No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 53

The agitated horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Sir Juan held the reins tightly, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that it might lash out at any moment.

“So,” Sir Juan said dryly, “when is this ‘creepy, shady stalker’ supposed to appear?”

“I’d prefer not to be stuck horse-sitting much longer,” he added.

Margaret shrugged.

“He’s so creepy and sneaky, I’m guessing he’ll show up once we walk away.”

I glanced around, half-hoping to catch sight of the familiar hem of his black coat.

But there wasn’t even a strand of hair in sight.

“You know, Cecilia… this really isn’t the kind of place you should be visiting.”

Margaret looked around with clear disapproval.

“Why not?”

Lady Rosette had tried to scare me earlier, warning me that behind the clean facade of this street lay a dangerous slum. She was clearly trying to keep me from ever returning here.

Of course, she knew that this villa was where Elodie lived. Her warning had been a way to frighten me, to stop me from snooping around Edgar’s other life.

Edgar’s affair wasn’t even much of a secret anymore.

Surely anyone who mattered already knew where he was keeping Elodie.

And by “anyone who mattered,” I meant other nobles who were also hiding mistresses in this very villa.

“Is it because of the slums behind it?”

“Well, those are dangerous too,” Margaret replied, giving the building a cold, judgmental glance.

“But this place… this is where people pretending to be proper come to indulge their filthiest instincts.”

“Ah.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes at my reaction.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t tell me… the Count of Linton has someone hidden here too?”

I nodded silently.

Her face twisted with disgust.

“I thought he was just fooling around. But this is worse—he’s seriously keeping a second household?”

Apparently, to Margaret, there was a sharp difference between casual affairs and maintaining a mistress.

“I didn’t think the Count was the type to live a double life.”

Frustrated, she glanced at me, suddenly realizing what she’d just said.

“Elodie too—she’s so talented, she could make something of herself if she wanted. So why is she living like this, playing the role of someone’s secret woman? I’m not defending her, but I just don’t understand. Is the Count of Linton really that irresistible?”

To be fair, Edgar was handsome—his looks weren’t something anyone could easily dismiss.

Unlike Ricardo, whose masculinity was bold and intense, Edgar had a more delicate, almost androgynous beauty that drew people in with subtlety rather than force.

If you were choosing between the two based on approachability alone, Edgar was the easier option by far.

“He is good-looking.”

“That face?” Margaret looked completely baffled.

“He’s attractive.”

“No, not really. Not objectively.”

“Then… maybe more pretty than handsome? He doesn’t come off as threatening either, at least not outwardly.”

Margaret visibly shuddered.

“Cecilia. A man should have a beard. Not those weaselly little mustaches. A proper beard—thick and rugged—is the only true proof of masculinity.”

Naturally, my gaze drifted to Sir Juan, who stood nearby with his full, soft beard and imposing knightly presence.

Margaret followed my gaze—then quickly shook her head.

“No, Cecilia. I only see men who are four years younger than me as potential partners.”

A man four years younger than Margaret… not exactly appealing. Especially considering she was probably still in her late teens. That would make her ideal match barely out of childhood—still clinging to his mother’s skirts.

“To meet my ideal type, I’ll have to put off marriage as long as possible,” she muttered, almost like an excuse.

“Anyway, you’re here to see Elodie, right? I’ll come with you.”

She changed the subject quickly—too quickly.

Though she was trying to redirect the conversation, her eyes betrayed a subtle hope.

Margaret had just shared something incredibly personal with me.

She had once said she wanted us to be friends.

So it wasn’t hard to guess what she hoped for now.

Close friends tease each other about things like that. She wanted that from me. She wanted me to laugh or joke about it—like a real friend would.

But what we had wasn’t that kind of friendship. Our relationship was not built on shared secrets or girlish laughter.

“Elodie isn’t here. I just came to take a look, so you don’t need to stay, Lady Margaret.”

Margaret, who had just rolled up her sleeves and was fixing her windblown hair, froze mid-motion.

“You want me to leave?”

“Lord Ricardo asked too much of you. I understand you need his support. But going forward, you can decline anything related to me. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

With a firm twist, Margaret finished tying her hair.

“Cecilia. Lord Ricardo only ever asks me to help with things related to you.”

“That’s…”

“Cecilia, you were right. I do need Lord Ricardo’s support.” Margaret spoke honestly.
“This riding outfit? He gave it to me. It fits perfectly. Said it was made by Madame Penelope. Funny thing is, it’s the nicest outfit I own.”

So Ricardo was making full use of Penelope as well.

Knowing Penelope’s grueling schedule, he must have kept her up several nights to have this outfit ready in time.

