“Just to clarify, I had no intention of deceiving you. I simply didn’t mention those odd jobs because they aren’t typically recognized as relevant experience.”

Despite Deborah’s explanation, Zen did not lower the hand covering his eyes.

Honestly, this wasn’t a situation where Deborah needed to make excuses or try to persuade Zen. But right now, Zen looked more upset than angry. In the end, feeling an inexplicable sense of guilt, Deborah even apologized.

“If I’ve offended you in any way, I apolo—”

Once again, Zen cut off her words.

“Enough. This isn’t something you need to apologize for.”

“…”

“…I too understand why you didn’t mention it. I do understand.”

His halting voice was mixed with a sigh as thick as fog.

“And yet…”

Zen, who had been muttering softly, took a deep breath. His eyes, feigning composure, once again fixed on Deborah.

“…Very well. Let’s move past that for now.”

“Thank you…?”

Deborah responded as if swept away by a wave, but couldn’t completely hide her confusion.

“Your surname is Johnson, correct?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You have both a common first name and a common surname.”

Zen gave a self-deprecating smile. While Deborah didn’t think he was picking a fight over names, she did acknowledge it to some extent.

‘I’ve met at least five other Deborahs so far. Oh, wait, was it six?’

However, she hadn’t often met people with the same surname as hers.

It wasn’t that Johnson was less common than Deborah, nor that Deborah had never met a ‘Johnson’ before. It was simply that she hadn’t been ‘Deborah Johnson’ for very long.

“Before I was married, my surname was Barker.”

Deborah added lightly, trying to lift his persistently low spirits.

But at this casual remark, Zen furrowed his brow as if he’d been hit on the head with a rock, then his eyes widened.

“What did you say?”

“Barker was also fairly common, but certainly not as common as Johnson. So—”

“No, wait a moment!”

Zen exclaimed urgently. Deborah blinked rapidly.

“Just a moment…”

Zen’s beautiful golden eyes wandered in the air. Instead of his hair, neatly fixed with pomade, becoming disheveled, his eyelashes trembled pitifully.

After turning this simple fact over and over in his mind, Zen swallowed hard and opened his lips with difficulty.

“Are you… married?”

“Yes.”

Though bewilderment was etched on Deborah’s face, her posture remained composed.

Deborah’s age, twenty-eight. An age where it wouldn’t be surprising to have two children. Just as it wouldn’t be strange for Zen to be preparing for marriage at his age.

“…”

As the warm tea cooled to lukewarm, Zen opened his heavy lips. But it took even longer for his voice to actually come out.

“Your husband.”

What his tongue, which had faltered many times, managed to produce with difficulty was an uncertain sentence closer to a word.

Deborah chose to wait patiently rather than trying to guess what Zen would say next.

“When did you meet your husband… No, more importantly, where is that fellow now and what is he doing?”

His voice was laced with anger.

The veins clearly visible on his reddened face and his trembling fists indicated that his anger was no ordinary matter.

From Deborah’s perspective, this felt like an incomprehensible confrontation.

Why on earth is he asking such things? And ‘that fellow’? Why should her husband be referred to in such a manner?

Deborah was not particularly pleased. However…

“I’m not sure why the question of when we met is necessary for this interview.”

Deborah pointed out in a calm voice that the direction of the questioning was misguided. Unlike Zen, Deborah was neither an impulsive person who couldn’t control her temper, nor was she one to simply swallow her words.

‘It’s not uncommon for some to avoid hiring married women as live-in maids.’

So Deborah could understand asking if she was married. But asking when they met was an extremely personal matter, wasn’t it?

‘There’s no reason to ask that. Of course, one could ask out of personal curiosity. But Zen?’

The male protagonist Deborah knew was not the type to be curious about the personal affairs of a passing stranger like herself.

‘Besides, that reaction seems more like anger than curiosity.’

Could he possibly think she had hidden the fact that she was married?

Not hiring married women as maids dedicated to noble ladies was one of the discriminations in this world.

It was such a common practice that even if “Married women not accepted” was written in large letters on job postings, it wouldn’t be an issue. However, this job posting didn’t state that married women wouldn’t be accepted.

‘Of course, in this world, it might be considered so obvious that they didn’t bother to write it.’

Even so, Deborah had nothing to be concerned about.

“Anyway, what is that fellow doing now? What on earth is he doing that makes you live as a live-in maid in someone else’s house?”

Zen, furrowing his brow, asked Deborah again. Deborah’s thick eyelashes created a small breeze.

‘Really, why is he like this? Someone might think I’ve been sold for money.’

