OB C6

Chapter 6

When Rose had asked how such a mismatched marriage could even be possible, her father had said it was because she could be politically useful to the Crawfords.

She hadn’t cared enough to ask further at the time.
But now, after everything, she found herself wondering—what kind of help could she possibly offer that this refined family had agreed to accept her?

After spending a month in Orturan, one thing was clear:
her existence was closer to a political burden than any kind of asset.

A servant who had picked up the fallen napkin returned with a fresh one. Only then did Agatha seem to regain her composure, smoothing over the confusion that had been plainly written across her face.

“Yes… you were in special circumstances…”

She unfolded the neatly pressed napkin and took a deep breath.

“That’s right. It was admirable. In such a situation… yes, it couldn’t be helped. You did something brave and commendable. It must not have been easy.”

Her attempt to tidy up the situation with moralizing words—like a school principal—was almost pitiable.

Not easy?
Teaching children who whined after practicing twice was far easier than understanding—or enduring—this situation.

Suddenly, Rose remembered something her late mother had once shouted:

“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity has come to you, and you don’t even realize how great it is! You actually think you can refuse it? I must have raised you wrong—this is my fault!”

When Rose had tried to reject this marriage, her mother had looked at her like she was insane.
That expression—like she was staring at a stranger, a monster—was something Rose would never forget.

Was there really something wrong with her, just as her mother and Agatha seemed to think?

“But from now on, it would be best not to mention such things,” Agatha continued. “Your situation has changed. Beth, you must also watch your words. And Rose, do not share just anything with Beth simply because you’re family. As you can see, she’s still young.”

That was exactly the problem.

Rose couldn’t understand why something as simple as having taught piano in the past was considered something that must not be mentioned.
She hadn’t committed any crime.

The things these people accepted as common sense felt foreign and difficult to her.

“I didn’t realize having a profession was such an issue,” Rose said before she could stop herself. “Even Lord Crawford works as a minister.”

The moment she spoke, Agatha’s napkin slipped from her hand again.

“Rose… what are you saying? A profession?”

Her face twisted with shock and horror, as if Rose had insulted her son.

Rose, startled in turn, dropped her cutlery.

“That is service!” Agatha snapped sharply.

Servants rushed forward to clean up the fallen utensils. It was the busiest they had been since Rose arrived at the estate.

“Do you think Ray spends his valuable time involving himself in politics for his own benefit? Or for money? For such trivial sums?”

Agatha spoke patiently, as though explaining something to a poorly educated child.

“It is service to this nation. And it is our duty.”

The table was already restored—clean napkins, spotless silverware—as if nothing had happened.
The servants had completed everything so quietly and efficiently that it felt almost oppressive.

“Rose, let us not speak of this again.”

With a deep sigh, Agatha firmly ended the conversation.

“No matter what kind of life you lived before—forget it. Live as though it never existed. You are now a Crawford. Your past no longer exists, and there is no need to speak of it to anyone.”

Rose had once thought the same.

That she had abandoned everything from her previous life.
That she would simply live as instructed from now on.

But every time people reacted with shock to her natural words and actions, she was reminded—she had not erased her past at all.

“Remember this, Rose. Bolton—and everything that happened there—no longer exists.”

Those cold, piercing blue eyes—so much like Ray Crawford’s—stared at her, demanding an answer.

“…Yes.”

Even in that single word, she could hear her own foreign accent—an unmistakable trace of an outsider she could not hide.

How could she possibly erase something that still lived so vividly within her?

Satisfied with her answer, Agatha finally accepted the dessert brought by the servants.

“Elton, prepare the piano in the drawing room. Lady Greenwood will surely wish to play.”

Her tone had softened considerably.

Only then did Rose recall—there were two pianos in this vast mansion.
One near Beth’s room, and one in the drawing room.

The one in the drawing room was always covered, as if no one ever used it.

Then why was it there in the first place?

Only now did Rose begin to wonder about the owner of that untouched piano.“My apologies for the late introduction. I’m Sophia Greenwood.”

A woman with peach-like rosy cheeks smiled brightly at Rose.

Even before meeting her, Rose felt as though she already knew everything about Sophia—Agatha and Beth had spoken of her endlessly.

The beloved daughter of the Duke of Harland.
Three older brothers.
Married to the Earl of Greenwood.

Beautiful, intelligent, kind, bright.
Loved by everyone.
An excellent pianist.

“I’m so relieved to meet someone my age! All my friends either married abroad or live far away.”

Her thick, glossy curls bounced softly as she spoke, her black hair shining beautifully against her flushed cheeks.

Though only a year younger than Rose, she felt entirely different—
a married woman with two children already.

“And Beth is too young to play with,” Sophia added in a conspiratorial whisper, giggling.

Despite meeting for the first time, Sophia showed no sense of distance at all.
Rose didn’t know how to respond.

More astonishing was that Sophia didn’t seem to mind Rose’s silence.
The conversation continued effortlessly even though Rose had said nothing beyond “hello.”

“But honestly—how did you manage to marry someone like Ray? That’s amazing. I could never.”

Sophia casually linked arms with her, bold and familiar.

Rose was startled—once by her boldness, and again by the ease with which she called her husband by name.

“If Agatha heard me, she’d scold me… but Ray is so boring, isn’t he? He’s always been like that.”

Then she casually mentioned her mother-in-law by name as well.

Rose recalled the warm smiles that had spread across the faces of Agatha and the servants the moment Sophia had entered the estate.

They had looked like entirely different people.

The servants were always respectful toward Rose—but distant.
Wary.

As if concerned that this foreign duchess might bring harm to the household.

It was strange how the people working here seemed to share the same pride and attachment to the Crawford family as its members.

Sometimes, it felt like the Crawfords belonged to them just as much.

Back in Bolton, when she worked as a church accompanist, she had never felt any such attachment.

It was a feeling she could not understand.

Meanwhile, Sophia greeted the servants warmly, like long-lost relatives.

Even Ray Crawford—normally cold as a winter storm—briefly smiled.

Just as Beth had said, Sophia was someone deeply cherished by the Crawford family.

“When I was four and Ray was… what, eleven? He used to scold me for whining. Can you imagine? Scolding a four-year-old!”

Rose couldn’t.

Not even with all the imagination she had from Bolton—

she simply could not picture eleven-year-old Ray Crawford