No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 40

The boat glided forward smoothly.

Unlike on land, there was no designated seat of honor. The Queen was soon surrounded by people.

Edgar, always watching for his chance, was clearly trying to work his way closer to her.

I quietly stepped aside.

Though the boat had open areas for sightseeing, it also had private rooms designed for more intimate conversations.

I had no desire to admire the river. Instead, I looked for a quiet space to be alone.

Below deck, a wide hallway stretched out. Several doors led to private rooms.

Since the cruise would only last a few hours, there were no nameplates on the doors. Still, each doorknob had a neat little Do Not Disturb sign hanging from it.

It was a small but thoughtful detail—very Josephine.

“Countess Linton.”

I was just about to slip into a quiet room when a low voice stopped me.

My hand still resting on the doorknob, I drew a deep breath.

“Lord Ricardo.”

He had looked so composed while escorting the Queen, but now, his usually neat hair was slightly tousled.

“So I didn’t miss you after all.”

The disheveled hair was proof—he’d been looking for me in a hurry.

“Everyone’s desperate for a word with the Queen. I doubt anyone else came down here besides us.”

“I just needed a break,” I replied.

Truthfully, I just wanted to be far from him.

To be honest, I understood what kind of feelings Ricardo had for me—but not why. And that confused me.

Kindness, for me, had always felt like a burden. Something I had to shake off before the other person grew tired.

With others—Penelope, Margaret, Josephine—I could understand the reasons behind their goodwill. There was always a clear motive.

Penelope wanted work, and she wanted Ricardo’s friendship. I gave her that, in exchange for her talents.

Margaret was simpler. Her father, Baron Artois, had bought his title, and she was his illegitimate daughter. That couldn’t have been an easy life.

No matter how I felt about Sarah, I could understand Margaret’s need to cling to anything that might lift her status.

Josephine, who lacked for nothing, probably saw me as a bit of spice in her otherwise predictable days. A welcome distraction.

But Ricardo’s affection made no sense. And because we were so similar… that made it harder.

I hated myself. I despised who I was.

If someone like me appeared in someone else’s body, I wouldn’t feel fondness—I’d feel revulsion.

Admiration, friendship, affection—whatever he thought this was, I already knew how it would end: with me alone, again, in an empty place.

It was something I’d accepted from the start. I knew I needed the kindness of others—for now. But I also knew not to grow used to it.

I drew lines, careful ones, to protect myself. But when the time came… it would still hurt. Deeply.

Because knowing pain doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.

“I knew it,” Ricardo said. “I knew you wouldn’t be intimidated by the Queen. I saw it before anyone else did.”

His voice was full of pride. My chest ached, but I ignored it and frowned.

His affection came out of nowhere—like someone had snapped a branch clean in half.

“Count Linton didn’t surprise me, either. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t bring her along this time. Maybe that’s what we call progress.”

Ricardo spoke casually, as if this was just another day, another conversation.

I still hadn’t let go of the doorknob.

Even though I wasn’t responding or even looking at him, Ricardo didn’t seem the least bit offended.

“Her Majesty’s favor has nothing to do with you,” I said.

I meant to sound firm, but the words came out quieter than I intended—tired, even.

“I just wanted to congratulate you. As a friend.”

“We’re not friends, Lord Ricardo.”

Standing in front of him now, I realized—I had so many questions I wanted to ask.

Why did you introduce Penelope to me?

Why did you ask Margaret to help me?

Why did you send Sir Juan to check on me?

But I said none of them out loud.

“You seem pretty close with Lady Margaret,” he said.

“Funny. You’re not calling her Lady Margaret now. But it’s not my business. Thanks to you, I made a friend. I suppose I should say thank you, Lord Ricardo.”

Most people would’ve taken the hint by now—swallowed their pride and walked away.

“I apologize,” he said. “For getting involved without asking you first.”

That was enough to make me turn and face him.

“I honestly don’t understand why you care about me,” I said. “I’ve thought and thought about it. And I still don’t get it.”

Ricardo opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t bother. I already know what you’ll say. That you wanted to be my friend. But why? Why me? Your feelings—they’re going to fade. You know that. I know that you know it.”

He and I were the same.

If our hearts were clay jars, both of ours would be cracked at the bottom—no matter how much was poured in, it would never fill.

“There was no connection between us. For two years I lived as Countess Linton, and I never once heard your name. You probably didn’t know mine either. And then suddenly, you start caring.”

The words tumbled out, fast and breathless. I could hardly catch my breath.

“I don’t accept affection that comes without reason.”

“I already told you.”

