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When Rose had asked how a marriage so mismatched in status was even possible, her father had told her it was because she was politically useful to Crawford.
She hadn't asked further at the time due to a lack of interest, but by now, she was genuinely curious about what kind of help she could possibly provide that would lead this refined family to decide to accept her.
And after spending a month in Orturan, she had concluded that her presence was closer to a political burden than any kind of asset.
As a servant cleared the napkin that had fallen to the floor and brought a fresh one, Agatha finally seemed to snap out of it, composing her face, which had been laid bare with confusion.
“Yes. You were in a special situation, so...”
Unfolding the neatly pressed napkin, Agatha took a deep breath.
“That is true; it is a wonderful thing. In such a situation, yes, you had no choice. You did something brave and wonderful. It couldn't have been easy.”
Agatha's effort to wrap up the situation with the kind of moralizing words a school principal might use was almost heartbreaking.
Couldn't have been easy? Teaching children who whined about being bored after just one or two practice sessions was far easier than trying to understand or endure the current situation.
“Don’t you understand? The opportunity of a lifetime has come to you, and you don’t even realize how great an opportunity this is! You actually believe you can dare to refuse it! I raised you that way. It is my fault.”
Suddenly, she remembered something her deceased mother had once screamed.
When Rose had tried to refuse this marriage, her mother had looked at her as if she were a madwoman.
That expression—looking at her own daughter as if she were some strange monster—would likely never be forgotten until the day she died.
Was there something wrong with her, as her mother had once said and as Agatha was implying?
“But it would be best not to mention that matter anymore. The situation has changed, hasn't it? Beth, you must also watch your tongue. And Rose, do not tell Beth just anything simply because you consider her family. As you can see, the child is still young.”
This, precisely, was the problem.
Rose found it difficult to understand why the fact that she had once taught piano to someone fell into the category of 'things that must not be mentioned.' It wasn't as if she had committed a crime.
The things these people internalized as common sense were simply difficult for Rose.
“I didn't know that having a profession was such a problem. Duke Crawford himself works as a minister.”
At the words Rose uttered unconsciously, Agatha's napkin fluttered powerlessly to the floor once again.
“Rose, what on earth are you talking about? A 'profession'?”
Despite her efforts to maintain her composure, Agatha's face was now completely distorted with shock and horror.
It was as if Rose had insulted her son.
Surprised by the reaction, Rose accidentally dropped her cutlery.
“That is service!”
Agatha's shrill voice rang out along with the sound of the silverware hitting the floor.
The servants began to move to clear the floor. Since she had started working at this mansion, this was the first time they had to move so frequently.
“Pardon?”
Now it was Rose who was confused.
Realizing that Rose hadn't spoken up to be defiant but truly did not understand, Agatha brushed her hand across her mouth with a hollow expression and let out a long sigh.
“Do you think Ray spends his precious time immersing himself in politics, doing such tiring work as a minister, for his own benefit? Or for money? For such pocket change?”
Agatha continued to speak in a patient, guiding tone, as if dealing with an uneducated child.
“That is service to this country, and we have an obligation to do so.”
Before she knew it, clean napkins and spotless, sparkling silverware had been returned to their places on the table.
The servants, who had performed the task with startling silence, stood still against the wall as if they had never moved.
The excessive speed and perfect proficiency felt somewhat oppressive, leaving Rose unable to speak further.
“Rose, let us not bring this up again.”
With a deep sigh, Agatha ended the conversation firmly.
“Forget whatever life you lived before. You must live as if it never existed in the first place. You are now a Crawford, and since everything from before has become naught, there is no need to tell anyone.”
Rose had thought so too.
That she had discarded everything from her previous life, and so she would now live doing only what she was told.
However, every time she saw people shocked by her mindless words or actions, she realized that she had not completely erased her former life.
“Keep my words in mind, Rose. Bolton, and everything that happened there, are all gone now.”
