“E sharp, Elena, E sharp,” the Duchess chided. “From the top!”

Elena groaned and did as her mother asked, the piece she was playing on the piano had been the hardest for her to learn, with changing tempos and some octave jumping. Rocío was tired of listening to the same six bars of music as she was failing miserably at embroidering the Estella family crest on a handkerchief. Her skills in embroidery were not exactly poor, but they were definitely not ideal for the project at hand, nor for what her skills should have been at her age. 

The haunting notes of the first six bars of the sonata were played for the nth time that afternoon, and again somewhere in the 7th bar that wrong note invaded the room, followed by a grunt from Elena and more chiding from the Duchess.

“Elena, please,” the Duchess groaned, “why do you keep missing the E sharp?” 

Elena grunted once more in exasperation. “How am I supposed to reach it? Who even wrote this?” 

“What does that matter?” Their mother shook her head. “Why aren’t you focusing?”

“It does matter! What if they had unusually long fingers? How could they expect the rest of us musicians to get it right?”

Rocío chuckled. “Elena’s right, Mother, what if they made it on purpose so no one could recite this piece?” Her tone was clearly meant to tease Elena.

“Exactly!” Elena missed the sarcasm once more. 

“Rocío, don’t encourage your sister’s wildish claims.” The Duchess rubbed the frown that was taking over her brows. “Move aside, Elena,” she then instructed and Elena stood from the piano stool to make way for her.

The Duchess sat down, making Rocío set down her mediocre embroidery and give her undivided attention. Elena stood next to the black grand piano with her arms crossed over her chest. 

The Duchess played the first bar, the second, the third, finally the seventh bar came and  went, the E sharp was an audible satisfaction of all three women and before long, the Duchess reached what could’ve been the twentieth bar, the two young ladies had stopped counting after the E sharp. 

“Were you paying attention?” The Duchess leaned back, her slender fingers lifting from the ivory keys. 

Elena nodded hesitantly. “How did you do it?” She hung her head.

“You have to be able to build up to the E, you tend to keep to the higher notes and when you have to make that change, you won't be able to reach it,” the Duchess explained. 

Elena rested her hand on her chin and slowly nodded. “So, what you're saying is–”

The door burst open, startling all three women and causing the needle that Rocío was embroidering with to stab her fore finger. Rocío sucked in a breath in pain and as she brought her finger to her mouth, she was startled once more.

“Rocío!” The voice of her father reverberated within the room. 

Rocío cursed under her breath and shut her eyes. It was much too early in the day to get scolded.

“Have you no sense of propriety?” He questioned, voice laced with poison. “Do you wish to make House Estella a house of fools?”

Rocío took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes, turning towards her father. He was red with rage, face twisted. Her wrist stung with the memory of the previous time he’d raised her voice at her.

“Good morning to you as well, Father,” she replied with a thin and forced smile, her voice as poised as she could manage.

His fists clenched and he groaned. “Do not jest with me, Rocío! Do you even know what sort of problem you've caused?”

Rocío furrowed her brows. The only thing she could think of that could cause her any trouble was her treatment of Lisandro, which she deemed not so bad as to warrant such a reaction. “To answer sincerely, no, I am not aware of how I've ruined the family reputation.”

“You really have no idea what I could've heard at the Man's Alliance?” The Duke rubbed his temple.

Rocío raised an eyebrow. “What would I know what men discuss in that lousy Tobacco bar?”

 “Lisandro de Aliso,” her father deadpanned.

She tilted her head after weaving the needle on the extra fabric outside of the embroidery hoop so she wouldn’t lose it. “What about him?” She raised an eyebrow. “You asked me to meet with him and I did.”

“You called him a gambler!” Again his voice vibrated in the room around them, the music room always had such great acoustics. “What was going through that thick head of yours?”

“I never called him a gambler,” she defended, “I simply made the observation that he had asked for Elena's hand and since there was no way that you'd let her marry such a scoundrel, you offered me instead. Then I mentioned his love of horses, was that so wrong?”

The Duke glared at her, his nostrils flared.

Rocío pouted, but the grip on her embroidery hoop tightened. “If he cares so much as to give all his emeralds to the horse races then he shouldn't have been so offended by it.”

“Rocío!”