Of course, it wasn’t very common for married women to become live-in maids. The husband earns money, and the wife tends to the home. This was the general rule in this world.

While there were many wives who worked due to financial difficulties, most of them did odd jobs in their neighborhoods rather than living and working in someone else’s house. Such jobs were hard to come by anyway.

‘In any case, why is this man so angry?’

Could it be that, as a fine gentleman, he was sympathizing with Deborah’s situation? Was he angry that Deborah’s husband was bringing shame to all men?

‘You?’

Anyone else, perhaps, but not Zen.

‘You couldn’t possibly have such humanity.’

Deborah remembered clearly how cruel he had been to Dia.

‘He’s probably just picking a fight.’

Deborah replied with a faint smile.

“My ability to work at Madam Saint’s house was extremely fortunate. I’m certain that any woman who has worked as a maid would wish for an employer like the madam.”

“What does that mean? Are you boasting that you met Madam Saint thanks to your husband?”

Zen, speaking as if grinding his words, clenched his fist until it nearly burst and exhaled hot breath.

“Are you defending your husband in front of me right now?”

His words, born in that hot breath, were also moist.

Deborah blinked her eyes, then gently closed them as she spoke.

“Because I’m the only one who can defend him.”

Zen bit his teeth. To him, unable to hide his resentful emotions, Deborah spoke as clearly and hazily as a light fox rain falling on a brilliantly sunny afternoon, not even wetting one’s collar.

“Because the dead cannot defend themselves.”

Zen’s eyes widened. Deborah smiled gently towards him, who had become completely rigid.

Only then did Zen notice that her calm dress was not an ordinary black dress.

‘…Mourning dress.’

A woman who has lost her husband wears a dark-colored dress for three years. That was the custom in this country that prided itself on tradition.

“…When?”

“Let’s see.”

Deborah, after quietly counting the days in her head, opened her mouth.

“I think I’ll be able to take off this mourning dress in 12 months.”

Deborah wore a faint smile, like a drop of paint falling into a clear water bottle.

Just then, the golden afternoon sunlight poured through the window, illuminating her. The drab black dress looked like a brown dress sprinkled with gold dust.

The sight was dazzling, but to Zen’s eyes, she seemed as if she might disappear at any moment. Yet if his hand were to touch her, she might shatter.

“…”

So Zen could do nothing but continue to clench his fists.

* * *

“Huh…?”

Deborah couldn’t understand the current situation. Originally, she should have been at the hotel. And she was supposed to take a train to Bermers as early as tomorrow morning.

“Miss. Please check the contents of your luggage.”

A handsome footman handed over Deborah’s small travel bag, which had been waiting for its owner in the hotel room.

Inside the travel bag, secured with just a single shabby lock, were the few belongings Deborah had brought, exactly as they were.

“Yes. Everything’s here.”

“I’m glad. Then, I’ll take my leave.”

As the footman left, closing the door, the sound echoed in the room.

‘How high must the ceiling be for such a small sound to echo like this?’

Deborah raised her head to examine the room she was in once again. It was spacious both vertically and horizontally. It was larger than most commoner homes combined.

‘To call this a room.’

Moreover, this spacious room was filled with precious things. The wallpaper was luxurious, and each piece of furniture was a fine ivory color.

And the faint scent of lily of the valley that filled the space…

‘It’s not overpowering. It really feels like live flowers have been planted here and there.’

Deborah glanced around cautiously before sitting on the bed. It was so soft, it felt like she had placed her bottom on a cloud.

‘My goodness. Am I supposed to sleep on a bed better than Madam Saint’s?’

What on earth was this man thinking, giving her such a room?

‘No, it’s just a nice room, but the situation is similar to being imprisoned.’

Deborah sighed deeply, recalling the conversation she had just had with Zen.

* * *

“…”

Zen silently looked at Deborah. His eyes held an indescribable emotion – sympathy? Pity? It was hard to tell.

“…I see. I understand.”

At Zen’s quiet response, Deborah smiled and said,

“When I return, I’ll be sure to tell Madam Saint about the kindness Mr. Baker has shown me. I’m certain the madam will be pleased.”

At this, Zen’s expression crumpled instantly.

“Return, you say?”

Deborah was bewildered, thinking ‘What’s with this reaction now?’, but hiding it, she said,

“Yes. Ah, I’ll be returning to the hotel today. I’ll be taking the train tomorrow.”

Zen narrowed his already fierce eyes even more sharply and said,

“You cannot return to the hotel. Nor will you be taking any train.”

At his words, Deborah’s brow furrowed.

‘What is this man saying?’