Chapter 3. Defining Grounds for Divorce I

Liz sat at a shaded table with one hand propped under her chin, her gaze drifting past the railing of the private deck reserved for the VIP suite.

Beyond the railing, the open expanse of blue stretched so wide the sky and sea blurred into one. The Eternelle moved without so much as a tremor, offering a comfort that felt nothing like being on a ship at all. The sound of the sea breeze, faintly salted, wrapped around her ears like a quiet melody. A peaceful sort of life.

Liz reached out, picked something up, and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, this is delicious. What is it?”

“Hazelnut praline tart. Nutty and sweet, perfect for lifting your spirits.”

The fresh plate Maribel set down carried a rich, fragrant warmth. Breakfast had barely ended, yet the maids moved without pause, ferrying snacks and sweets as though they had made a pact to keep her fed at all times.

Liz popped a pastry into her mouth and washed it down with cool soda water. Maribel held out a rounded glass with something inside.

“My lady, try this too. It’s apple mint sorbet. The head chef said he ground in fresh limes brought straight from the southern continent.”

The Ashworth household’s private chef had prepared it with special care, or so Maribel said. Liz gave in and brought the spoon to her lips. Something bright and cold spread across her tongue and dissolved in a slow, sweet melt.

“Mm, this is really good.”

The pleasant chill had barely touched the tip of her tongue before Maribel was already extending the next plate.

“Try this one too.”

The table already held lime sorbet and an array of delicate macarons, yet the maids kept bringing more as though she had not eaten in days.

She had never longed for the extravagance of high society, not truly, but surrounded by the maids’ careful attention and the unending parade of offerings, her lingering unease quietly softened into something warm and drowsy.

After sampling a few more things in turn, Liz patted her stomach and waved her hand.

“Ah, I’m full. I really can’t eat any more.”

“You must eat more. Goodness, you’re so thin, my lady, and your face looks so drawn. I feel like a gentle push would knock you right over.”

They had known each other barely a week, and already she was being told she looked half the woman she should be.

Liz laughed at the exaggerated concern.

“Maribel, wouldn’t anyone fall over if you pushed them?”

She smiled and looked herself over.

Do I really look that thin? I’m not the fragile type.

She was healthier than most of the slight-framed ladies she knew, but the maids fretted over every meal as though they could not rest until she had eaten more.

“Please don’t laugh it off. You put too much faith in your own body, my lady.”

“Do I? I think I’ve gotten considerably stronger compared to before.”

She had spent a great deal of her childhood bedridden, weak enough that illness came easily, but her health had improved as she grew older.

The maids, it seemed, still saw someone fragile.

Liz’s gaze slid sideways toward the staircase leading to the lower deck. Maribel caught it instantly and shook her head.

“You can’t, my lady. The master gave strict orders not to let you go down.”

“I know, but…… I’m bored.”

After the incident, she had been completely banned from the lower decks. She had tried to think of ways to slip out again, but the face of the guard who had been reprimanded on her account kept coming back to her, and her feet refused to move.

She had gone to apologize to him in person a few days ago, but she had no desire to put anyone else in that position again.

“Haa……”

A sigh escaped without meaning to. The fact that she had spent her wedding night with the duke while drunk refused to leave her head. She had gone to bed with him when she should have been working toward an annulment, let alone a divorce.

Why did I have to drink.

Liz pressed her hands lightly against her own head and buried her face in her palms.

This was harder to undo than the wedding itself. Worse still, she was the one who had thrown herself at him, a man she had no intention of pursuing. The self-reproach stung.

The resolve she had held onto, to escape before returning to Bergen, had crumbled to ash.

Her memories came in fragments, but she could recall enough. Touching his bare skin and complaining of the cold, clinging to him and begging him not to go. The duke had not been lying.

Taken purely on his own terms, Johann was undeniably attractive, more than she could honestly deny. But she had known from the very first meeting what lay beneath that striking face. The calculations, the habit of bending others to his will. She could not afford to become any more entangled with him than she already was.

Putting distance between them gradually was the rational course. The problem was that since that night, sharing a bed had become a quiet routine.

‘Why do you keep coming in here?’

‘Have you forgotten? This is the marital bedroom. There is only one bedroom in this suite.’

‘Then where am I supposed to sleep? Don’t tell me…… you expect us to sleep together?’

‘The Eternelle provides a single private bedroom per couple as part of its service. Besides, we’ve already spent our wedding night together. A little late to be coy about it.’

Liz had opened her mouth again at that easy reply.

‘Don’t think you can just gloss over this. I’ll move to another cabin.’

‘Unfortunately, I’m told the ship is fully booked.’

‘A ship this size can’t possibly have no spare rooms.’

‘Every berth on the Eternelle sold out three months ago. Even if one were available, moving would be out of the question. I have no interest in becoming the pitiful husband abandoned by his own wife the morning after their wedding night. Have you forgotten? You came at me first. Own the consequences.’

He had given that shameless reply and climbed into bed, then broken his promise to simply sleep and reached for her anyway.

Having secured the wedding night as his clear justification, he had walked into the bedroom every night since, and three nights had already passed. Any attempt to blame the wine had been neatly blocked.

After that first night, the Ashworth household staff had shifted noticeably in how they treated her, and the maids’ charged, expectant looks had not helped matters.

“To think the master and my lady would become so close so quickly. I’ll work even harder for your happiness, both of you. Now, please eat more. You’re so well-loved every night, my lady. You need to be strong and healthy to give the household a fine heir.”

“Ah…… an heir.”

Liz swallowed what had risen to the tip of her tongue at Maribel’s bright tone.

He still doesn’t know I have difficulty conceiving.

That, in truth, was part of why the end of her marriage prospects had not troubled her much. A woman unlikely to produce an heir would not be welcome anywhere.

She had been told long ago that while she was not entirely infertile, her cold womb made it unlikely.

No need to bring that up.

Liz looked away from the maids’ hopeful faces and let herself think.

Given how things stood, the fastest and most certain way out was to be divorced. She needed grounds for it first. Demanding a divorce herself would get her nowhere. The important thing was to make Johann be the one to ask.

Now then. What would a high-ranking noble find most intolerable.

She sipped her sparkling water and turned the question over in her mind. The family name issue had never seemed to matter to him from the start. Money problems, the usual cause of marital strife, did not apply since she had nothing to her name.

That left one answer. She would have to do it herself. Behave in ways a nobleman of his rank would find most objectionable.

Act unladylike. Eat messily. Show gluttony. Be openly rude with no regard for manners. Make herself so thoroughly off-putting that he would have reason enough to let her go.

Maribel set down yet another plate of sweets despite Liz having said she was done. Liz reached over, picked it up, and stood.

“Let me borrow this.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Rather than going through the corridor, Liz pressed herself against the glass door that connected to the deck and peered into the study. The scene inside was exactly what she had expected.

Johann sat beside a towering stack of documents, pen moving across the page.

He had called this a honeymoon, but from what she had heard, the majority of his day was spent on work.

Liz drew a long breath.

The goal: irritate a working man.

Trusting Maribel’s advice that nothing put a man off faster, she nudged the glass door open.