No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 49

I wrote a letter to Josephine.

I asked if she planned to visit Marchioness Federica’s estate soon and requested that she let me know when she did.

I admitted, without embellishment, that I wanted to grow noticeably closer to the Marchioness while Edgar was away but lacked the finesse to do so on my own. I needed her help.

Before sealing it, I reread the letter carefully to ensure I came across as honest and confident.

Josephine chose to support women who moved boldly forward not those who hesitated and second-guessed themselves.

I couldn’t afford to appear timid.

“I’m tired.”

My second life wasn’t turning out to be any easier than my first. Maybe Cecilia and I were more tightly bound than I thought.

It was because she resembled my mother that I decided to avenge her.

If I’d ended up in Isla’s body instead, I probably would’ve never entertained such a foolish idea as fulfilling someone’s dying wish.

“Don’t tell me Mom was reborn after death too…”

I shook my head, trying to cast off the absurd thought.

She had died for love, after all.

I had witnessed it up close. That intensity was enough to leave me vowing that even if I died, love would never be the cause.

If I had to add meaning to this nonsensical possession, maybe it was punishment—because I refused to shed the weight of the sins I committed.

I hadn’t paid the full price for my crimes while alive. So maybe heaven had decided that I didn’t deserve a peaceful death.

I folded the letter and placed it on a silver tray. I wasn’t sending it yet—only if I found myself truly stuck would I pass it along.

Until Penelope arrived with my dress, I wanted to take a stroll in the garden.

Unfortunately, the garden at House Linton was currently being stalked by a golden-eyed beast hunting his prey.

“Damn Ricardo.”

I cursed him out loud for no real reason.

“Of course, the damned guy shows up again.”

Just then, the window rattled open.

Using his long limbs with ridiculous grace, Ricardo vaulted over the terrace railing with ease.

I crossed my arms and glared.

“Not even a little startled? I was hoping for at least a gasp.”

“You made plenty of noise coming in.”

And it was true. I’d known from the start that Ricardo would climb through my window.

He had practically announced his arrival—stepping loudly on the bricks, making sure every rustle of his climb echoed through the wall.

“Still, when someone shows up through a window instead of the door, isn’t that normally a little shocking?”

“If you were a person, yes.”

I said with a sneer, though it did little to affect him.

He scratched his chin and perched himself on the railing.

“If a beast breaks in, you should at least blow a safety whistle or something.”

“If you were a beast, maybe I would’ve.”

That made it clear—he was neither human nor animal in my eyes.

“See? This is why I can’t stop thinking about the Countess of Linton.”

“I never caught you. You’re free. So use those two legs and walk yourself out.”

He chased after me like I was prey, yet had the audacity to act like he was the one caught in a trap.

“I’m still sick.”

He grinned like it was a joke.

“Try locking yourself away a bit longer.”

“I’ve gone three full days without food. Just like you said—no sunlight, sent the servants away.”

He didn’t look like someone who’d starved for three days.

Maybe a little drawn in the cheeks, but his handsome face hadn’t lost its allure—if anything, he now exuded a dark, almost decadent charm.

“If you have enough strength to scale a two-story wall, you can survive a few more days.”

Ricardo flinched slightly at my jab, swaying awkwardly on the railing.

“I’ve been holding on through sheer willpower. But I’m reaching my limit.”

“If you want, I can speed things up.”

It wouldn’t take much effort to push him off the edge.

He immediately dropped his act of dizziness.

“I’ve said all I needed to. I have nothing else to say to you, Lord Ricardo.”

He shrugged.

“Still sick, though.”

“I told you—it takes time.”

“I may not have power, but I am the heir to a duchy. I can’t follow the Countess of Linton’s prescriptions forever.”

This time, Ricardo was serious.

He truly seemed to want to be cured.

“Don’t people feel better after hearing from someone who’s recovered?”

He wasn’t wrong.

Our illness was rare—finding someone with the same affliction was like being struck by lightning.

Strictly speaking, Ricardo and I weren’t suffering from the same condition—just similar symptoms.

And once again, I’d unintentionally lumped the two of us together.

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the thought.

“It’s not contagious. You could at least help a little.”

I hesitated. Ricardo had suddenly flipped his stance.

Not long ago, he wanted me to accept him as one of my own.

Now he claimed he only wanted to follow my guidance and recover.

“Is this just another trick to get closer to me?”

“It’s a trick to figure out your cure faster, by getting close to the source.”

He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t being fully truthful either.

It was the kind of half-truth I used all the time—so I recognized it instantly.

The problem was that I couldn’t read Ricardo’s sincerity.

This wasn’t 50% lie, 50% truth. There was no lie at all.

Only varying intensities of truth.

But Ricardo, like me, was broken when it came to emotions. Which meant his inner workings weren’t easy to see.

People who weren’t broken—who still had those dangerous treasures called emotions—were easier to read, whether clear or clouded.

“So this isn’t some scandal strategy, hoping I’ll lean on you emotionally in public?”

“That’s a terribly tempting setup,”
Ricardo grinned like he was intrigued.

“But alas, the Countess of Linton beat me to it. Wouldn’t be fair to steal your clever little plan now, would it?”

I was getting sucked in again.
Whenever conversations with Ricardo went on too long, it became harder to distinguish between Cecilia and myself.

In those moments, I was the one facing Ricardo.

Even though I could barely remember my own original face, my stubborn efforts to feel alienated from the reflection in the mirror—Cecilia’s reflection—became completely useless.

“I want to get better before my formal visit to the palace.”

Ricardo hadn’t moved an inch from where he sat on the terrace railing.

And yet, like a fish trapped in a net, I couldn’t seem to get out from under his gaze.

Without even lifting a finger, he had me completely cornered.

