Bake didn’t particularly like such a father. He wanted to live a life different from his.

He memorized noble etiquette by heart, deliberately did not use anything less than the finest to develop a refined taste. Even if it was difficult to give up habits he had once developed, he tried and succeeded.

However, the label never fell off.

Just like his father, who was ridiculed for being born of humble origins his whole life, he too was the same. No matter what clothes he wore or how he carried himself, Bake Crayton was the son of a humble merchant.”
Titles, names, and genders of the characters have been translated accurately and consistently.

“Livianna, whether the family falls or the inheritance is stripped away, has been a noble Crayton for a lifetime. And the same goes for Calix.

No matter how much he denied it, nothing changed. Unless all the blood flowing in his body was removed, Calix’s body carried the blood of Pieren, just like the Craytons. It was the bloodline of a prestigious family that had been maintained for a long time.

A noble lineage that could not be given up even if he died.

Bake, without pouring into a glass, took a swig directly from the bottle of rum. The refreshing sensation that passed through the throat spread throughout his body. It was a warmth that his wife, who only slightly enjoyed wine, could never feel.

Bake emptied half of the contents in a single gulp before putting the bottle down. The liquor favored by sailors was potent, but it was not thoroughly refined, leaving a lot of impurities.

So, eating it with a generous amount of spice-laden jerky would be perfect.

But that was the taste of sailors; it did not suit the preferences of the Crayton Marquis.

Rum was cheap liquor made from by-products of sugar production, and the spices in the jerky were also for extending shelf life but mainly to mask the odor of cheap meat.

Knowing that anything in the mansion could be picked up and used to fill the room with bottles, rum, and jerky, Bake’s mouth still watered, perhaps because he was the son of a merchant. Bake expelled rough breath as quickly as the alcohol he hastily drank.

Whether it was because he had tasted cheap liquor or not, a face naturally came to his mind.

Starting to drink the rum that felt forbidden was because of Margaret. In her house, there was always rum and jerky available.

There was no need to say it explicitly. If he visited, that was enough. If he did, Margaret enthusiastically wagged her tail like a dog waiting for its owner.

She sat beside him, shared warmth, filled his glass, and listened to his stories with a gentle smile. It was genuinely comfortable. The woman born on the street was not noble, making it easy and, more importantly, suitable for cheap rum.

Naturally, thoughts of her body came to mind. It was inevitable. Margaret didn’t meticulously manage herself like noblewomen, but, in fact, that made her even more charming.

Thud!

Bake forcefully put the bottle down.

He didn’t want to live like his father. He wanted to live like the Crayton Marquis.

The Crayton Marquis, with light blonde hair neatly combed above his forehead and wearing a stiff uniform, even looked radiant from a distance. He was the embodiment of the true noble that Bake had dreamt of.

And now, he had become that Crayton Marquis himself. Everyone automatically added the Crayton surname to the name Bake.

But why hasn’t anything changed? It’s always the same, constantly growing anxious.”
The names and genders of the characters have been translated accurately and consistently.

“I wonder if my wife has the same thoughts.

Livianna, aristocratic to the bone, had refined and elegant tastes. Bake secretly wondered if she might feel embarrassed to have a husband like a merchant’s son.

Bake chewed his lips meticulously and, with his calloused hands, took hold of the bottle again. The rising intoxication didn’t allow him to grab the bottle in one go, but after a few attempts, he finally caught it.

Bake stared quietly at his reflection in the bottle, narrowing his eyes. Gradually, a reddish flush appeared on his face.

“Gallan, is that scoundrel still around?”

“Of course, that guy will do anything for money.”

“Recently, he’s been taking money without delivering results.”

Bake sipped his drink, lips sealing it in a gulp.

Despite generously adding money for a hassle-free solution, the recent handling of affairs had been disappointing.

Unlike Gallan’s deals, an oversight in dealing with Margaret’s stepbrother resulted in Margaret being reported.

Of course, it didn’t actually go to trial, and as it was a matter involving a rural aristocratic family, it didn’t attract much attention. However, recently, Margaret’s presence had been unexpectedly highlighted, potentially posing a danger.

“I’ll pay special attention when entrusting tasks this time.”

The observant subordinate politely gathered his hands, smiling.

Bake, still focusing on the bottle, raised his eyes slightly. He didn’t want to involve Gallan, but there was no other choice.

“Get in touch with Gallan. I have something important to tell him.”

Bake downed the remaining drink and wiped his mouth roughly.

He wanted to remain a good husband to Livianna, but he didn’t want to be taken advantage of like a fool.

Among the things his father passed down with his cheap tastes, the only somewhat good thing was ambition. Originally, as a merchant, it was a rule to be able to do anything to grasp something in one’s hands, and items that entered his hands wouldn’t be released until he received their value.

Livianna was the wife of the Crayton Marquis, his wife, and she belonged to him.

No one else but him could have her.”