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But...
The one who had succumbed to those trivial words, married into this wretched foreign land, and was now sitting in a mansion where a single drawing room seemed several times larger than her entire home in Bolton, was none other than herself.
In the end, her mother had won.
‘I couldn't really do anything about it anyway.’
Rose ended this unwelcome trip down memory lane with the thought she had always clung to.
Because of her agonizing tenosynovitis, she couldn't even debut as a pianist, and she had received confirmation that composition—which her mother had so confidently touted—was not her path either.
Every ounce of will and passion that had existed in her life vanished after that.
Thus, choosing this marriage was half surrender and half stubbornness—a desire to see if her mother was right, and if, as she claimed, this would indeed become the best choice of Rose's life.
“Come to think of it, Sophia, it’s been quite a while since you played the piano for us. Please, play something.”
Beth’s cheerful voice pierced through the gloomy reminiscence and brought Rose back to reality.
Judging by the awkward tone, it was clear that Beth had decided to ensure the topic of Bolton never surfaced in this room again.
“Why don't you play first, Beth? I'm curious to see how effective Miss Gordon's passionate teaching has been.”
“Oh, Sophia. You know your sister is playing after me, so you're basically telling me to go and make a fool of myself.”
At Beth’s sincere grumbling, the stiff faces of the people in the drawing room relaxed, and smiles bloomed.
“Hmm. Does it make a difference if you play after Mrs. Greenwood? It would be better to go first.”
As Ray Crawford intervened in a flat, monotone voice with a slight tilt of his head, Beth burst out in irritation.
“Ugh, seriously!”
It was unfamiliar to see him smirk at his sister's annoyance.
Whenever Rose looked at him—always the same, not just in dress but in mood and attitude—she wondered if he even possessed emotions. Yet, occasionally, when he teased his sister, he seemed like an ordinary person.
“No, Beth. It’s worth a try. Sophia hasn't played the piano much lately. Even when I place sheet music on the stand every morning, she ignores it.”
Count Greenwood, Sophia’s husband, added in a fairly serious tone.
“Ii thinks I'm some kind of piano machine. He's always telling me to play. Even my brothers wouldn't do that.”
“It's because your playing is so lovely to hear. What's the point of letting such talent go to waste?”
Affection didn't just overflow; it felt as if it were dripping onto the floor.
Unlike the Crawford parents, who believed that being good at the piano was not important in life at all, Count Greenwood seemed to genuinely love his wife's performances.
Once again, the memory of her mother invaded Rose's mind—the image of her mother becoming distressed and hateful the more Rose clung to the piano.
The existence of this beautiful, bright woman named Sophia Greenwood was tearing through Rose in a most unwelcome manner.
“Sophia doesn't even need sheet music anyway.”
Since she didn't need music, it seemed the claim that she played well was true.
“Does Rose play the piano too?”
With a light laugh, Sophia turned her head and asked Rose.
“...I'm only at the level of reading notes.”
Fortunately, no one from the Crawford family added any comments this time.
If they had started saying things like how Rose used to play well enough to teach children, she felt she truly wouldn't have been able to bear it.
“I think it would be lovely to play together sometime! There are so many wonderful duets.”
Responding in a bright voice, Sophia softly smoothed her skirt, rose from her seat, and approached the piano.
“Wow. It’s been a while since I’ve played a Crawford piano.”
Sophia stroked the piano with an affectionate expression, as if greeting an old friend.
“Hmm. What should I play?”
After pressing a few keys as if testing the sound, Sophia turned toward Rose.
“Rose. Is there a piece you know? If there's something you want, I'll play it for you.”
There were many pieces she knew and loved, but for some reason, nothing came to mind right now. Perhaps she didn't want to remember. She even wondered if she actually wanted to hear the sound of the piano.
“...Nothing in particular.”
At Rose's dry response, Agatha's expression stiffened slightly, and she cast a warning glance.
Rose wondered what the problem was.
Should she have given a longer answer? Or was it their standard of refinement that, while music shouldn't be one's profession, one should at least know a few pieces?
