No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 101

Only immediate family and close relatives from both sides were invited to Margaret’s wedding.

Everyone already knew she’d enjoy a short honeymoon before becoming one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

This year’s debutante ball had been completely overshadowed—first by my divorce, and then by Ricardo’s dramatic and devoted display. The event itself barely received any attention.

Because of that, Margaret—who had never even gotten to be the star of her own debut because she wasn’t with the Artois family at the time—was now being praised as the newest darling of high society.

Viscount Damier was the kind of young man any noble family with an unmarried daughter would keep a close eye on.

And yet, not only did he openly declare his engagement to Margaret, but he also refused to dance with anyone else. That alone shattered the hopes of countless girls—and their ambitious mothers.

Many young ladies had set their sights on him with sincere intentions.

They had probably written Ricardo off as someone beyond their reach, and instead focused on the more realistic goal.

Sadly, half the gentlemen at the debutante ball were older bachelors best avoided, and of the rest, most were handsome but shallow men hoping to marry up and become sons-in-law with status but no substance.

Once you filtered through all of that, only two names remained as worthy bets in the marriage game: Viscount Damier and Ricardo. And both were already taken.

Although really, putting Ricardo in the same category as the Viscount might be doing the Viscount a disservice.

At least Viscount Damier had secured a mutually beneficial relationship—neither he nor Margaret had anything to lose.

Ricardo, on the other hand, was like a fish that had jumped into a pond I hadn’t even opened. Then he insisted I either boil him or fry him—whichever I preferred. A clueless fish demanding I serve him on a plate.

If he had asked to be kept as decoration, I might’ve understood. With a face like his, that would’ve made sense. But the way he was practically offering himself up to be cut open was so absurd, I didn’t even know how to respond.

Regardless, everyone wanted to be invited to Margaret’s wedding.

The old days, when people sneered at her for being Baron Artois’s illegitimate daughter, were conveniently forgotten. Now, they couldn’t stop saying how they always knew she would go far.

I had the honor of receiving my invitation directly from Margaret. But she made one thing very clear.

“Do not bring Sir Ricardo as your partner.”

Margaret had been absolutely firm about it.

Honestly, I wanted to promise her that I wouldn’t. But knowing Ricardo’s stubbornness, I was afraid I’d make a promise I couldn’t keep.

Even when Viscountess Damier clucked her tongue in disapproval, Margaret stood her ground. And when I didn’t hook pinkies with her and promise, she walked off in a huff—ranting that Ricardo must’ve already pulled something sneaky behind the scenes.

Out of respect for her, I didn’t ask Ricardo to come with me.

I didn’t even ask whether he’d gotten an invitation.

The Queen lent me a carriage that was far too luxurious—almost embarrassingly so.

At first, I thought Penelope had gone overboard with the dress she made me. But when I saw the carriage, everything made sense.

The Queen must’ve shown Penelope the carriage ahead of time and told her to make a matching gown.

Using the same charm that had lured in Ricardo, the Queen had turned her playful tricks on Penelope too.

If Penelope had simply been dazzled by the Queen’s power, that would’ve been fine. But the real issue was that the Queen had used me as the bait to draw her in.

Penelope knew the Queen wasn’t as kind or down-to-earth as the rumors said. Still, she somehow decided it didn’t matter—as long as the Queen treated me well, everything else could be overlooked.

Even this dress, which I had to wear, had been planned entirely with the Queen. Penelope presented it to me like a surprise, without asking my thoughts.

It reminded me too much of Ricardo—coming to me after a private meeting with the Queen, claiming he had a secret he couldn’t tell me, but that it was “all for my benefit.”

They really were alike in the strangest ways.

When Margaret finally moved into the palace, that strange trio would be complete. I needed to get to Nadon before that happened.

I wondered whether Ricardo had already talked to the Queen about sending me there—or if not, when he’d start making his case.

While I was lost in thought, the carriage passed through the gates of the Damier estate.

Compared to Marchioness Federica’s residence, Viscount Damier’s home felt less old-fashioned. And compared to the Linton estate, it was less extravagant. But it had a calm, refined beauty that neither of those homes could match.

The wedding was being held in the garden.

Through the curtain, I could see a large tree at the center, surrounded by flowering shrubs—an arrangement that quietly showed the family’s unwavering loyalty to the crown.

As the carriage came to a stop, even the low murmur of conversation in the garden went silent. All eyes turned toward me.

I waited for the coachman to open the door.

“Lady Cecilia.”

Instead, it was Ricardo who opened it.

It was such a perfectly predictable surprise that I didn’t even blink.

With a small sigh, I took his hand and stepped out.

“How did you get here?”

“I took a carriage.”

Ricardo casually pointed to a coach parked nearby, marked with the Bastian family crest.

I remembered how he used to attend events in rented carriages or ones that looked impressive but carried no family insignia.

Now, he was clearly and publicly claiming his place as a Bastian. Whatever the Duke truly felt inside, on the surface, he had stopped treating Ricardo as an outsider.

“Obviously you didn’t walk here,” I said. “I meant—where did you steal the invitation from?”

“Steal?” Ricardo repeated, looking offended. “Do I really seem like someone who’d do that? I’ll have you know, I didn’t steal it—I threatened Viscount Damier.”

