On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 37

“How dare she! Who does she think she is to judge me and cut my lessons as she pleases? The audacity!”

Jefferson stomped through the hallway, his steps heavy with irritation. Even as a maid passed by, he continued to grumble, unable to hold back his curses.

“What a vulgar woman. Even if she was once the Crown Prince’s fiancée, she should at least have some dignity! Changing her words on a whim? No wonder she resorted to thievery!”

Until he arrived at the Burman estate today, Jefferson had been anxious. When he first heard that Jerry had canceled his lesson due to illness, he feared that someone had discovered the punishment he had inflicted on the boy.

It was one thing to discipline a child during a lesson, but that day had been different. He had lost control, letting his emotions take over, and he knew he had used excessive force.

He had spent sleepless nights worrying. What if that barbarian, Blake Burman, stormed into his house in a rage? What if, in the dead of night, he shattered his window and held a knife to his throat?

After all, the man was known as the Butcher of Strover, a reaper on the battlefield.

When he was called back for another lesson, he feared that a guillotine might be waiting for him. But the mansion was peaceful. Layla had simply uttered words that turned his stomach.

Jefferson assessed the atmosphere of the estate.

“They definitely know.”

They had seen Jerry’s injuries. But since he had been introduced by Lewinda, they couldn’t act against him directly. Instead, they were trying to get rid of him quietly by reducing his lessons.

A sly smirk spread across Jefferson’s lips.

He had realized who truly held the upper hand.

“That girl cannot refuse me. After all, she has already disgraced her family’s honor. Rejecting me is not an option.”

Lewinda’s words echoed in his mind.

Jefferson had spent his life drifting between the homes of relatives. He would show up under the guise of a visit, stay for a few days, and be handed money to leave.

Eventually, he made his way to the Edgestone family. That was when Lewinda had introduced him to the position of tutor for the Burmans. She had spoken with complete confidence:

“I married off a delicately raised daughter, so even that Strover barbarian won’t be able to treat her carelessly. Just teach the boy properly and keep an eye on Layla—let me know how she’s doing and what that savage is up to. I’m worried he might do something reckless again.”

It was a mutually beneficial exchange. Jefferson gained stable employment, while Lewinda obtained information about the Burman household.

Even though he only stayed at the estate briefly for lessons, it was enough to observe the couple’s relationship, how Blake treated his wife, and the general state of their wealth and household affairs.

That was why Jefferson grew even more brazen. He wasn’t simply indebted to Lewinda—this was an equal trade.

“Class is starting.”

Jefferson raised his voice as he entered Jerry’s study. The boy immediately stood up. Jefferson frowned and criticized his movement.

“Is that how I taught you? Put more strength in your legs! And don’t raise your chin so high! Here, right here!”

Grabbing Jerry by the shoulders, he shook him, forcing him to stand properly. It was nothing more than an outlet for his frustration.

“After today’s lesson, go to the mistress and tell her how inadequate you are. Say you need more etiquette lessons. Tell her you feel anxious without them.”

Jerry didn’t cry or act out, unlike most ten-year-olds. Compared to other boys his age, he was truly remarkable—but that was precisely why Jefferson disliked him.

“Cutting my lessons? After all the effort I put into ridding this arrogant brat of his crude nature? How dare they! This is all your fault! You’re so dull and slow-witted that the mistress has decided to reduce etiquette lessons!”

As cowards often do, Jefferson shifted the blame onto the weak and young, making it seem as if Jerry were at fault. He fumed, outraged at the insult.

“What on earth did Lewinda teach her? How could a woman who was once the Crown Prince’s fiancée turn out like this? This is why birth is so important. Lewinda—that wretched woman—her mother was just some miller’s daughter, no one even knows where she came from! That daughter seduced a count and lived well enough, but she must have done a terrible job raising her child. Otherwise, how does a daughter grow up to be a criminal and marry a barbarian?”

Before Jefferson went to university, his family had been wealthy. His father was an educator, and his mother played the piano with elegance. The household, once admired by many, fell into ruin due to fraud and the changing tides of the era, leaving them barely able to make ends meet.

Even so, his parents sent him to university and made sure he never lacked anything.

Any ordinary person would have been grateful, but Jefferson took it for granted. Since they had lost their fortune, it was only natural that his parents should sacrifice and support him.

After all, that was what he was meant to have.

“Do you understand now? This is why birth is important! If you want to erase the vulgarity in your blood, you must make endless effort!”

He struck his baton against the book in sharp, rhythmic taps as he spoke.