“Is that so? Then shall I play a song Agatha likes for a change?”
Sophia herself simply gave a casual, beaming smile, placed her hands on the keys, and corrected her posture.
Following the first softly pressed note, a languid melody enveloped the drawing room.
The moment Rose remembered what the piece was, the rhythm immediately shifted to something upbeat.
The exotic dance piece in the style of the Kingdom of Planto flowed effortlessly from Sophia's fingertips.
Contrary to the people in the drawing room who enjoyed the melody with smiling faces, Rose stared blankly, struck with shock.
This piece, which boasted both poetic elegance and the cheerfulness of a Planto dance, was a delight for the listener, but it possessed a terrifying level of difficulty.
It was surprising enough that she could play it, but the fact that she had memorized it was unbelievable.
With her tenosynovitis having worsened, Rose could no longer play this piece at its original speed. Her hands no longer moved like that, in that way.
Sophia was now playing the ornamental middle section of the piece—where various brilliant arpeggios and trills ran rampant—without a single mistake, so easily, so lightly.
As if she were playing a basic exercise without a single key change, effortlessly, as if it weren't difficult at all.
It was the most beautiful performance of this piece Rose had ever heard.
Completely overwhelmed by a beauty and perfection that seemed beyond comparison, Rose listened to the performance without even breathing.
Every single note Sophia played revived Rose's own deficiencies.
She couldn't help but think.
If she had been able to play like this, would her mother still have opposed her? Even if Rose had possessed such skill, would she have denied her entire life so easily?
Even when Sophia finally struck the last staccato and received the applause of the crowd, Rose couldn't move a single finger.
“Rose.”
Perhaps thinking that Rose looked rude just sitting there, Beth quietly called her name.
Only then did Rose barely snap back to her senses and manage to clap a few clumsy times.
“What do you think?”
Descending from the piano stool, Sophia smoothed her dress and smiled brightly at Rose.
What did she think?
“...Why.”
Rose spoke, as if possessed.
“Did you not debut as a pianist?”
As Sophia blinked, looking bewildered by Rose's question, Agatha shouted Rose's name in a high-pitched voice.
“That's a compliment, right?”
The sight of Sophia asking back with an awkward smile gave Rose a sense of misery that was difficult to describe.
Did this woman not even know what she possessed?
How... how could she possess what Rose had craved her entire life, yet be satisfied with simply letting it drift away in a noble's drawing room, in front of people who didn't even know how incredible it was?
“You... play the piano more beautifully than anyone I have ever seen.”
“Oh, Rose, really.”
At the compliment Rose stammered out, fighting back the nausea in her stomach, Sophia burst into laughter as if she had heard something amusing.
“Well, His Majesty King Catherine did say my playing was the best. But she dotes on me so much that I shouldn't take it literally. Since Rose is being sincere, it makes me feel quite happy.”
The more Sophia took all of this in stride, the more suffocating it became.
“Rose!”
Just as Rose was about to speak again, Agatha's shrill voice rang out once more.
Seeing the attention shift toward her, Agatha seemed to have shouted unconsciously.
However, her embarrassment was brief; as a lady of Orturan, she immediately cleared her throat and wore a composed smile.
“Would you mind coming down to the first floor with me for a moment? Mrs. Selma asked me to check if everything was prepared for the dinner, and I've only just remembered.”
Mrs. Selma was the housekeeper of the Crawford estate. As a skilled housekeeper responsible for everything in the mansion, there was no way she needed such a check, but Rose silently followed Agatha.
Sure enough, as soon as they descended the stairs, Agatha began to scold her in a low voice.
“Rose, where on earth do you put the things I tell you! Didn't the discussion about 'professions' end this morning? A pianist! Are you telling Mrs. Greenwood to become a clown?”
The dream Rose had wanted to achieve her whole life could be an insult to someone else.
Rose spent all her strength enduring a misery and insignificance she couldn't even properly explain, and thus could not even respond to Agatha.
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