No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 114

Ricardo, who had pulled me into his arms under the pretense of protecting me from a threat that hadn’t even appeared, stiffened the moment he heard the title “Duchess of Bastian.” Honestly, who was protecting whom at this point?

The man outside the carriage bore the lengthening silence with remarkable patience, while I struggled to pry Ricardo off me, as if he were clinging to me for dear life. It was like he was drowning and I was his last breath of air.

Not out of pity—never that. I wasn’t someone who had delicate emotions like that.

It was simply because Ricardo—this man who was usually such a master of performance—had genuinely forgotten to breathe, as if even that momentary act had slipped his mind.

“Ricardo.”

I gently ran my hand down his back. Eyes and ears were on us, but I abandoned the usual formal address of “Sir.”

“Ricardo, breathe. Open your mouth, inhale, then exhale slowly. I don’t care where you end up dying, but it better not be in my carriage. We’ve got two witnesses, you know.”

As far as I was concerned, that was genuine sincerity. I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head all day, but that didn’t mean he was important to me.

At least, I hoped it didn’t.

It was just that he was the only person who shared this strange, inexplicable phenomenon with me. And I needed to talk to someone about Cecilia.

I had to.

“That’s a pretty extreme joke for someone trying to calm me down, Lia.”

Still rigid as a board, Ricardo tried to overcome his fear with faith. Typical of a fanatic—clinging to false hope that I cared about him, just enough to stabilize his mind and body.

“It’s not a joke.”

I crushed his false hope coldly.

“To exaggerate a little, this is a disaster you brought upon yourself. The palace may have turned a blind eye to your knighthood and trying to stay in the Queen’s good graces, since it didn’t directly harm House Bastian. But now? You’re out of the palace, tailing a divorced woman around town. How well do you think that went over?”

Though I was physically trapped in Ricardo’s arms, my mind was completely free, and it didn’t take long to guess why House Bastian had suddenly summoned me.

He’d searched every corner of the capital like a man possessed, not even in a carriage—but on horseback—because I hadn’t told him where I was going today.

Instead of sending someone else like he usually would, he showed his face and loudly asked after “Lady Cecilia.” That rumor had obviously reached House Bastian.

Maybe one of the extended family members who already disliked Ricardo had gleefully carried the story back.

Or maybe a loyalist had earnestly reported that a bastard child was tarnishing the duchy’s reputation.

Either way, Ricardo’s actions today were more than enough to prove our relationship wasn’t just a fleeting piece of social gossip.

And since marriage was the domain of the lady of the house, it was no surprise that the Duchess of Bastian had personally requested to see me.

“You don’t have to come. She asked for me, not you. And with you there, it’ll only make things more awkward.”

“Ow…”

If he had enough energy to feign pain, he must’ve been feeling better. I gave him a gentle push.

He stayed there for a moment, forehead resting against my shoulder.

“You shoot a guy and then tell him you’re leaving? Even if you were arrested on the spot, it wouldn’t be an unjust charge.”

“Right. Because it’s totally fair to claim you’ve been shot when you haven’t even been hit.”

When I pushed him again, this time he finally let go. At least he had the decency not to get my shoulder wet with tears or whatever.

Elodie’s cries still rang faintly in my ears. If Ricardo had cried too, I really would’ve bolted without a second thought.

“If it were just the Duchess, fine—but there’s also that petty old man in the house. I can’t let you go in there alone.”

This whole mess may have been Ricardo’s doing, but he was a hopeless fanatic regardless. Sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen. I couldn’t really blame him for it.

Still, I would’ve felt better if the Queen hadn’t “fixed” him. The old Ricardo would’ve been easier to deal with.

“You really think the Duke would be so tactless as to insert himself in a matter between women? The moment I meet with the Duchess, suspicions are bound to explode. If the Duke’s there too, it’ll spiral out of control. He must know that.”

“That man’s never even seen tact, let alone used it. The fact that a bastard is running around is already a thorn in his side. Now imagine there’s a scandal with a divorced woman from a noble house that’s currently without a lord? I’d bet my entire fortune the Duchess had to personally step in to stop him from dragging you there himself.”

The Rosette carriage was plush, with padded seats and even a foldable table for light refreshments. But that didn’t change the fact that it was a carriage.

In other words, like Elodie’s house in the Old Quarter—it had terrible soundproofing.

So of course, everything I said—calling the Duke “that man,” saying he had no tact—had been heard loud and clear by the man waiting outside.

I peeked through the curtain to check on him. He was stroking his horse’s mane like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“If you’re really going, I won’t stop you. But promise me you won’t say a word, no matter what the Duchess says to me.”

We had no choice but to go together anyway. Ricardo had left his horse behind.

If I could’ve just tied him to the carriage until I finished my business, I would’ve. But Ricardo was too big—and too full of unwanted protective instinct—for that.

It wasn’t just his size or his misguided sense of duty that was the problem.

It was the fact that he was both.

“A duke who knows when to shut up would be nice too.”

Where I grew up, there were plenty of cult followers just like him.

Some of them even made the social pages. Back then, my only thought was: If they’re following a so-called god, how is that any different from organized religion? Why the public outrage?

It wasn’t until I met Ricardo that I finally understood why they made the news.

To deify a living person, you’d have to completely evict the logical part of your brain.