“You should’ve just stolen it,” I muttered.

“If I’d done that and showed up under someone else’s name, Lady Margaret would’ve seen right through it and yelled, ‘This man is not Young Lord Garte! Get him out of here!’ the second she saw the guest list.”

That was true. The moment Margaret heard he’d snuck in, she would’ve burst out of the bridal suite to expose him herself. Still, the way Ricardo proudly boasted about threatening the groom wasn’t exactly… admirable.

“I see. So you were just very eager to congratulate Margaret on her wedding.”

I kept my tone light, wanting to avoid looking like I was laughing with him too easily. Everyone here might be close family or a high-ranking guest, but that didn’t mean they were blind. People were watching.

“It wasn’t for congratulations. I had a reason to be here.”

“Oh? You must be close with Viscount Damier, then. Though you say it was a threat, I can’t imagine the Viscount folding under pressure. Still, if you’ve finally made a friend other than Penelope, that’s great news.”

Ricardo’s expression clearly said no, even before his mouth could.

He was about to argue when Viscountess Damier approached us.

“Lady Cecilia, we’ve been waiting forever. We were running out of excuses to keep Mag locked up in the bridal suite. If you go to her now, it’ll save what’s left of her patience.”

Apparently, Margaret was already “Mag” to her soon-to-be in-laws.

As I stepped forward, Ricardo gently grabbed my arm, trying to hold me back.

“Sir Ricardo,” the Viscountess said, raising an eyebrow, “sometimes you must sacrifice the small for the sake of the greater good. If you don’t let Lady Cecilia go now, I may have to tell Daniel that I don’t plan to uphold our little agreement.”

Ricardo let go immediately, no questions asked.

I wanted to ask what sort of agreement he’d made with Viscount Damier, but the Viscountess pulled me away before I could even glance back at his face.

“Look over there, Lady Cecilia.”

She gestured toward the seating area. The guests were staring at me, their eyes practically sparkling.

“They’ve all been dying to get a moment with you. They tried to do the same thing with Mag, but she showed her temper early and gave them a piece of her mind.”

Margaret had never once shrunk back, even when people used to call her Baron Artois’s illegitimate daughter.

“In Mag’s words, you’re a bit too emotionally detached—so much so that you don’t even realize when you should throw a tantrum. For now, it’s best you stay by her side.”

“Is that your way of saying I should use Margaret as a shield, Madam?”

“Exactly.” The Viscountess smiled, like a teacher proud of a student for giving the correct answer.

“But this is her wedding day. She’s the bride, the star of the show. I can’t just use her as a shield. If anything, I should stick with Ricardo. He’s the Duke’s heir, and his usual scowl keeps people at a distance. They won’t approach him easily.”

I thought it was a reasonable, respectful answer. Weddings are more important to brides than to grooms, after all.

Whether Margaret’s marriage was for love or convenience, today was her moment. I wasn’t about to drag her into my mess on such an important day.

I figured the Viscountess, who clearly adored Margaret enough to call her “Mag,” would be touched by my thoughtfulness.

“If Mag heard you say that, she’d probably call off the wedding and storm out,” she replied coolly, the warmth from earlier gone in an instant.

“I won’t try to speak in place of your mother, Lady Cecilia, but know this—Margaret wouldn’t be getting married today if it weren’t for you.”

With that, the Viscountess left me alone in front of the door marked Bridal Suite and walked back into the garden.

I felt the now-familiar discomfort of having done something wrong again.

Just when I thought I’d finally learned how to act like a proper person, something always came along to remind me I still didn’t get it.

Trying to hide my gloom, I knocked lightly and opened the door.

“Margaret.”

“Cecilia!”

The Margaret I found in the bridal suite didn’t look anything like the serene, glowing bride I’d imagined. She stood with her arms crossed, glaring at her reflection in the mirror like it had personally offended her.

“Thank goodness you’re here. If you hadn’t come, I was about to storm out and scream at everyone for delaying the ceremony. Seriously, look at this dress. And this veil. How am I even supposed to walk in this thing?”

She tugged the veil down over her face and waved her hands in front of her.

“I can’t see anything. Or rather, I can, but it’s all blurry and white and it makes me want to scream. I told them I didn’t want to walk in holding Baron Artois’s hand, and they said fine—but now I have to walk in alone, and with this veil, I’m not even sure I’ll make it to where Viscount Damier is standing!”

Her frustration was so loud and so sincere that my earlier sense of defeat was blown right out the window.

“What if I walk up there, and I stop, thinking I’ve reached the altar, but it turns out I’m standing next to the Viscount’s uncle? Or his cousin?”

I poured her a glass of water and handed it over.

Margaret drank it all in one go—but it didn’t calm her down in the slightest.

“I didn’t even want to invite Baron Artois! I agreed to cut down the guest list, but apparently leaving out my biological father was just too far. Honestly, what has he ever done for me? The only thing that man contributed was—what? A fun night with my poor mother? And even that fun was one-sided! My mother’s soul was ripped apart while he was enjoying himself!”

And just like that, I found myself learning the truth of Margaret’s parentage… far more vividly than I ever expected.

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