Obituary [15th Revised Edition] C8

Chapter 8

But still…

It was she who had yielded to those trivial words—married into this insufferable foreign land—and now sat in a mansion where even a single drawing room was several times larger than her entire home back in Bolton.

In the end, her mother had won.

There wasn’t anything else I could have done anyway.

With that familiar thought, Rose brought her unwelcome memories to a close.

Because of the chronic tendinitis that plagued her, she could never debut as a pianist. And just as her mother had confidently declared, she had been told definitively that composition was not her path either.

After that, all will and passion she had for life disappeared.

So choosing this marriage had been half resignation—and half stubborn defiance. A desire to see whether her mother had been right… whether this truly would become the greatest choice of her life.

“Come to think of it, Sophia—you haven’t played the piano for us in quite a while. Why don’t you play something?”

Beth’s cheerful voice cut through her gloomy thoughts and pulled Rose back to reality.

Judging by her slightly awkward tone, Beth had clearly decided to steer the conversation away from Bolton at all costs.

“Why don’t you play first, Beth? I’m curious how effective Miss Gordon’s passionate teaching has been.”

“Oh, Sophia… You know I’m playing after you. That’s just setting me up for humiliation.”

Beth’s sincere grumbling softened the tense atmosphere in the drawing room, drawing laughter from those present.

“Hm. What difference does it make whether you play after Lady Greenwood? You might as well go first.”

Ray Crawford tilted his head slightly as he interjected in a flat tone.

“Ugh, seriously!”

Beth snapped in irritation.

Seeing him smirk at his younger sister felt strangely unfamiliar.

He was always the same—everything about him, from his attire to his emotions, remained constant. It often made one wonder if he even had feelings at all.

Yet occasionally, when teasing his sister, he appeared almost… normal.

“No, Beth. It’s worth trying. Sophia hasn’t been playing much lately. Every morning I place sheet music on the stand, but she ignores it.”

Count Greenwood joined in with a surprisingly serious tone.

“He acts like I’m some kind of piano machine. Always telling me to play. Even my brothers weren’t this demanding.”

“That’s because I enjoy hearing you play. Why let such talent go to waste?”

His affection practically overflowed, as if it might spill onto the floor.

Unlike Agatha and Ray—who clearly didn’t consider piano an important part of life—Count Greenwood genuinely loved his wife’s playing.

Once again, memories of her mother crept into Rose’s mind—the woman who grew uneasy, even displeased, the more Rose devoted herself to the piano.

The existence of Sophia Greenwood—this beautiful, radiant woman—stirred something within Rose in a way she did not welcome.

“Sophia doesn’t even need sheet music anyway.”

So it was true—she really was that skilled.

“Rose, do you play the piano too?”

Sophia turned to her with a light smile.

“…I can only read sheet music.”

Thankfully, no one from the Crawford family added anything this time.

If someone had mentioned again that she used to teach children, she felt she might not be able to endure it.

“We should play together sometime! There are so many good duets.”

Sophia replied brightly, smoothing her skirt as she stood and walked toward the piano.

“Wow… It’s been a while since I’ve played the Crawford piano.”

She gently caressed it, as though greeting an old friend.

“Hmm, what should I play?”

After testing a few keys, she turned to Rose.

“Rose, do you know any pieces? I’ll play whatever you like.”

There had once been many—pieces she knew, pieces she loved.

But now, nothing came to mind.

Perhaps she didn’t want to remember.

“…Nothing in particular.”

At her dry response, Agatha’s expression stiffened slightly, her gaze sharpening as if in warning.

Rose wondered what she had done wrong.

Should she have answered more elaborately? Or perhaps—even if music wasn’t meant to be a profession—knowing at least one piece was considered basic refinement here?

“Really? Then I’ll play one of Agatha’s favorites.”

Sophia simply smiled and placed her hands on the keys.

The first soft note flowed out, followed by a languid melody that filled the drawing room.

As soon as Rose recognized the piece, the rhythm shifted into something lively.

An exotic dance in the style of the Planto Kingdom flowed effortlessly from Sophia’s fingertips.

While others listened with relaxed smiles, Rose sat frozen in shock.

The piece possessed both poetic elegance and lively brilliance—but its difficulty was terrifying.

That she could play it was astonishing enough.

That she had it memorized was unbelievable.

With her worsening tendinitis, Rose couldn’t even perform it at its original tempo anymore. Her hands no longer moved like that—could no longer move like that.

Sophia played through the ornate middle section—filled with dazzling arpeggios and trills—without a single mistake.

Effortlessly.

Lightly.

As if it were nothing.

As if it required no effort at all.

It was the most beautiful performance of the piece Rose had ever heard.

Overwhelmed by a beauty and perfection beyond comparison, she found herself unable to even breathe.

Each note Sophia played revived something hollow within her.

She couldn’t help but think—

If she had been able to play like this… would her mother still have opposed her?

If she had possessed this level of skill… would her entire life have been so easily denied?

Even when Sophia struck the final staccato and applause filled the room, Rose couldn’t move a single finger.

“Rose.”

Beth called her quietly, noticing her stillness.

Only then did Rose come back to her senses and manage a few clumsy claps.

“What did you think?”

Sophia stepped away from the piano, smiling warmly.

What did she think?

“…Why…”

Rose spoke as if entranced.

“…didn’t you debut as a pianist?”

Sophia blinked in surprise, and at the same moment, Agatha called out sharply—

“Rose!”

“That… was a compliment, right?”

Sophia asked awkwardly with a small laugh.

Her reaction filled Rose with an indescribable sense of misery.

Did this woman not even realize what she possessed?

How could she have something Rose had longed for her entire life—and be content to let it fade away in a drawing room like this, among people who didn’t even understand its value?

“You… play more beautifully than anyone I’ve ever heard.”

Sophia laughed lightly at Rose’s halting praise.

“Oh my, Rose…”

“Well, His Majesty King Catherine did say my playing was the best—but he’s always been fond of me, so I shouldn’t take it too seriously. But your words sound sincere, so I’m happy.”

The more casually Sophia treated it all, the harder it became to breathe.

“Rose!”

As she tried to speak again, Agatha’s sharp voice rang out once more.

Realizing everyone’s attention had turned, Agatha quickly regained her composure and smiled gracefully.

“Would you come downstairs with me for a moment? Mrs. Selma asked me to check if everything is ready before dinner—I just remembered.”

Mrs. Selma was the housekeeper of the Crawford estate.

There was no real need for such a check—but Rose silently followed Agatha anyway.

As expected, the moment they descended the stairs, Agatha began scolding her in a hushed but sharp voice.

“Rose, what on earth have you been listening to? Didn’t we finish discussing ‘professions’ this morning? A pianist? Are you suggesting Lady Greenwood should become some kind of entertainer?”

The dream Rose had longed for her entire life—

Was, to someone else, an insult.

Unable to even explain the humiliation and smallness she felt, Rose remained silent, using all her strength just to endure it.