Then, Jerry, who had been listening silently, gazed up at him with calm eyes.

The way the boy looked at him—quiet, unwavering, as if peering into the depths of his soul—sent a chill down Jefferson’s spine.

“Do not insult my adoptive parents.”

“What?”

“They are the parents who accepted me as their son. Please choose your words carefully.”

The child he had ignored, the one he had secretly looked down on for being a Strover, had now corrected him in a clear, steady voice.

Jefferson’s rage flared instantly, his face turning bright red.

“Did you just talk back to me? A brat who doesn’t even understand proper etiquette dares to lecture me?”

“Is insulting a child’s parents in front of them proper etiquette? If you are to teach me, then you should set an example first.”

For a moment, Jefferson’s vision went white.

Then, it returned—and he raised his arm high. The child barely reached his waist.

“You insolent brat! How dare you talk back to me? Beasts only learn when they are beaten!”

As always, he swung his arm without hesitation.

He had forgotten that he was holding a baton—thick as a finger and solid in his grip.

Whoosh!

The air split with the sound of the swing.

But before the strike landed, Layla rushed forward, shielding Jerry in her arms.

“Jerry!”

Thud!

“Ahh!”

The baton in Jefferson’s hand struck Layla squarely on the back. She screamed, but she did not let go of Jerry. Instead, she sank to the floor, holding him tightly.

“Madam? Madam! Layla!”

Jerry crouched beside Layla, looking at her with wide, pale eyes. His small hands clutched her desperately.

Jefferson, flustered, shouted angrily.

“This isn’t my fault! She got in the way! What was she doing jumping in like that?”

This was different from hitting a child. Layla was not just some student—she was the mistress of the Burman estate, a daughter of the Edgestone family. Even though her reputation had suffered due to the embezzlement scandal, she was still the woman who had married Blake as part of a truce between Strover and Edgestone.

Jefferson may have been distantly related to her maternal family, but in the end, he had just assaulted another man’s wife. That was no longer just discipline—it was an entirely different level of crime.

Panicking, he turned to flee.

But standing in the doorway, face pale as a sheet, was Lewinda.

Slowly, her expression twisted into a glare as she stared at Jefferson.

“Jefferson…”

“Lady Edgestone! Ah, you saw that, didn’t you? Thank goodness! This almost turned into a huge misunderstanding. I wasn’t trying to hit her on purpose! You saw it, right? She suddenly jumped in! I couldn’t stop in time! Clearly, it was Lady Burman’s fault!”

Jefferson flung the baton aside, wiping his trembling hands over his face. He stepped toward Lewinda, his desperation rising. She instinctively backed away, but Jefferson grabbed her by the shoulder.

“You’ll testify for me, right? You’re the one who introduced me here! I did nothing wrong—this was an accident!”

He trusted her. She had asked him to keep an eye on the Burman household, after all.

But Lewinda shoved him away.

Stumbling backward in shock, Jefferson looked at her, his mouth slightly open.

“How… After all I did for you, you talk behind my back? You even insulted my mother…”

Then, it hit him—he suddenly recalled the words he had spoken earlier in front of Jerry.

Lewinda clenched her fists, her entire body shaking with fury.

“W-wait, no, I only said that because Lady Burman was being disrespectful—”

“So my upbringing was poor? My birth was lowly? I introduced you to this job because I pitied your pathetic state, and in return, you insult my mother and me?”

Layla, still holding the back of her neck in pain, slowly rose to her feet.

Her neatly styled hair had come undone, but her sharp, unyielding gaze locked onto Jefferson.

She raised a hand and pointed toward the door.

“Mr. Jefferson Moore, you are dismissed. You struck a child without the parents’ consent and injured him. And you also struck me. Leave this house immediately.”

Jefferson stumbled backward, overwhelmed by her authority. He hesitated, inching toward the exit—only to find his path blocked.

Blake stood there.

One eyebrow arched as he took in the scene before him. His eyes landed on Layla—her disheveled state, the pain in her posture. His eyebrow twitched.

“What’s going on?”

“Blake! That man hit Layla! Layla took the hit for me!”

Jerry’s voice rang through the room.

Jefferson stepped back frantically, waving his hands. His face turned a ghostly white as he stammered out an excuse.

“No—no, this was an accident! She suddenly jumped in—I couldn’t stop—”

Blake’s gaze darkened as he stared at Jefferson.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

“You hit my wife. In my house.”

“It wasn’t my fa—”

THWACK!

“Urgh!”

Blake’s fist slammed into Jefferson’s face.

The force sent him spinning twice through the air before crashing into the wall.