On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 7

She pulled the bell cord.

Typically, if the mistress had not yet risen, a maid should have been waiting in the room or the hallway. But no one came.

After tugging the cord three more times, a maid finally entered, panting as if she had rushed over.

She was young.

“M-Madam, did you call for me?”

“Water… ahem.”

“Ah, yes.”

Her throat hurt, and her voice came out hoarse. The nervous young maid glanced around anxiously before pouring a small amount of water into a glass and handing it over.

Layla slowly sipped the half-filled glass, letting out a quiet sigh as the cool liquid soothed her parched throat.

“Sh-Should I pour you more?”

She looked down. The glass in her hand was empty.

She had drunk it all in one go.

A lady never drains her glass in a single gulp.

Layla felt a moment of embarrassment at her unrefined behavior but held out the glass anyway.

‘What does it matter if I follow etiquette now?’

Lewinda was no longer watching her every move, ready to criticize her lack of refinement. There was no one around to judge her manners. Her reputation had already crumbled, and nothing she did now would change how people saw her.

And yet, habit remained.

Even though she told herself she no longer needed to care about the eyes of others, the etiquette ingrained in her still kept her from acting impulsively. She took another sip, slower this time, wetting her lips.

As soon as her thirst was quenched, hunger crept in.

Layla let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

‘Hungry…?’

Ever since the embezzlement scandal hit the newspapers, the crushing stress had killed her appetite.

Yet now, the hunger she felt was overwhelming.

Her stomach let out a loud growl.

The maid must have heard it because her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. But she did not laugh.

“Sh-Shall I prepare your meal?”

“…My husband?”

Blake Burman.

Saying the name she had repeated over and over the previous night reminded her of one thing—he was the master of this estate.

If the newlywed wife asked about her husband’s whereabouts, the servants might assume that their relationship was strained.

Of course, everyone already knew their marriage was a political arrangement. But there was no need to make their indifference toward each other too obvious.

Even in that brief moment, she calculated the implications.

“The master has gone out.”

“…Where did he go?”

“Ah, I-I don’t know. They don’t tell low-ranking maids like me. I-I’m sorry.”

“Prepare a simple soup for me. I’d like to eat in the tea room.”

Before she could finish speaking, the maid rushed out of the room. Layla had no chance to stop her.

“…Am I being ignored?”

Ever since the newspaper articles, even the Edgestone family’s servants had openly avoided and disregarded her. Why would the Burman household’s servants be any different?

A noblewoman despised by commoners. A deceitful, extravagant fraud.

That was what Layla Edgestone had become.

People even found satisfaction in her marriage, believing that wedding Blake Burman, a notorious barbarian, was her punishment.

Blake Burman—once a mercenary captain, now a celebrated naval colonel.

Graemers and Strover had once been one kingdom, but a civil war over the throne had divided them. Their hostility ran deep, and two years ago, war broke out when Graemers launched an invasion.

On land, Graemers had the advantage. But aside from a small shared border, Strover was practically an island.

Thus, the war was fought primarily at sea.

Graemers dominated at first, advancing along the border and attacking in coordination with their navy. But when Strover recruited the mercenary group that had defeated Bloody Axe, the pirate king of the infamous Blood Skull Crew, the tide of war shifted.

The leader of that mercenary group was Blake Burman.

A man known as a monster who could tear people apart with his bare hands, drink their blood, and devour their hearts.

The Sea Demon. The Bloody Barbarian. The Beast of the Ocean.

Wherever he appeared, Graemers suffered devastating losses, and reports of his brutal massacres filled the newspapers.

Eventually, after a near-defeat, Graemers was forced into a truce. As a symbol of the ceasefire, a political marriage was arranged between the two nations.

The public had been horrified at the thought of the monstrous barbarian coming as an envoy.

It was only a week after Blake Burman’s arrival that a formal welcoming banquet was held. At the time, Layla, still the crown prince’s fiancée, greeted him.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

‘So it’s just rumors. He’s quite handsome.’

Layla had thought so when she saw Blake Burman smirking coldly.

Afterward, he spent days wandering the capital, supposedly resting after his journey. Every minor detail of his activities became a major headline in the Graemers newspapers.

Up close, he carried a distinct, foreign scent—something that evoked the heat of the sun.

Unlike the Graemers aristocrats, who prized pale, slender figures, Blake was large and solidly built, his skin deeply tanned by the sea.

Golden hair contrasted against his dark complexion. Sharp, well-defined features. Piercing eyes.

He was ruggedly handsome, with a strong jawline and a refined, aristocratic nose.

But no matter how striking he was, no noblewoman was willing to marry the barbarian Blake Burman.

Several noble daughters had been considered as potential brides, but every family refused. One young lady even attempted suicide in protest.

In the end, they set their sights on Lilia Edgestone.

They couldn’t openly force Layla into the marriage—so they applied pressure instead.

“Layla, you started all of this. You’ll handle it. You wouldn’t let Lilia marry that barbarian, would you? Not after everything you’ve done.”

Her mother’s voice had been clear and unwavering.

