Obituary 4

Chapter 4

***

A yawn that burst out without covering her mouth left only a bored expression in its wake.

Watching the woman slump back against the bench as if she'd never possessed any sense of decorum to begin with, Ray chuckled and stopped himself from lighting a cigarette.

Yeah, right.

Did Bolton teach them it's okay to act differently depending on whether someone's watching? She looked ready to flop right onto the bench any second.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Rose's face turned toward him. Ray didn't miss the fleeting look of annoyance that crossed her face.

Just as he found her bothersome, it seemed the lady of the house wasn't exactly thrilled by his presence either.

What a splendid pair.

Hiding his self-mockery, Ray stood beside the bench and pulled the cigarette from his mouth.

"Looks like you're desperate for one."

When he spoke, the drowsy green eyes instantly filled with suspicion.

"...So, would you give me one?"

Her gaze fixed precisely on the cigarette he held.

She was the sort of woman incapable of even feigning refusal.

Despite undoubtedly spending a month at Crawford Manor being taught with fervor how to utter all manner of empty words—those things called pretense or politeness—she was still like this. It made him feel a fresh wave of pity for his mother and the housekeeper.

"I'm not such an inconsiderate person as to offer a lady something I've been chewing on."

Even though this woman looked ready to snatch it from his mouth, he didn't need to stoop to her level, whatever kind of woman she was.

As if she hadn't expected it anyway, Rose's expression turned indifferent again.

Ray changed his mind and put the cigarette back. It was his own way of being considerate toward a woman who seemed to find quitting smoking terribly difficult.

When he offered one arm, the woman silently leaned on it to rise from the bench.

"I suppose I've been out too long."

Whether it was her voice or the strong accent mixed in her speech, her words sometimes sounded like a song. There was a subtle rhythm to them.

Instead of answering, Ray gestured toward her crumpled skirt.

The woman let out a small sigh and adjusted her clothes with a half-hearted wave of her hand.

"Even when no one's watching, the ball always carries itself with such grace."

Her quiet voice drifted in amidst the sound of footsteps on the grass.

"I am here, and you are here. That alone is reason enough to be polite. And..."

She was still spouting such utterly naive nonsense. At this point, he genuinely wondered what she'd been doing for a month at Crawford Manor.

"It's problematic to assume no one is watching."

Rose's hand resting on his arm felt weightless.

It had always been that way. As if she would never lean on anyone, this woman merely placed her hand like an ornament and walked under her own power.

Did she not realize that made her seem even more awkward and uneasy?

Ray could feel her body stiffen every time his arm or hand touched her.

The more she did that, the more she looked like someone sitting in the wrong place.

"You're someone who gets photographed even on the streets of Bolton. Eyes are everywhere. Even inside Crawford Manor, where we live. You can probably guess why I asked you to stop smoking now."

The photo splashed across the front page of the Orthuran newspaper two weeks ago, showing her eating fruit on the street, 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 he would continue such actions to keep him in check.

Home Secretary Archibald Avery seemed to regard Ray, a fellow party member, as his lifelong rival. He appeared more interested in tormenting Ray than in managing the nation's home affairs.

He was the sort who played all sorts of tricks using the newspapers he owned.

"Back then, I didn't realize the Orthuran journalists were so idle."

He looked down, wondering if she was being sarcastic, but her expression gave nothing away.

"Now that I know a bit more about Orthuran, I'll be more careful."

It was true that her special position—as a politician's wife, the mistress of a duke's household—made her life more complicated. But this woman was particularly weary of the country of Orthuran.

Except for the fact that she could become the subject of newspaper headlines, her life now was far better than living in the Bolton countryside.

Her father was wealthy, but he didn't seem like the type to lavish money on his daughter.

The stares of others, the envy and contempt they held – considering what Crawford possessed, they were nothing.

Depending on how one chose to see it, such stares could even become mere decoration.

"Why don't you try putting yourself in her shoes? She was living quietly before. How burdensome must this be?"

His sister Beth's reproachful words came back to him. Like a young girl, she easily pitied her brother's wife, who had married into a strange foreign country.

Ray thought differently from his bright-eyed sister.

If she couldn't handle it, shouldn't she have never started in the first place? If she decided to marry Crawford, she had to accept that much.

Judging by her perpetually blank expression, it seemed clear the woman had agreed to this marriage without any thought, plan, or resolve. Without any preparation.

His mother, who harbored the prejudice that Bolton women were fiery, remarked that Rose was more 'docile' than expected, which was better than her fears. But Ray doubted whether it could truly be called 'docility'.

The woman simply had no thoughts at all.

A sensible person wouldn't decide to marry Crawford with such an empty head.

Ray had always thought so. There was something wrong with this woman.

"I didn't think living in a foreign country was particularly difficult, but you seem to be struggling a bit."

He hadn't meant it with any great intention, but the woman suddenly stopped walking at his words.

"You've lived abroad too, haven't you? Let me guess. Antaka Planto, right?"

She was right.

"Yes... It probably wasn't very difficult for you. The only difference between Antaka Planto and Orthuran is the language, after all."

Taking his continued silence as agreement, the woman started walking again.

"Duke Crawford. I don't think of myself as living in a foreign country."

His arm still bore no weight at all. Even walking side by side, the distance between them remained vast. As vast as the titles they used to address each other.

"I think of myself as having moved back a century. Because what doesn't work isn't speech."

"I see."

She had quite the knack for saying things like your ideas are as outdated as if they were from a hundred years ago.

"I've heard Bolton never had time for traditions to take root. It must feel strange."

The woman from a country that overthrew its political system whenever bored merely gave a half-hearted nod at his words.

As if such remarks carried no sting. Or rather, it was doubtful she was even listening.

Ray began to doubt the version of himself from a month ago who believed he could control this marriage.

Back then, he hadn't worried much, believing the woman he was marrying, though somewhat lacking in qualifications, would cooperate with Crawford as much as possible to compensate for her significant shortcomings.

But...

Ray stared down at the woman's expressionless face, as if bleached, and thought.

There was something about this woman that made even cooperation feel like anything but cooperation.

"...What did you discuss with Ambassador Antaka at the embassy party?"

That was why he had sought her out so early in the morning.

"Ambassador Antaka? We only exchanged greetings..."

Her voice was as flat as her expression.

"The ambassador even sent a letter insisting you attend today's luncheon."

Of course, he had no intention of taking Rose.

He merely wanted to confirm what she might have said in his absence that prompted the ambassador to send such a letter.

"We really didn't talk about much. He complimented my Antaka language skills, so I just mentioned my mother was Antaka."

The woman chuckled softly, perhaps sensing Ray’s lingering suspicion. But it lasted only a moment.

“If I’d said anything strange, it would’ve been in the papers by now… Why don’t you check the papers?”

She returned to her expressionless state, calmly looking up at him.

Her tone was extremely polite, as if she'd crafted words that could be either sarcastic or teasing.

Ray finally realized what about this woman was so unsettling.

Her cooperation, or rather obedience, felt utterly devoid of will.

It was similar to the attitude of an owner who, annoyed by noisy dogs, casually tosses a few treats their way.

Ray finally grasped that to her, this entire Orthuran was nothing more than a dog barking at her, Crawford included.

It was absurd.

It was the exact same attitude Ray used to dismissively ignore those who gossiped about him.

So, to this woman, he was on the same level as those pathetic fools.