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“I knew it. I had a feeling you’d dislike that person.”
“I do not dislike them.”
“Right, that’s too emotional of a word. You aren’t the type of person to spend that much emotion on others.”
A short, dry laugh escaped Ray’s lips.
Rose decided to believe that the laugh was because she had seen through him with her sharp analysis.
“Right, ‘irritated.’ That would be more appropriate. I felt like you’d find the Prime Minister irritating.”
“And why is that?”
“Just…”
Rose, who had been continuing her sentence absentmindedly, clamped her mouth shut. She suddenly felt as if he were leading her toward something.
“I’m not going to say it.”
“Why?”
“It feels like you always want me to say the harsh things on your behalf.”
“If one has a talent for it, is there any need to suppress it?”
“Trying to make a woman say things like that… it’s not very manly of you.”
“I don’t know. You seemed to do it quite well even when I didn’t ask.”
She couldn't bring herself to argue against that. After all, no one had told her to call him a bastard; she had done it of her own accord.
Seeing Rose fall silent, Ray let out a laugh. Then, he pulled her head back toward him, letting her lean against him.
“You truly do have a conscience, my lady.”
The lingering amusement in his murmuring voice made Rose feel strange. She had the illusion that the heartbeat she heard in her ear was not his, but her own.
“…Then why did you marry me? You seem to think I’m just strange and absurd.”
Listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, Rose asked quietly.
It was an impulsive question, but she knew exactly what her intention was.
She wanted to confirm something about him. To see how much he was willing to tell her.
In other words, how much he had opened his heart to her.
She also knew exactly why she wanted to test such a thing. It was because Rose’s own heart had become infinitely fragile. Because of that man.
If they couldn't become a couple in a grand, sweeping love, she at least wanted to be partners who shared a basic human fondness for one another.
Rather than being a burdensome weight.
“Avery blackmailed me.”
He answered more calmly than she expected.
Perhaps it was because she now knew that Avery was a common enemy.
“With what?”
This question did not receive an immediate answer.
Tense, Rose silently counted.
One, two, three…
Even as the count passed sixty, the man’s lips remained closed. In the silence where only the sound of the wind could be heard, Rose struggled not to feel disappointed.
Just as she was about to give up and change the subject, the hand holding her tightened.
“My father.”
Then, a quiet voice descended over her head.
“He died of a mental illness.”
The voice and tone of the confession were as steady as usual. However, the strength in the hand gripping her was excessive.
Silence returned following those words.
But it did not last as long as before.
“His delusions grew worse, so he would do strange things without sedatives, and he couldn't sleep without sleeping pills.”
It was a low voice, like he was talking to himself.
“One night, he passed away from an overdose. I still don’t know. Whether he took them by mistake, or if he did it on purpose.”
Like a man who couldn't stop once a confession had burst forth, he continued slowly.
“Because he was fine the day before. To the point where he could even converse with me.”
Now, his honesty didn't bring her complete joy.
She could feel that he had retraced this past quite often.
There was only one reason to look back at a passed past: regret.
Rose carefully lifted her upper body to face the man who seemed to have returned to the past.
His face looked no different than usual, but the gaze he cast upon her was distant. As if he were seeing someone else through her.
“You said it. That there are things that cannot be conveyed through words.”
Rose simply nodded without speaking.
“…I wonder if I failed to understand something. The day before.”
Rose thought that her words might have become a burden to him. The suspicion that he had missed some signal was holding onto him.
“My father played the piano. More often after he fell ill. Though I don’t know if what he played then could be called a performance.”
Now she felt she knew the owner of the piano that had come to her.
“I sometimes think. If you had been in this mansion back then, would my father have become alright?”
Having finished his quiet confession, he looked strangely relieved.
Their eyes met in the returning silence.
The balcony had grown dark, and the cool night breeze occasionally brushed against his disheveled hair.
Rose asked the man, who was looking at her as if hoping she would provide an answer.
“Did you hate your father?”
“He was a kind man. And just as fragile.”
It wasn't an answer to the question she had asked.
