On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 49

“I brought the butler.”

Blake pulled Bernard out of the carriage, the smaller man’s frame barely reaching half of his own.

With an arm slung around Bernard’s shoulder, Blake strode confidently into the entrance, looking more like a thug dragging in a debtor from the back alleys. Bernard, on the other hand, wore the expression of a prisoner being forcibly escorted, his face clouded with gloom.

Layla, startled, looked back and forth between them.

“Blake, how…?”

“I told you I’d bring him, didn’t I? He’s the butler of this estate now. And since Anne said she’d come if the butler returned, go ahead and send for her.”

“Ah… well, yes, but…”

Bernard’s expression was lifeless, like a stray dog that had been abandoned. He looked so pale and exhausted that it was genuinely worrying.

Layla wanted to ask how Blake had convinced him to change his mind.

‘Did Blake do something terrible…?’

That was her real concern.

Blake’s loud voice caught the attention of the household staff, who peeked out curiously. The moment they recognized Bernard, their eyes widened.

“Oh? It’s the butler! Bernard is back!”

“Butler!”

“What? Bernard is here?”

“Sir! We’ve missed you!”

“Hey! The butler’s back! Come quick!”

At the commotion, more people rushed out. It had been months since the estate had been sold and the butler had left. Some of the staff even burst into tears as they threw their arms around Bernard.

Caught off guard by the overwhelming welcome, Bernard hesitated at first, then gave an awkward smile.

His expression was noticeably brighter than when he had been dragged from the carriage by Blake.

The atmosphere grew lively as the household gathered around, celebrating his return.

From a short distance away, Layla watched the scene with a warm expression.

And one more person stood quietly at the doorway—Marisa. Unlike the others, she didn’t rush forward but simply observed with a gentle smile.

* * *

Bernard was exhausted.

Since his grandfather’s time, his family had served as butlers for the Bastian Viscounty. From a young age, his father had instilled in him:

“This is the master you will serve.”

“You must protect this estate.”

For a brief period in his youth, he had dreamed of seeing the wider world, of trying something different. But he had taken only one adventure before returning home, where his parents had been waiting for him.

From then on, the Bastian estate became his entire life.

He had watched as the young master grew up, married, and became the next Viscount Bastian. He had seen the birth of the next generation—the future of the Viscounty.

The current Viscount was a weak man, but he had always tried his best. Unfortunately, failure seemed to come more often than success. Even Bernard, who had no deep knowledge of business, could tell that the estate was slowly sinking.

Still, he had believed that it was a problem for the distant future. The children were smart—they would restore the family’s prosperity one day.

Then, everything collapsed.

The business failed. Creditors and bank officials flooded the estate. Though the Viscount did not scream, those days had been utter chaos.

The Viscount, disheveled and desperate, had sworn to set things right and left the house. Days passed with no word from him.

And then, one night, Bernard happened to be outside, unable to sleep, when he saw the Viscount standing at the entrance, his face shrouded in darkness.

The moonlight from the hallway windows illuminated his expression—one of utter despair.

“Bernard…”

The way he had called Bernard’s name reminded him of when the Viscount was a child, waking him up after wetting his bed.

“Bernard, I’m sorry… I tried, but this is how it ended.”

“It’s alright. We’ll start over from here.”

And Bernard had meant it.

The Viscount was still young—he had plenty of time to rebuild. The debt was overwhelming, but if they sold the estate and liquidated their assets, he could start again.

The Viscount pressed his lips together at Bernard’s reassurance. Though his eyes looked as if he were about to cry, no tears fell.

“Do you think so…?”

After a long pause, he finally answered. Then, he turned and went back to his room.

Bernard had believed that, since the Viscount had returned, everything would be okay.

He should have spoken to him more that night.

The next morning, the Viscount did not pull the bell cord to summon anyone. Bernard assumed he was simply tired and let him sleep in.

But by midday, he began to worry—perhaps the Viscount had fallen ill?

He finally entered the bedroom.

The bed was empty.

The safe was open.

The jewelry and any quickly liquidatable assets—bonds and certificates—were gone.

And then—

“KYAAAAAAH!”

When Viscount Bastian’s nighttime escape was discovered, the Viscountess screamed and fainted.

From that moment, the downfall of the Bastian family became even steeper.

Bernard struggled to manage the hysterical Viscountess while sorting out the debts.

The loans taken from sources outside the bank came back in the form of threats. Some creditors even went so far as to say they would sell off her underage children. No one could withstand such pressure.

Every day, the Viscountess wept over the wealth slipping through her fingers. She swung between disbelief, fury, and despair—cursing her husband one moment and pulling herself together the next.

But time moved forward, and somehow, the debts were settled.

They moved into a small rented house, and only Bernard remained as a servant. The Viscount’s children were sent to Quindiver, where relatives from their mother’s side lived, which at least reduced some burdens.