“You’ve escorted Her Majesty before, haven’t you?”

There was no avoiding those golden-yellow eyes. I barely managed to steer the topic toward the palace visit.

“Only as her plaything. There’s an official succession ceremony to get the king’s approval for a noble title.”

He could definitely sense my discomfort.
But instead of his usual courtesy, he moved his eyes slowly, deliberately.

Just like a predator eyeing its prey before going in for the kill.

“I guess a dukedom does require a formal ceremony, huh?”

I stubbornly met his gaze.

“Even a countship would,”
Ricardo replied with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

I made the mistake of swallowing hard.

“Title succession is under royal jurisdiction. Even if someone is chosen as heir within the family, they can’t actually inherit the title unless the king signs off. That’s common knowledge, isn’t it? Surely Rosette’s young lady and the Countess of Linton would both know that.”

His implication was clear: even if Cecilia’s childhood had been grim, as a noble, she would still know the basics.
That kind of knowledge came baked into your environment—unlike commoners.

“I… didn’t think about it, since I don’t have any brothers.”

A pitiful excuse.
Cecilia had been engaged to Edgar before he inherited his title.
Of course, she should’ve known about his succession ceremony.
Of course, she should’ve remembered that day.

“Really?”
Ricardo stood up.

He took exactly two steps and stopped at the threshold separating the balcony and my room.

“Countess of Linton.”

He tilted his head.

Like a large beast trying to make sense of a confusing phenomenon, searching for a connection that would explain what he was seeing.

“Countess of Linton.”

I froze.
Should I lie and say I’d lost my memory?

In Sarah’s case, lying had been inevitable.
Who in their right mind would believe you woke up in someone else’s body?

The same applied to Martha. And since neither of them shared Cecilia’s social status, there was little risk in feigning amnesia.

And to them, having a mistress with gaps in her memory was preferable to one constantly on the edge of suicide.

“Countess of Linton?”

Ricardo called my name like he was looking at a stranger.
He wasn’t really calling me—he was testing. Trying to confirm if I truly was the Countess of Linton.

“I…”
My lips trembled.
I’d already shown Ricardo too much of myself.

The joy of discovering a kindred spirit had pulled open the eyes of a man who once looked at the world with such distance.

He stepped forward, one foot now crossing the threshold.

“Lord Ricardo.”

I whispered, trying to stop him.

“I always found it strange,”
he said, ignoring me.
“The rumors said the Countess of Linton was insane. Madly in love with her husband, wasn’t she?”

His second foot followed, stepping fully into the room.

“Lord!”

“She only looked at her husband. Only listened to him. Waited up all night, lighting candles for a man who wouldn’t come home. A crazy woman.”

I stepped back.
But his long stride made that pointless.
He was in front of me in a flash.

“But the woman I saw in that garden that day… she was someone else.”

He gently took my wrist with his large hand.

“How could a woman with eyes just like mine ever have been mad about her husband?”

He leaned down, locking eyes with me.

I shut my eyes tightly—then opened them again.

Ricardo’s intense gaze hadn’t wavered.

“Lord Ricardo, please leave now.”

I scraped together what little calm I had and slipped back into the role of the Countess of Linton.

“If people find out you were here, my reputation will be destroyed.”

“Reputation?”

Ricardo echoed the word back.

“Yes. That matters to me more than anything. I’ve worked so hard to rebuild it—I can’t afford to let it collapse.”

Did I look like a socialite now?

Like a woman who once loved Edgar to the point of obsession and now trembled at the thought of losing her reputation?

“The maids are already gossiping about your frequent visits. If this gets out—”

“What then, Countess?”

He was testing me. I racked my brain.

What was a noblewoman’s worst fear? What terrified them the most?

I was an outsider.
No matter how much I tried to blend in, I would never truly belong.

I couldn’t think like someone born and raised in this world.

“I… I…”

Ricardo’s lips curled into a crooked smile.

“Wrong, Countess of Linton.”

He declared.

“The premise is wrong. I’ve never heard of a noblewoman fearing a maid’s gossip. You just cut their tongues out. No—what you should’ve said is that you fear word getting to the Count of Linton. That he’ll send you off to a convent.”

A convent.
I didn’t understand what that meant.
To hide the panic in my eyes, I dropped my gaze to the floor.

“You, raised as the young lady of House Rosette, and yet you didn’t immediately think of a convent?”

Ricardo gently tilted my chin up with his fingers.

His eyes sparkled with realization.

“Isn’t it the scariest place of all? A prison disguised as piety. When you’re no longer useful, your stepmother sends you there—and no one ever hears from you again.”

“I was engaged to Edgar. That sort of thing… wouldn’t happen to me…”

“You endured with that hope, sure. But what about now? Do you think the Count of Linton has any intention of protecting his wife?”

I bit my lip before I realized it.
Ignorance of the norm had exposed me.

In my world, a convent was a sanctuary—a place for devout women who chose a life of faith.

Women in this world—noblewomen, no less—being dragged away to convents as if they were prisons?
There was no way I could’ve known that.

“Lord Ricardo. Please… stop.”

My voice trembled terribly.

Ricardo took a bold step closer and bent down.

“If you’re not the Countess of Linton…”

His low voice rang out just beside my ear.

“Then what reason do I have to keep holding back?”

My heart pounded so violently, he could probably hear it.

“Lord Ricardo.”

My voice cracked, strained and desperate.

“I am the Countess of Linton.”

A final, desperate act of resistance.

I had resolved to live as the Countess of Linton until Cecilia’s revenge was complete.

“Is that so?”

Ricardo still didn’t release my wrist.

“Then let me ask it differently are you Cecilia?”

Damn it.

In his eyes, I saw it the light of victory.

He’d won.

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