Cold eyes, so blue they felt oppressive—eyes that looked exactly like Ray Crawford's—stared at her persistently, as if demanding an answer.
“...Yes.”
Even in that single, forced word, Rose could feel her own exotic accent, the trace of a foreigner that she could not possibly hide.
She worried about how she could ever erase traces of a past that existed so vividly.
Satisfied with Rose's docile answer, Agatha finally accepted the dessert brought by the servant.
“Elton. Please tidy the piano in the drawing room. I am sure Mrs. Greenwood will want to play.”
Agatha's voice, as she gave orders to the solemnly standing butler, had become much softer.
Come to think of it, there were two pianos in this massive mansion. One was the piano next to Beth's room, and the other was in the drawing room.
The piano in the drawing room was always covered with a cloth. As if no one ever played it.
Then why was it there in the first place?
Only then did Rose become curious about the owner of the piano that no one played and no one even glanced at.
* * *
“I'm late with my greetings. I am Sophia Greenwood.”
A woman with flushed cheeks that brought to mind midsummer peaches gave Rose a bright smile.
Even before meeting the woman named Sophia Greenwood, Rose felt as if she already knew everything about her. It was because Agatha and Beth had spoken of her so much.
The only daughter of Duke and Duchess Harland, she had three older brothers and had become a countess after marrying Count Greenwood.
She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, wonderful, and possessed a bright personality, and she had been friends with this family since she was very young.
Everyone loved her, she played the piano beautifully, and so on.
“Oh, I can't tell you how glad I am to meet someone my own age! All my friends have married abroad. Or they live too far away.”
Her lush, beautiful curly hair waved lovably across her forehead every time she spoke. The glossy black hair complemented her flushed cheeks well.
She was only a year younger than Rose, but she didn't feel like a peer at all.
A woman who had married early and already had two children.
“Besides, Beth is far too young to play with.”
Sophia whispered as if sharing a secret, giggling.
Rose didn't know how to react to this extraordinary social skill, which seemed to feel no distance even between people meeting for the first time.
Above all, Sophia seemed not to care at all if the other person didn't respond.
Up until now, Rose had not said a single word other than "Hello," yet the conversation continued.
“Anyway, marrying a man like Ray, how did you manage that? It's so impressive. I couldn't do it.”
Rose was surprised once by Sophia's bold personality, casually linking arms with her, and once more by the intimacy with which she spoke her husband's unfamiliar name—a name Rose herself hadn't even called him properly yet.
“Agatha would have something to say if she heard this... but Ray is really boring, isn't he? He's been that way since he was a child.”
And then, naturally, she mentioned her mother-in-law's name.
Rose recalled how the faces of Agatha and the employees had warmed the moment Sophia Greenwood appeared in the Crawford mansion and scattered her sun-like smile.
They were truly unfamiliar faces.
The Crawford employees treated Rose with courtesy, but there was always a distance. And concern.
She could feel their apprehension that a foreign Duchess might bring harm to the house.
It was fascinating that those working in the mansion felt the same pride and attachment to the family as the masters did.
Sometimes, the Crawford family felt as if it belonged not only to Agatha and Ray, but also to those who worked for them.
Having worked as an accompanist in a cathedral while living in Bolton, Rose—who had never particularly wished for the cathedral's prosperity—found it to be an emotion she couldn't quite understand.
Sophia Greenwood and the employees, whom Rose still found awkward, greeted each other warmly as if they were relatives meeting after a long time.
Even a smile momentarily graced the face of Ray Crawford, who was usually as cold as a northern blizzard.
As Beth had said, she was clearly very close to the Crawford family and a woman loved by everyone.
“I was four and Ray was... what was he, eleven? He used to scold me solemnly, telling me not to whine. To a mere four-year-old. Can you imagine?”
No, even with a Boltonian's imagination, she couldn't possibly picture it.
Ray Crawford at eleven years old.
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