“That old man doesn’t even get sick? It’s one thing if he goes after the Duchess—but now he’s reaching for you too? Lia, you’re my only confidante. You’re as precious as a god to me. I can’t just let someone like the Duke of Bastian treat you like that.”

Behold, a truly exemplary fanatic. To call him the ideal form of religious zealotry wouldn’t even be an exaggeration.

House Bastian was a family so ancient and powerful that if the royal bloodline ever ended, it could establish a new dynasty.

Ricardo had made a deal with the Queen to forfeit his claim to the dukedom should he ascend—but the current Duke of Bastian still held that right.

And me? I was nothing more than the daughter of a count’s house without even a patriarch. If not for the Queen’s protection, House Rosette’s cadet branch would have already chosen a new heir and married me off to some lesser noble.

Any person with reason and logic would understand the enormous difference between our statuses. But Ricardo ignored all of that, stubbornly believing I was far more noble and worthy than the Duke of Bastian himself.

If only there were a way to muzzle that mouth of his, I would’ve done it without hesitation.

Half an hour went to calming Ricardo down, and another half was spent making him promise to stay silent no matter what outrageous things the Duke might say. And so, the man outside the carriage spent a full hour stroking his horse in wait.

By the time we were ready to depart, the horse’s mane was practically slick with polish from all that attention.

At least the horse got pampered. The palace guard who ended up playing chauffeur bore the full brunt of his frustrated ambition to impress the Queen.

Ricardo, busy fawning over just me, now had to march into the Duke’s mansion. Of course, the guard’s driving was sharp with tension.

“What a pompous bastard.”

“Ricardo.”

“Just wait, Lia. The moment that bastard steps through the gates of his manor, he’ll be dying to rant about how arrogant a mere bastard like me has become.”

“Says the man who treated him like dirt first. You’ve heard the saying: hatred runs deeper than love.”

“Lia, I’d rather you told me we’re riding a unicorn. That, at least, is something worth believing. We could even strap a fake horn onto a horse and call it one. But please, don’t ever think something that disgusting again.”

While I worked to drag the “ideal fanatic” back to the realm of ordinary fanatics, our carriage passed through the gates of the Duke’s estate.

And just like that, Ricardo’s chatter visibly waned. If the person beside him had been Margaret, he would’ve gently patted the back of her hand to help her stay calm. But for someone like him, that kind of gesture would only be poison.

I forced myself to rein in whatever emotion was pulling me toward him.

“Lady Cecilia.”

As the carriage came to a halt, the man outside offered his hand to escort me, stepping in before Ricardo—who was late to respond due to swallowing hard—could move.

Though it wasn’t yet fully dark, the entire estate of House Bastian was lit up as if it refused to tolerate even a corner of shadow.

When we first met, I was too shocked by unexpected news to pay attention. After that, I was too focused on calming Ricardo. But now that I saw him clearly, the man was surprisingly young.

Maybe just three or four years older than Justin—still quite boyish. Too young and inexperienced, I thought, for someone the Duchess would use as a personal errand runner.

“The Duchess usually takes her tea in the garden at this hour.”

“The garden?”

Not the parlor. Not even the terrace. The garden.

I’d heard that the Duchess of Bastian was in poor health. That she couldn’t bear children, and so, as penance for failing to provide an heir for this noble house, she was forced to tolerate her husband’s illegitimate child.

Though the season wasn’t cold, the air grew chilly once the sun dipped below the horizon.

If she truly cared about her health, no one would be drinking tea in such brisk evening air.

As I contemplated what this might say about the Duchess, Ricardo finally managed to get down from the carriage—only to push the young man aside and insert himself in his place.

“Send him back.”

He waved off the eager young guard who was adjusting his uniform with a flick of his chin and strode forward like he didn’t need an escort.

“I’ll find the Duchess myself. And if that man is still here when I return, there’ll be consequences.”

The young man endured Ricardo’s temper with a calm expression.

Ricardo clicked his tongue and muttered something like, “This is exactly why I hate that guy.” Clearly, the two were not strangers.

“You know him?”

“He was the one who found me… when I was living like a worm with my birth mother.”

A carefully crafted sentence. On first listen, it sounded like he was saying both he and his mother had suffered. But Ricardo made a point of putting her first—almost as if the one living like a worm was only himself.

“Lia, don’t judge him by his face. He looked exactly like that when he found me, too.”

Ricardo’s appearance surely played a significant role in him becoming the young duke.

He might’ve provoked envy in some men, but anyone would agree—his looks alone inspired trust.

The Marchioness of Frederica was captivated by that same face, and yet she had the nerve to tell me to look beyond appearances.

If Ricardo didn’t look like Ricardo, maybe my defenses would’ve been stronger. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should follow that advice going forward.

Of course, his face didn’t have that much sway over me.

Yes, it was startlingly handsome, and yes, he had the kind of physique to match. But what had truly caused my misjudgment… was his inner self.

Just then, Ricardo came to an abrupt halt, causing me to jerk backward as if pulled by an invisible rope.

“Ricardo?”

As I’d mentioned earlier, the Duke’s estate was so brightly lit it allowed no space for even a flicker of shadow—gardens included.

Which meant I could see, in perfect clarity, the flushed red of Ricardo’s ears and cheekbones.

Support