Yet, dealing with the Viscountess’s hysteria while handling household chores he had never done before was no easy task.

Bernard had been born into the destiny of serving House Bastian. He had always believed that leading the servants and earning his master’s recognition was the highest honor.

But then, Blake Burman came to the Viscountess, saying he wanted to hire Bernard as his butler.

“Hah! What do you take people for? If that’s your business here, leave at once! Bernard is family. He is not something to be bought and sold!”

All of Bernard’s anxieties, disappointments, and worries about starting anew in unfamiliar Quindiver melted away at those words.

It was a great comfort.

Even though the Viscountess had become irritable, lashed out at him, and even slapped him at times, Bernard had dismissed it as momentary lapses of impulse.

She hadn’t always been that way.

Once life became stable again, she would return to being the gentle woman he had always known. Bernard truly believed that.

Hearing her call him “family,” Bernard resolved to endure any hardship by her side.

But then, he wavered—so easily—because of that barbarian from Strover.

“Do you know what you need when things aren’t going your way?”

Blake leaned back on the sofa, his eyes gleaming.

“You buy the butler. 10,000.”

10,000 was an enormous sum—enough to support several attendants and live comfortably for twenty or thirty years.

To Bernard, Blake’s predatory grin made him look like nothing short of a villain.

He saw the Viscountess’s eyes tremble. Her delicate hands, resting on her lap, gripped her dress tightly, as if seizing temptation itself.

“The longer you wait, the lower the price. The sooner you sell, the more money you’ll have.”

For those who had lived in abundance, cutting down expenses was not easy.

Nobles, in particular, struggled the most.

For them, poverty was something beyond comprehension—like suggesting one eat fruit and cheese when there was no bread.

And the Viscountess was no different.

Though the debts had been settled, she had not yet adjusted to a life of restraint. She still insisted on having wine with her meals.

The reason she hadn’t yet departed for Quindiver was because she didn’t even have the fare for the ship.

Blake did not give her time to negotiate or hesitate.

“5,000.”

“What? Why did you cut the price in half all of a sudden?!”

At the sudden drop, the Viscountess shrieked in panic.

But there was no shame on her face. No guilt toward Bernard.

“I told you—if you take too long, the price drops. The faster you decide, the more money you get. So, are you selling the butler?”

“Ah, well, I… I need time to think—”

“2,000.”

“I-I’ll sell! I’ll sell the butler for 5,000!”

Fearing the price would drop even further, the Viscountess bit her lip anxiously and shouted.

“No. It’s 2,000 now.”

“It was only a moment! Do you even realize how skilled Bernard is? Do you think it’s easy to find a butler of his caliber for a noble household?”

“1,000.”

“Fine! I’ll sell him! Just stop talking!”

The Viscountess shrieked, clutching her ears.

But when she lifted her head, her face was alight with joy and anticipation.

Then, her eyes met Bernard’s.

It was only at that moment that she realized what she had done.

She had thrown away both the dignity of nobility and the family she claimed to cherish, plummeting to rock bottom.

“Ah….”

Her face turned pale as she parted her lips, as if to make an excuse.

“Good. 1,000 it is. Whaler, the checkbook.”

Blake, completely unfazed, wrote “1,000” on the check and signed it right in front of her. He handed it to the Viscountess.

“I’ll take the butler now. Since it’ll be inconvenient without him, why don’t you check into a hotel and enjoy some comfort?”

“A… hotel…”

Her cheek twitched slightly, as if her conscience still held a shred of resistance.

Yet, in her gaze toward Bernard, there was a mixture of guilt, gratitude, and expectation.

Bernard bowed deeply before her.

“…Thank you for everything. I will now serve the Burman household.”

Even in his final moment, he upheld the dignity of a true butler.

* * *

After hearing from Bernard about what had happened before he came to the Burman estate—how Blake had gone to the Viscountess Bastian and caused an outrageous scene—Layla felt lightheaded.

She pressed her forehead, dizzy with shock, and stammered an apology.

“I-I’m so sorry, Bernard. Blake… he’s not a bad person, really, but…”

“On the contrary, I am grateful. Thanks to him, I was able to be of some help to the Viscounty in my own way.”

Bernard’s calm and composed response only deepened Layla’s sorrow. A stinging sensation welled up behind her eyes.

The bond between a butler and his master was strong. And yet, here he was, saying he was simply relieved to have been useful to his former household in the end.

“…The Viscountess will realize it soon. That she lost something far greater than that money. Because Bernard, your worth is beyond any amount of gold.”

“…Thank you for saying that.”

Bernard rose from the sofa and took a step back.

Layla was now the lady of the house—the mistress he was to serve.

“I look forward to working with you.”

“And I with you.”

After Bernard left, Layla stormed toward Blake’s study.

“Blake!”