No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 124

My feelings were complicated, but not to the extent that I would delay my planned schedule.

From the beginning, Margaret had never been more than that to me. So, surely, by the time I stepped down from the carriage, this emotional turmoil would vanish like a lie.

Though I was never good at lying—even to myself—I tried to deceive my heart. Margaret, of all people. I had warned her, after all.

I told her plainly: if she wanted to use me to gain a foothold in high society, I would gladly take her hand. But if she expected anything more than that, she would walk away empty-handed.

And yet, despite hearing that, Margaret still took my hand.

It was Margaret who persisted, unfazed, even when I rejected her kindness time and time again. It was Margaret who insisted on playing the part of a friend.

She was the one who ran here and there, offering help I never asked for.

“Was it because of Ricardo?”

It was entirely Ricardo’s fault that Margaret and I had witnessed Elodie’s condition—that she was pregnant.

Had he not lashed her to a horse she couldn’t even ride that day, perhaps Margaret wouldn’t have come to despise Elodie so much.

When I recalled how Margaret had clung awkwardly to the horse, nearly sprawled across it, the wound I had thought to be minor began to feel far deeper.

Looking back, it wasn’t so hard to understand why Margaret hated Elodie.

After all, Margaret herself had been born from the Baron of Artois’s infidelity. Her mother had raised her with love and care.

And yet, the Baron stole her away—and even then, he offered neither kindness nor decency.

Margaret never acknowledged the Baron of Artois as her father. She loathed him so much, she insisted on walking down the aisle alone on her wedding day.

Because of his foolish affair, mother and daughter alike had suffered disgrace and scorn.

So when she found out that Elodie wasn’t just Edgar’s mistress but also pregnant with his child, Margaret’s deep-rooted hatred had every reason to erupt.

She had lived the life of a bastard and could clearly envision what kind of future Elodie’s child would face. And to make things worse, I was caught in the middle of it all.

If Elodie had successfully given birth, that child would have ended up at the Linton estate.

It would’ve been cruel—to a child torn from their mother, and to me, forced to bear the evidence of my husband’s betrayal.

Whether Margaret admitted it or not, the Baron of Artois had gained reputation by aligning himself with the Viscount of Damier—her husband’s family.

The more the Damier household cherished Margaret, the more the Baron benefited, making Margaret herself a double-edged sword.

If she wanted to bring him down, she would have had to drag herself through the mud first. But the Viscount and Viscountess of Damier truly cared for her, and so she was in no position to act.

Had Elodie’s child been born, they would have shared a fate not so different from Margaret’s.

Even if the baby had been a boy, proud Edgar would never name a bastard as his heir. That child would have lived in silence, in the shadows.

Margaret’s fury must have stemmed from that very thought.

Knowing full well how she had survived—how could she feel pity for a woman like that?

Digging deeper, it was clear. To Margaret, what she considered a cherished friendship had been nothing more than a transaction to me. She couldn’t help but explode.

Even among bastards, Ricardo had been lucky.

He was born male. The Duchess of Bastian could no longer bear children.

And the Duke of Bastian had a strained relationship with the collateral branches of his family, so instead of choosing one of them, he opted to bring in a bastard.

Of course, it had only been possible because Ricardo so strongly resembled his grandfather.

The Duke might have considered other heirs at first, but with the Duchess taking the lead in pushing for Ricardo, he could hardly protest, lest his own sins be revealed.

There were rare lucky ones like Ricardo, or the king, but the world was made up of the many who were born with ordinary fates.

Margaret belonged to the majority, and to her, the idea of yet another bastard entering the world—even hypothetically—was intolerable.

“Young Lady, are you really going in alone?”

The burly servant Justin had forced upon me asked, concern written all over his face. I pulled back the carriage curtain and saw that we had already arrived at the Linton estate.

The gatekeeper, recognizing the Rosette family crest, was flustered—neither daring to open the gate nor block our way.

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to fetch the young master now?”

Despite being a large man himself, he kept fretting over Ricardo.

Justin had surely assigned him to me as a shield, just in case I faced any danger. Yet here he was, naively worrying about Ricardo instead of doing his job.

“Did Lord Ricardo pay you off or something? Was it more than your actual wages? If not, then I don’t understand why you’re ignoring the person who does pay you, just to go searching for Lord Ricardo.”

“N-no, not at all, my lady. The young master was just so concerned about you. Before you left, he made me promise to ask if you truly didn’t want him to come along. That’s all.”

The servant waved his hands defensively, insisting he was innocent.

So much for leaving Ricardo behind. His concern still hovered around me like an annoying fog.

Instead of meddling in things that didn’t concern him, he should be minding his own business.

Even as I grumbled, the ever-lingering image of Margaret finally began to fade, if only a little—and I sighed at how serious this all must be if even that brought me relief.

“Even if Edgar draws his sword, Lord Ricardo won’t be the one to take the blow for me.”

The servant nodded instinctively, but then glanced at me sideways, his doubtful eyes seeming to ask, “Edgar doesn’t have the guts to start a knife fight and end up splashed across the front page of the papers just to vent his misplaced rage. At worst, you might end up taking a cup or two thrown your way.”

“The Count would throw things?”

