Something Is Wrong With My Husband (1)

Ever since the day Nicholas visited, something about Lucien had been off.

He had always been distant to begin with, but lately—Marguerite thought—he had become quick-tempered.

“Good morning, Lucien-sama.”

When she greeted Lucien as he came into the kitchen, he furrowed his brows and twisted his lips in irritation.

These days, Lucien came to the kitchen every morning. Marguerite did not know why. Whenever she greeted him, he would turn his face away and leave.

The other day, when she happened to run into him and asked, “Um, is there something you need?” his face had turned red with fury.

She did not know the cause. She had thought the distance between them was closing, but now it seemed to have widened all at once.

‘Did I do something wrong just by greeting him…?’

That day, as Nicholas was leaving, he had shrugged and said, “You two have it rough as well.”

After seeing the guest off alone and heading to the sitting room to clean up, Marguerite found Lucien inexplicably drenched, arms crossed as he stared up at the ceiling.

“My goodness! What happened?”

As she reached out in surprise to press a handkerchief to him, her hand was seized.

“I’ll do it myself.”

Saying only that, Lucien staggered to his feet and left the sitting room.

“I left you there after you had water poured on you…”

He had muttered something along those lines, so perhaps he disliked being seen by Marguerite and would rather have been left alone.

With no other choice, Marguerite cleaned the wet table and floor together with the maids.

The liquid that had soaked Lucien turned out to be lukewarm tea, yet Lucien’s own tea remained untouched, which left Marguerite tilting her head in confusion.

No matter how much she thought back on it, she still did not understand the reason for Lucien’s anger.

To begin with, why had Lucien ended up being doused with Nicholas’s tea?

‘Did the business discussion with Nicholas-sama go badly…? Did Nicholas-sama throw tea at Lucien-sama…?’

If that were the case, it made no sense for Nicholas to leave with such a pleasant smile, nor for Lucien to sit there in silence without saying a word.

No matter how much she thought about it, she could not understand. Marguerite shook her head. It was probably best to leave things alone, since it was not something she should meddle in.

However, before long, Lucien’s behavior became even more incomprehensible.

“This… is this for me…?”

What Marguerite stared at in a daze were dresses, shoes, hair ornaments and other accessories, a vanity, cosmetics, cabinets, and every imaginable item besides.

And standing before them, clutching a bouquet with a face contorted in rage, was Lucien.

One afternoon, as Marguerite was absorbed in reading in her room as usual, a knock sounded at the door.

Those who came to her room were either servants announcing a meal or Lucien himself. Since it was not mealtime, Marguerite hurriedly opened the door—and saw it.

A mountain of goods piled before the doorway, and Lucien holding a bouquet.

‘What in the world is going on…?’

Taken at face value, they were gifts from husband Lucien to wife Marguerite, but the murderous look on Lucien’s face denied that interpretation. Behind him, servants stood pale-faced, surrounded by the heap of gifts.

Marguerite suddenly realized something.

‘With the eyes of the royal family upon us, he has no choice but to shop for my sake.’

He must be angry at being forced into such unwelcome expenses. Thinking that way made everything seem to fit.

If Marguerite had money she could freely use, she might have been able to make up for the expense, but she had nothing of the sort.

‘That’s right—if not the dresses or shoes, perhaps the other items could be put to use by Mother-in-law Yumila.’

Thinking this, Marguerite looked up at Lucien, who was still glaring at her in silence.

“Thank you very much, Lucien-sama. I am truly happy.”

When Marguerite smiled, Lucien’s expression softened.

Maintaining a look that said she was very happy, Marguerite lowered her brows with a troubled expression.

“However, um, this room cannot hold everything, so may I leave matters like the furniture to Mother-in-law Yumila?”

At Marguerite’s words, Lucien looked around the room as if noticing it for the first time. Then he glanced back at the items behind him, looked at the room again, looked at Marguerite—

—and then drooped forward, burying his face in the bouquet.

“…Move.”

“Pardon?”

A strained voice came from beyond the flowers. As Marguerite drew closer, wondering what he meant, she heard it clearly this time—

“Move.”

That was the word Lucien spoke.