“So, did you hate him?”
“…I never did. Though I might have thought he was pathetic once or twice.”
When Rose simply looked at him without further response, Ray gave a small smirk.
“Why, do I seem too much like a thankless son?”
At the self-deprecating question, Rose slowly shook her head.
“It’s okay. I’ve thought that once or twice while looking at my own mother.”
Rose believed that he had actually loved his father. If not, there would have been no need to think about that death until now.
It seemed he didn't even realize that was love.
Since he was a man who had made a habit of prioritizing value judgments, it was only natural.
If Rose had to coldly evaluate whether her mother was a good person or a decent person, she too would never have reached the conclusion that she had to love her, or that she did love her.
Because her mother was beautiful and kind, but on the other hand, she was an incredibly fragile and cruel person.
However, often, love precedes understanding.
“It is true that I wished for my father to be liberated from his pain. From a pain I could not understand… though not in that manner.”
He murmured as he tucked a few strands of Rose’s hair, fluttering in the night breeze, behind her ear.
There was no way his father hadn't felt what Rose could feel. There was no way he hadn't known his son's heart.
But she thought such consolation might be presumptuous.
“…He must be at peace now.”
In the end, only a cliché came out.
“Was that too obvious a thing to say?”
“No, it’s the best possible answer.”
The man replied with a faint smile.
“Ray.”
Feeling that she hadn't been able to provide any real comfort for the confession he had finally let out, Rose called his name without realizing it.
“Is there… nothing I can do by your side? You can act well in front of people now.”
Looking at the silent Ray, Rose laughed awkwardly.
“No, just. I wanted to be of some help to you…”
Ray had been keeping her away from parties and events, even going so far as to lie and say she was ill.
The only thing Rose did by his side was warm his bed, and now she was in a position to leisurely learn composition through his mercy.
Agatha hadn't said anything specifically, but Rose could feel that she disapproved of the fact.
“If I can't be of help, I at least don't want to be a hindrance.”
He was constantly in a position of granting and bestowing things upon her, and she occasionally felt overwhelmed by the fact that she was merely his burden.
She felt mentally more comfortable when Ray was completely indifferent to her.
Since she couldn't erase her origin as a Boltonian.
“Of course, I think staying still is the best option.”
He was still frighteningly silent. He simply gazed at Rose. What on earth was he thinking?
He was not a man who would say something just for the sake of empty words.
“Composition too… actually, I have no intention of submitting a piece anywhere. I’m satisfied just learning it.”
The man, who had been staring at Rose, slowly touched her cheek. In the touch that carefully cupped her cheek, the usual desire was not felt.
“So, there’s no need to worry.”
Instead of answering the woman who was babbling like a fool, Ray lifted his upper body and drew closer.
Looking into Rose’s eyes in silence, Ray tilted his head and kissed her.
Soft lips swallowed hers.
Once again, he chose a kiss over words.
Wondering endlessly about his intentions, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and accepted him.
On the winter night balcony, Rose realized that Ray Crawford was right. As always.
Just as he had said, it wasn't cold at all.
* * *
It was a rare, peaceful day.
Thanks to the fact that Ray unusually didn't go anywhere, the Crawford family had a meal together and were able to welcome guests for the first time in a while.
Though the guests were only two or three noble couples, led by Sophia Greenwood.
“That’s why it makes no sense. That person says they did it out of love, but is such a thing even plausible?”
Countess Tory, a close friend of the princess, was criticizing someone.
It was a story about a certain noble who had recently engaged in a massive divorce lawsuit to marry his first love.
“Oh, why? I think it’s entirely possible. How romantic. I heard they didn't have children anyway.”
At Sophia’s bright voice, Countess Tory pretended to be disappointed and searched for an ally.
“If Mrs. Greenwood thinks so, then Duke Greenwood must feel the same…”
“That is correct. My wife and I always agree in opinion.”
“Then… my hope lies with the Dowager Lady Crawford. Surely the Dowager Lady will tell us how nonsensical this is.”
The Countess’s playful gaze turned toward Agatha.
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