Ricardo stayed calm. It was me who wavered again.

“That’s not enough. That’s exactly why I can’t let you get close.”

To my surprise, he smiled.

“That’s why, Countess Linton,” he said quietly.

Maybe I was the only one taking this seriously.

Or maybe that’s what happens when someone has gone too far into self-hate. You stop being afraid to lose anything at all.

Am I going to end up like him, too?

“It was luck, really—realizing I’m the same kind of person as you, Countess Linton.”

He had to be out of his mind.

“You’re starting to sound more and more unwell, Lord Ricardo. Maybe what you need is rest. Please, take the room.”

I opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

“You know what?” he said, stepping closer instead of through the doorway.

“Everyone up there—they don’t see me as a person. Whether their rank is higher or lower, it doesn’t matter. They treat me like an animal.”

I blinked.

“You knew, didn’t you? I figured you would.”

And yet, he carried himself with dignity—at least outwardly.

“At least,” he continued, “when you look at me—”

Ricardo raised his hand toward my face. It didn’t touch me.

His fingertips hovered in the air, brushing the space beside me before resting against the wall just above my head.

I was caught in the circle of his arm.

“In your eyes, I saw something familiar,” he said.

My lips parted, but before I could speak, he cut me off.

“It was pity. Frustration. That faint sting of self-loathing when you look at someone just as broken as you are.”

He stared into my eyes for a long time.

In his golden gaze, I could see myself—empty, hollow.

And he was seeing the same reflection in mine.

“That’s why,” he whispered, “you’re the only one who ever looked at me not as something less than human—but as a person.”

“A broken person,” I said quietly.

“Better a broken human than a flawless beast, isn’t it?”

“I disagree. I was ready to be the Queen’s cat if that’s what it took.”

Ricardo laughed and finally stepped back.

Even though the space around me was clear now, I still couldn’t move.

“That’s exactly why I admire you, Countess Linton.”

“You said being flawed was better. Shouldn’t you despise someone who’s willing to become a pet?”

“There’s no comparison between a beast that claws its way toward humanity and a human pretending to be a beast.”

Then, with almost absurd grace, the “beast” bowed and gently pressed his forehead to the back of my hand.

“A thank-you—for listening to the confession of a beast.”

And with that, he straightened, smoothed his hair back into place, and walked away from the cabin corridor.

The beast, wearing Lord Ricardo’s skin, vanished without a trace.

I looked down at my hand—at the place where his forehead had touched—and wrapped my other hand over it. I wasn’t sure whether to wipe it away.

Ahem.

The sound of a polite cough made me look up.

“Lady Margaret.”

“Cecilia,” she said, putting a finger to her lips.

“I sent everyone else back upstairs before they came down here.”

“How much did you hear?”

The coldness in my voice came naturally—something I hadn’t even managed with Ricardo.

“Nothing.”

She folded her arms across her chest, clearly reading the doubt on my face.

“Really—nothing. I saw you and the young lord together, so I stepped outside the corridor and stood watch.”

I let out a small sigh.

“Let’s go back up. If we stay hidden any longer, people will start asking questions.”

Margaret, with her practical thinking, was more attuned to situations like this than I was—even though I’d been Countess Linton for six months now.

“If anyone asks, just say you stayed with me because I was getting seasick.”

“You get seasick?”

“No.”

Margaret pointed to the ceiling.

“People up there think that’s exactly the kind of thing an illegitimate daughter of a baron would suffer from—so it works.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant the people above us on the deck—or the nobles who thought of themselves as celestial beings.

Probably both.

“That’s not fair to you, Lady Margaret.”

I had a duty—to pull her up with me.

Part of our unspoken agreement had been to help remove the stain of being Baron Artois’s illegitimate daughter. To give her the treatment she deserved—as an equal.

“So that’s why the young lord is clinging to you,” she said suddenly.

“He’s not clinging.”

I denied it reflexively.

Margaret didn’t smile. She just shrugged, like it wasn’t meant as a joke.

“Cecilia Linton,” she said. “You were born noble and live like one—but you act like someone who’s never once looked down on anyone.”

I was speechless.

She couldn’t have known how accurate that was.

I had lived my whole life feeling like a criminal. I didn’t know how to look down on others—I couldn’t.

“Be careful,” she warned.

“People like us—we see you for who you are, more clearly than anyone else.”

“People like us?”

“Me. And the young lord.”

We stepped onto the last stair leading back to the deck.

Just before emerging, Margaret dropped her expression and feigned a face twisted in seasick agony.

She was already acting.

And I—

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