“He had that habit even before the divorce, so I’d imagine so. If you don’t want to get hit, you’d better catch them properly.”

“I’m good at catching things, my lady… but still, I really think we ought to bring Lord Ricardo.”

Ricardo was one of those rare men of large build who didn’t seem sluggish—but this servant? He might as well have been a wall.

I began to wonder if it wasn’t just his size that was thick.

“Lord Ricardo said, since he couldn’t come himself, I’d be going in his place—and that if you so much as tripped over a pebble, you’d blame me for it. A pebble might only scrape your knee, sure, but if I missed even one of the Count’s flying teacups…”

The servant shivered violently. Despite being built like a bear, he looked genuinely terrified, which suited him poorly.

Justin had given up on his dream of knighthood, but surely he picked up a thing or two from Lord Juan. If this was the best he could do—assigning me a bodyguard based on brawn alone—I might need to reconsider his role as steward altogether.

I ought to hire an experienced tutor to train Justin in assessing people better. In this world, being a steward was a respectable enough profession. There might even be a shadowy sort of “steward prep course” offered somewhere.

“Then don’t miss. Catch everything.”

I left the wide-eyed servant standing there and tapped on the roof of the carriage.

With that signal, the coachman snapped the reins, and the previously hesitant gatekeeper, now alarmed by the charging horses, flung the gates wide open.

When we arrived at the front steps, I stepped down. The servant, who had briefly lagged behind, came panting up to catch up.

I waited until he was close and then jerked my chin toward the bell.

Still catching his breath, he pulled the cord. If he’d had any breath to spare, I’m sure he would’ve grumbled his complaints. His eyes were pitiful. I ignored them completely.

There was no steward at the Linton estate—only the head maid. What was her name again? Ah, yes. Susan.

She had once handed me the Linton family’s ledger and helped me piece together where Edgar’s suspicious wealth might have come from.

“Susan.”

The stern-faced head maid’s expression twitched briefly, and she reflexively crossed herself. Her piety hadn’t changed, it seemed.

“I sent word to the Count, but I’m not sure if he’s prepared for you.”

Thankfully, Susan had not been suspected of colluding with Lord Juan, Martha, or Justin during their ousting.

She had always maintained the same distant manner with both Edgar and me, save for the one time she revealed the family books.

It was her indifferent personality that allowed her to catch Edgar’s eye and become the head maid here in the first place.

“The master is in the study.”

Now composed, Susan treated me like a guest. It was her way of being considerate—not calling me milady.

“The study? Did he pick up a hobby of reading after the divorce? I suppose with everything going on outside, he needed something to focus on.”

I followed Susan toward the drawing room. It was strange to think I had once lived here—not long ago—because now, every corner felt unfamiliar.

The décor hadn’t changed. The interior remained as it was when I’d had it redesigned for a banquet.

But the carpet was visibly scuffed, as if it had suffered from heavy stomping. The cabinets bore deep dents, like they’d been struck with a blunt weapon.

Some walls still bore soot marks, perhaps from the fire Lord Juan had once set.

The divorce happened weeks after the blaze, and yet the house had clearly not been repaired. What had he been doing all this time?

The answer was obvious: Edgar had been venting his fury within the house, since he couldn’t unleash it elsewhere. There was no point repairing it if he intended to wreck it again anyway.

And now, he didn’t even have a new source of money.

“I did receive your message… though I didn’t really expect you to come.”

Susan opened the door to the drawing room with an apologetic expression. The room was, in a word, a disaster.

It looked like someone had made a half-hearted attempt to clean up, but this was no job for a couple of maids.

“Seems like Edgar couldn’t stand the sight of this place.”

Now that I thought about it, the drawing room was where Ricardo and I had often met.

Edgar already disliked Ricardo enough, and now that Ricardo had even testified against him, it was a wonder the room still existed at all. I suppose, in that sense, Edgar had shown some restraint.

For someone like him, that was impressive. Tearing down the room completely would’ve meant rebuilding the house, and he no longer had the means to do that.

“Call another maid. Susan, go back to your work.”

When she tried to serve me tea herself, I gently stopped her. With a sigh, she confessed that she was the only servant left in the mansion.

“No footmen either?”

“The master dismissed them all. I was allowed to stay because I served the family since the previous generation.”

“And you’re managing this whole estate by yourself?”

“I do my best, but… well, as you can see, it’s a shameful state.”

Just then, a loud voice called out for Susan from upstairs.

The tone, groggy like someone freshly awoken, still boomed through the house, echoing insistently.

“So much for being in the study.”

“Yes. He was sleeping.”

Susan shook her head apologetically and headed upstairs, following the echo of her name.

Meanwhile, the servant began gathering anything that could be thrown and hiding it behind himself.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to hide anything the Count might toss.”

Thanks to his passionate effort at concealment, the drawing room was slowly becoming tidier.

I reached for the tea Susan had poured, but set it down again when I noticed the dust kicked up by the servant settling on its surface.

Then, with a crash and clatter, Edgar finally appeared.

“You dare come here?”

His once-handsome face was buried beneath messy stubble. The man standing there looked more like a drunken beggar than the noble he used to be.

then does that mean I’m the one who’ll be stabbed?

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