“Wait a minute. According to you, Lady Margaret, Lord Ricardo is a shady stalker who follows me around, right?”

“Right,” she nodded.

“And he knew I’d be here today, so he rushed to send you—who can’t even ride a horse—on one just to meet me?”

“Exactly.”

Something didn’t add up.

Even if Penelope was a miracle-working seamstress, there was no way she could make a custom riding outfit in a few hours.

“When exactly was that outfit prepared?”

“Hmm… about two weeks ago?”

Margaret answered with complete nonchalance.

Was I the only one confused by how out of order this timeline was?

Even Sir Juan looked puzzled now.

I folded my arms and stared at her.

Margaret tried to brush invisible dust off her riding jacket, clearly stalling, before she finally sighed and opened her mouth.

“I was supposed to appear before you like a prince on a white horse, you know.”

“You couldn’t even sit properly in the saddle.”

“Well… the plan was to suggest horseback riding to you next month.”

“The plan?”

“Yes. Our plan.”

When did Ricardo and Margaret start referring to themselves as “we”?

“You’ve lived your whole life in the Count’s estate, right? I never heard that Countess Rosette ever taught you to ride. So we thought… wouldn’t it be nice to help you pick up a new hobby?”

The more she explained, the less I understood.

Why had they met up to talk about me at all? And how had they come to this conclusion?

Margaret, on the other hand, looked quite pleased with herself.

“I don’t get it,” I said plainly.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t understand any of this, Lady Margaret.”

I had no hesitation in pouring cold water on her proud little moment.

“You really don’t?”

“No. And I’m going to leave it that way.”

I wasn’t going to waste any more energy trying to make sense of it. As far as Ricardo went, I could guess his thinking well enough.

He probably saw me as someone like himself—an outlier. So of course, he wanted to do nice things for me.

But Margaret? Her involvement in all this was the real mystery.

And something told me if I looked any deeper, I’d only regret it.

I didn’t want to grow any closer to her than I already had.

Margaret wasn’t like me.

She wasn’t broken or damaged.

Before she came to the Artois barony, she lived with her birth mother. Most likely, she had been loved. She had been happy.

The more she got to know me, the more she would only end up disappointed—and afraid.

“Sir Juan, please escort Lady Margaret back to the baron’s estate.”

“Why not send Justin? I’m your personal guard, my lady.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to see where Cecilia and Elodie lived.”

Margaret and Sir Juan both spoke at the same time.

And now that I thought of it—where was Justin?

At my call, a head peeked out from behind a column.

“I was hiding in case Countess Rosette spotted me.”

He looked quite pleased with himself, like he expected praise for it.

So, I humored him with a half-hearted nod.

“Yes, well done.”

“I also persuaded the caretaker.”

That was unexpected. I had been prepared to rely on Sir Juan’s force as a last resort.

“How?”

“Well…”

He had expected praise for simply hiding, but now that he had done something truly remarkable, his reluctance to speak was suspicious.

“Somehow… I managed to convince him?”

Justin was a terrible liar. No—he had no talent for it at all.

“Was it Lord Ricardo?”

At my question, Justin’s eyes darted nervously.

“No, absolutely not.”

“You’re prepared to take responsibility for that answer, aren’t you?”

Justin lowered his head deeply.

“Lord Bastian gave me a bit of help.”

Margaret clicked her tongue.

“Lord Ricardo is far more devious than I imagined.”

I had to agree. No matter how strict a man is about principles, no one would dare argue them when the heir of House Bastian steps in.

“You see, Cecilia? That’s the kind of man Lord Ricardo is. That’s why I have to stay close to you.”

Leaving Margaret to her usual cryptic rambling, I stepped into the building.

It would’ve been nice if her pride was hurt by my ignoring her and she turned back—but of course, Margaret quickly caught up and walked shoulder to shoulder with me.

“Justin, which room is Miss Elodie using?”

“She’s occupying the entire top floor, apparently.”

We climbed the stairs slowly and steadily. I made sure not to miss any details inside the building as we ascended.

There were no cracked walls, and the flooring seemed solid enough.

Once we reclaimed this building, I would find a new owner and sell it off.

Cecilia would likely want that too.

She had truly loved Edgar—I couldn’t imagine her wanting to hold on to a building where his mistress once lived.

At last, we reached the final step.

“Here we are, my lady,” Justin said, pulling out a bundle of keys from his pocket.

“Did you steal those?”

“I didn’t steal them.”

Which meant Ricardo had swiped them.

That man had a knack for asserting his presence, even without showing his face.

“Then, I’ll open the door.”

Justin selected a key and inserted it into the lock.

Click. The lock turned.

But before we even touched the doorknob, the door opened from inside.

There was someone there.

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