Layla accepted it.

It was resignation, not choice.

To fix the situation, she went to Blake first and proposed.

“Please, choose me as your bride.”

” “Why should I? Do you take me for a fool?”

Layla didn’t blush from shame or humiliation.

She had already lost the ability to feel such things when she stood before the public as a condemned woman.

“Isn’t all you need a ‘bride’ to walk down the aisle with you?”

She simply did what she could.

“If the wedding is delayed due to the absence of a bride, it could cause unnecessary tension and misunderstandings between our countries.”

Blake didn’t deny it. He simply listened before pulling out an old pocket watch to check the time.

“I need a wife who is obedient. One who will stay silent and remain behind me.”
“I can do that.”

After accepting the marriage, Blake had generously promised to grant her a divorce after two years. His attitude remained indifferent throughout. It was obvious to anyone that he had no interest in her whatsoever.

And yet, he changed on the wedding night.

Blake Burman, a man called a barbarian, acted as expected—bold, unrestrained.

Without hesitation, he licked and sucked at the space between her legs. The wet sounds he created clung obscenely to her ears.

“Stop.”

Layla closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind.

The bedroom was clean. The sheets had been changed, and a fresh scent lingered in the air. Yet, beneath the fragrance, traces of last night’s musk remained.

What had happened here was nothing short of debauchery, things not even detailed in the most scandalous romance novels.

She didn’t want to stay in this room filled with memories of her first night with Blake.

She splashed her face lightly with the wash water.

The dress she was meant to wear hung on the wall.

Her legs trembled as she reached for a corset, then hesitated and set it down. Instead, she put on a simple indoor dress—the kind she used to wear at home.

Without a corset, it was much easier to breathe.

Since she had gone straight to the bedroom after arriving at the estate, she had no idea where the tea room was located.

After a brief hesitation, she pulled the bell cord.

Neither the young maid nor any other servant came.

“This is a mess.”

Noble estates followed similar layouts. She thought about where the tea room might be before stepping out of the room.

The dress, worn without a corset, felt too much like nightwear. Though it was comfortable, it left her feeling uneasy as she walked.

Entering the hallway, she slowly made her way toward the stairs.

“Ah… Oh. Madam? Uh, you’re awake.”

A man awkwardly greeted her, adjusting his monocle and bowing stiffly.

His vest and attire were neat, resembling that of a gentleman’s, yet he had left his buttons undone and wore neither a cravat nor a tie. His demeanor suggested he wasn’t entirely sure if he was greeting her properly.

“Ah, I am Whaler Russell, Captain—er, Blake’s subordinate. I oversee the household’s general affairs.”

“Are you the butler?”

He didn’t look like a butler.

“There is no butler. I handle the finances for Blake’s mercenary company, so I also manage the estate’s accounts.”

The introductions were over, yet when Layla remained silent, Whaler hesitated, unsure if he was free to leave.

“I’d like to have my meal in the tea room. Could you show me the way?”

“Ah, the tea room. This way, Madam.”

As Whaler led Layla, maids and servants peeked from a distance, quickly ducking out of sight whenever she glanced their way.

Layla took in her surroundings as they walked.

This estate had originally belonged to Viscount Bastian.

After one of his heavily invested ships wrecked, he was left drowning in debt. Rather than face his creditors, he fled in the dead of night, abandoning his wife and children. His remaining family, desperate to repay the debts, had put the estate up for a quick sale.

Blake Burman had purchased it.

It was widely known that, before the sale, Viscountess Bastian had sobbed hysterically, protesting that no matter how much money they needed, they couldn’t possibly sell their home to a barbarian.

The household staff had supposedly been transferred along with the estate. But even though the residents had changed, the place was in disarray. The management was a mess.

The tea room was no exception.

The space was cluttered—some of the wall decorations were missing, and the floral arrangements lacked any sense of order or coordination.

Layla carefully sat down, taking a slow breath. A dull, throbbing ache spread through her lower body. Embarrassment heated her cheeks.

“I heard my husband is out.”

“Yes, he left for some business.”

“When will he be back?”

“Huh? Oh, he usually leaves without saying anything… Sometimes, he’s gone for days.”

“I see.”

Good.

She wouldn’t have to see Blake for a while.

Relieved, she glanced toward the window—just in time to see a broad-shouldered figure on horseback approaching the estate.

Even from a distance, she recognized him instantly.

His sheer size, golden hair, and sun-darkened skin made him unmistakable.

Blake Burman, in his outdoor riding clothes, was already returning.

“He’s back early today.”

Of all times…

But he wasn’t alone.

A young boy sat behind him on the horse.

Layla’s gaze locked with Blake’s just as he reached the estate.

Without hesitation, he led the child directly to the tea room where she was seated.

The boy’s clothes were worn, his skin darkened from hardship. He was even darker than Blake, making his silver hair stand out starkly.

Blake placed a firm hand on the child’s shoulder and said,

“This is my son.”

“…Captain, have you lost your mind?”

Whaler, standing beside Layla, asked in the most polite tone possible.