No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 41

I supported Margaret as she walked, her hand covering her mouth like she might throw up at any moment.

Since the Queen was positioned at the bow, few people were paying attention to us.

Isla was mingling with a group of young ladies.

I couldn’t see Edgar, but I was sure he was hovering somewhere near the Queen.

Ricardo, unsurprisingly, had managed to position himself closest to her. Like a clever pet, he entertained her with well-timed charm and made her laugh.

He was taller than most by at least two heads, so it wasn’t as if I had to search hard to see him.

Not that I had been looking.

But given that he had pulled me into his little game, that excuse didn’t hold much weight.

“Is Lady Margaret feeling unwell, Sister?”

I was quietly guiding Margaret under the shade of a parasol when Isla called out, stopping me.

Apparently, Ellen’s harsh words still lingered in her memory.

There was a sharp edge in her voice when she addressed me.

“For someone as important as you to be helping her walk—Lady Margaret really does have a talent for overstepping boundaries.”

On the surface, it sounded like praise. But in truth, she was trying to paint me as arrogant.

If I took the compliment at face value, I’d come across as someone too full of herself—even disrespectful to the Queen.

“It’s not ideal, but let me say this as your older sister, Isla. There’s only one person of real importance on this boat—Her Majesty the Queen. I understand your desire to show off your sisterly love, but a proper lady should learn to think deeply and speak thoughtfully.”

The group Isla had joined was made up of young girls.

They had likely come along with their mothers and were giddy with excitement at the chance to catch even a glimpse of the Queen.

Their chaperones kept them in line with strict, watchful eyes, barely keeping their enthusiasm under control.

“And I’d think it’s common sense not to hold up someone who’s struggling with seasickness,” I added.

The young girls lit up with anticipation—like they were about to witness a full-blown sibling quarrel.

The Countess Rosette had always guarded her reputation like fragile glass.

Unfortunately, Isla hadn’t inherited that caution.

Like me, Isla had no close friends.

But where I had been shaped by isolation and restraint, Isla seemed simply uninterested in having them.

Which meant the young girls didn’t feel the need to choose sides. They could just sit back and enjoy the drama from a safe distance.

“Oh, so Lady Margaret is seasick? She should rest then. I had no idea until you said something, Sister. It’s not like we go on boat rides all the time, but still, people like us get trained from a young age, just in case we ever travel.”

Isla was trying to gain their approval.

The girls nodded, not quite sure if it was true, but unwilling to challenge it.

“And you, Sister? Are you feeling alright?”

Isla reached out, brushing my arm with mock concern.

“It’s your first boat ride too, isn’t it? Don’t overdo it. You only just recovered your health. If you collapse again, Count Linton will be so worried.”

The girls began whispering among themselves.

They were at an age where gossip held real power.

Noble families who wanted to maintain their image raised daughters like delicate greenhouse flowers.

They interacted only with approved friends, and weren’t allowed out without a special reason.

So now, given the chance to witness the subjects of real-life rumors, their restraint was hanging by a thread.

Rumors like this: the eldest daughter of the Rosette family was once called the very image of a madwoman. That before she became Countess Linton, she had lived half-imprisoned in the Rosette estate.

I’d only recently learned of those rumors from Martha.

She said she hadn’t told me sooner because she worried, I couldn’t handle it—or, later, because I had kept my distance and she’d never had the chance.

“Is it true you’ve never been on a boat before, Countess Linton?”

One particularly brave girl asked boldly.

“Our mother worried so much about her,” Isla cut in quickly.

“As far back as I can remember, she was always frail. Even when her condition improved, she refused to leave the house. One of the doctors Mother brought in said her illness wasn’t physical—but something of the mind, something no ordinary medicine could cure.”

Her words could be interpreted in many ways.

Here, a “sickness of the mind” was a polite way of saying madness.

Even when it wasn’t true, that’s how most people took it.

“I’ve heard enough!”

Margaret, who had been playing the seasick patient all this time, suddenly lifted her head.

“If you truly don’t understand the reason Cecilia was unwell for so long, then you’re not even worthy of being her sister, Lady Isla!”

Isla was stunned by the sudden outburst.

“W-what did you just say?”

“How could any daughter possibly ‘get over’ her mother’s death? If my own mother passed away, I wouldn’t recover from that pain for the rest of my life. Are you saying you wouldn’t even shed a tear if Countess Rosette died?”

Margaret raised her voice on purpose, drawing attention from nearby onlookers—including the older ladies who had been seated far away.

“Cecilia is strong. She overcame a grief no doctor could heal.”

