saw Agatha's face, slightly flushed as if angry, and Ray's face, watching her silently with an expressionless gaze.
She was sick of this situation.
The situation where, after enduring everything and saying just one word, everyone looked at her as if she were the one in the wrong.
Rose suddenly wondered.
If her mother in heaven was looking down on all of this, what would she think?
After seeing all this, could she still firmly believe that this marriage was the greatest piece of luck to ever find Rose?
“Don't make me regret teaching you the piano, Rose. I beg of you. Please don't make me regret everything I taught you. I cannot bear the thought of having raised you that way. Please, your mother begs you.”
How could a person's last words be such a thing?
How could the final words left before death be something so trivial? Her mother hadn't even let her breath slip away until she heard Rose's answer.
Only after Rose barely managed to answer that she understood the threat-like will did her mother cross the river of death with a relieved face.
Shouldn't one say something more important before facing death? Like I love you, or I was happy because of you.
If it were her, she would have used her remaining breath for words with more weight, rather than wasting it on something like that.
“Don't make me regret teaching you the piano, Rose. I beg of you. Please don't make me regret everything I taught you. I cannot bear the thought of having raised you that way. Please, your mother begs you.”
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