Isla looked around desperately, hoping for someone to support her. But the girls, easily swept up in emotion, had already pulled away and gathered tightly amongst themselves.

“Even your stepmother couldn’t heal Cecilia’s grief, could she? Everyone knows Countess Rosette is a gentle woman. If even she couldn’t replace Cecilia’s birth mother, that should tell you how deep the wound was!”

Margaret practically hissed as she pronounced “gentle Countess Rosette.”

It was quiet, but I heard it—because I was the only one standing close enough.

I looked toward the bow.

The Queen, seemingly uninterested in the commotion, remained absorbed in the scenery.

She had noticed, I was sure, but chose not to intervene.

It wasn’t serious enough to warrant her involvement.

Instead, she cast a subtle glance toward Edgar—silently nudging him to act.

He had been completely absorbed in the Queen. But the moment Edgar realized that the source of this insignificant commotion was his own family, he came running.

“Count Linton! That woman insulted my mother! Insulting Countess Rosette is no different from insulting your wife’s family!”

Isla clung to Edgar’s arm like he belonged to her.

The girls watching nearby—innocent and well-bred—wrinkled their brows in disapproval.

They had been raised with an almost rigid sense of propriety, especially when it came to relationships between men and women. Touching a married man, even one’s own sister’s husband, was considered incredibly improper.

But Isla hadn’t been taught these things.

Countess Rosette had likely never corrected such behavior—perhaps because of her modest upbringing.

The Estas barony had held on to its title for three generations, but its decline had been swift and obvious.

True refinement was hard to maintain without wealth.

Countess Rosette had jumped ship before her family completely sank. She mastered the outward appearance of nobility, hid her humble origins well, and became a gentle countess—but she had failed to raise Isla as a true lady.

Edgar firmly pushed Isla away.

“Count Linton?”

He walked straight to me and placed a protective arm around my shoulders.

“Lady Isla,” he said sternly. “You know my wife hasn’t been well. Why are you bothering her like this?”

Isla looked between the two of us in shock, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening.

From what I knew, Edgar had never liked Isla. And she was always intimidated by him.

Even so, Isla had firmly believed that when it mattered most, Edgar would defend her.

Now, she had just confirmed the suspicion that had long been growing in her mind—that perhaps there was some secret arrangement between Countess Rosette and Edgar.

And now, it had sprouted.

“I wasn’t fighting with my sister,” Isla insisted. “I just disagreed with Lady Margaret. But then she suddenly insulted my mother, and I couldn’t let that go.”

When she said my mother, she stared directly at Edgar.

“My mother is Countess Rosette, and the House of Rosette is Cecilia’s family. I’m her younger sister, so of course I had to speak up for her.”

If this had happened somewhere else, Edgar might have reacted harshly toward me. But even a large ship was still a confined space—surrounded by water, with nowhere to hide from watching eyes.

And most importantly, the Queen was here.

He hadn’t forgotten the good impression I had made on her.

“Lady Margaret, is this true?” he asked.

Right now, Edgar needed to act like the head of a respectable household.

That meant putting aside his usual disdain for Margaret—as the illegitimate daughter of Baron Artois—and treating her with dignity.

“Count Linton, you know I’m a friend of Cecilia’s. Surely, you’re not the kind of husband who doesn’t know who his wife calls a friend.”

Edgar shut his eyes tightly and nodded.

“I simply said that it took Cecilia a long time to overcome the grief of losing her mother—and that no one should blame her for it. How that could possibly be taken as an insult to the House of Rosette is beyond me.”

Margaret’s voice rang out across the boat—clear and composed.

Everyone who had gathered to watch stayed completely silent, not wanting to miss a word.

“Lady Isla,” Edgar said sharply, turning to her.

“I’ve always respected Countess Rosette’s choices, and out of consideration for Cecilia, I never interfered in how you were raised. But when we return, I’ll personally write a letter recommending a new tutor for you.”

“I already have a tutor!” Isla snapped, her voice rising.

“Then why are you out here alone, without her?” one of the young girls asked.

Isla finally realized the women standing just behind those girls were their private tutors and chaperones.

“And isn’t it strange that Countess Rosette didn’t come with you?” another girl added. “How could she leave Lady Isla entirely in Countess Linton’s care? Was she saying it’s okay for Countess Linton to miss the entire gathering just to watch over her sister? My mother would never do that.”

These girls may have looked like innocent flowers, but they’d been raised to be roses—with their thorns carefully hidden.

Isla looked around, desperately searching for an escape.

But she was on a boat.

There was nowhere left to run.

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