No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 56

My head felt like it was splitting apart.

I had found Edgar’s weakness and adjusted the plan. But variables could appear at any time, in any form.

What if Elodie changed her mind?

What if Edgar’s desire for an heir was more modest than I expected, and he decided an illegitimate child was enough?

What if Madame Rosette found out?

A woman like her wouldn’t hesitate to use Elodie’s child to tie Edgar down.

She was proud—far too proud. And if my theory was right, Madame Rosette already had something over Edgar.

They had secretly divided Cecilia’s inheritance between themselves.

The reason she still drew a line with Edgar was probably because of Isla.

Madame Rosette came from a fallen noble family. When she married Count Rosette, she cut ties with her original family.

Back then, people praised her choice as noble and admirable—deciding not to support her struggling relatives with her husband’s wealth.

In a world where the only property a woman could own was her dowry, she became the Countess of the Rosette family without even that.

I came into Cecilia’s body long after Count Rosette had passed away, so I never knew what kind of man he was.

But maybe one reason Cecilia never held her head high, even as Countess Linton, was that Edgar had made up for her “insufficient” dowry.

Cecilia’s inheritance had been stolen by Edgar and Madame Rosette. But since she didn’t know the truth, she likely blamed herself for being an unworthy wife.

She had loved Edgar, yet never fought back against his affairs. Instead, her pain turned inward and slowly destroyed her.

I was overthinking it.

In the end, Madame Rosette couldn’t fully control Edgar with just one weakness.

Her reputation as the devoted widow managing the Rosette family alone didn’t help her secure a perfect son-in-law for her daughter.

That reputation was really just pity, dressed up as praise—granted from above, from people who thought they were being generous.

The Rosette family was a house without a master.

Count Rosette must have had relatives, but Madame Rosette never handed the family seal over to them.

To be more accurate, they allowed her to hold onto it—for now.

They could afford to wait. Eventually, they would win.

Count Rosette had left behind only two daughters—neither of whom could carry on the family name.

One had already married and taken another name, and the other—Isla—was the child of the second wife.

It must have felt terribly unfair to Madame Rosette.

She had married the Count legally, after he was widowed. But second wives were always seen as women who married out of need, not love.

She had to give up her dreams of a white dress, a bouquet, a grand wedding.

Instead, she devoted herself to caring for Cecilia, trying to win over Count Rosette’s heart.

Eventually, she had a daughter of her own—Isla.

But that was it. That was all Madame Rosette had gained.

A title with no real weight, and the daughter she loved more than anything.

Then Count Rosette died—too suddenly, too soon.

And even then, all he cared about was marrying off Cecilia properly.

That’s what made Madame Rosette dangerous.

If sacrificing Cecilia meant Isla could have a perfect future, she would do it without hesitation.

I doubted she ever once considered how much resentment she must carry in her heart. Or how much pain Cecilia had carried in hers.

I didn’t eat a thing that morning. The headache was so bad I stayed locked in my room.

Martha came by again and again, begging me to eat something. I couldn’t even bring myself to care.

Maybe I reminded her of how Cecilia used to be, because Martha had started acting like a nursemaid again.

“If you don’t want me calling you Miss again, then please, at least drink some soup, my lady.”

She brought an entire meal on a bed tray and pleaded with me until I finally forced her out.

“If you collapse, I’ll have no choice but to call you Miss! If you want to be my lady, you need to take care of yourself!”

She cared too much for her own good.

Even after being kicked out, she stood outside the door muttering warnings and scolding me. Now my head hurt and my ears did too.

How could someone worry so much about a person who had pushed them away?

The more I thought about it, the more human emotions felt like a riddle.

To me, people’s feelings were like complicated math formulas.

In the vague memories I had of my past life, math had always been something to memorize.

I didn’t know why the answers worked. But if I remembered the formulas, I could still solve most of the problems.

Emotions were the same way.
Even if I didn’t understand where they came from, memorizing their patterns usually worked in most cases.

That’s why I couldn’t rely on Elodie completely.

Yes, she loved Edgar—but emotions were fickle by nature.

Love, especially, was the one feeling that had to be handled with the greatest caution.

Right now, she was overwhelmed—shocked by having her pregnancy exposed—and for the moment, she seemed to accept what she had always tried to deny: Edgar’s true nature.

But once he returned and they faced each other again, there was no guarantee that maternal instinct would win out over a lover’s affection.

No matter how many times I went over it, I had very few allies—so few, I didn’t even need all five fingers to count them.

Josephine was best left out of this. Marchioness Federica would cut ties with me the moment I brought this problem to the Queen’s attention.

Then there was Margaret.

Margaret—a woman who didn’t fit into any of the emotional equations I had memorized. Difficult to handle, unpredictable.

She’d likely keep her promise and stand by me, but in this case, her help wouldn’t change anything.

I hadn’t folded my fourth finger yet.

I hesitated, debated, struggled with myself.

Did I really have a choice?

I shut my eyes tight—and bent the fourth finger.

That left me with one last person: Ricardo.

He had more than enough wealth to hire someone to keep an eye on Elodie, and enough power to keep their mouths shut.

If Ricardo got involved, Madame Rosette would never be able to get near Elodie’s secret.

Even if Elodie had a change of heart and decided to tell Edgar everything, she’d have no way to do it.

Ricardo held the easiest path—right in the palm of his hand.

I had made up my mind. Now it was time to act.

As I stepped out the door, I nearly bumped into Martha—still holding the tray she had brought earlier when I had pushed her out.

“Martha, I think I should eat something now.”

At my words, she practically ran to the kitchen.

Seeing her sprint off, Sarah finally peeked her head out from wherever she’d been hiding.

“My lady, how’s your headache?”

There was no doubt in my mind that she had reported my condition to Madame Rosette.

“I’m feeling better. While they get the meal ready, I should have my hair brushed.”

“Are you going out?”

I didn’t answer and simply sat down at the vanity.

As Sarah began brushing my hair, she asked if she should call Penelope—and if so, what kind of outfit or theme she should prepare for.

She was fishing for my destination.

“Yes, call the madam, will you?”

Calling Penelope was a cover—an excuse to contact Ricardo.

A letter might be intercepted. Sarah could easily snatch it.

She knew how to use her title as my personal maid to her advantage.

With her around, even using Justin wasn’t safe anymore.

Now that I knew even the coachman was part of Madame Rosette’s web, there was no telling who might be following Justin’s every move.

Penelope, though—she was perfect.

She could go anywhere without raising suspicion.

“Are you going to visit Marchioness Federica?”

Sarah kept pressing.

“Or did the Countess of Allegro invite you? Or maybe… the palace? The Queen is rumored to be inviting you soon, isn’t she? Everyone’s already talking about when you’ll make your first formal appearance.”

“Call the madam, Sarah.”

I cut her off.

In the mirror, I could see her lips tighten in displeasure.

“I’m your closest maid, and yet I know so little. I’ve been in awkward situations more than once because I had no answers when the others asked me.”

Not my concern.

“Since when does a master have to consider every grievance of a servant?”

My cold reply seemed to rattle her.

In her fluster, the brush yanked through my hair too roughly.

I let out a quiet gasp and pulled the brush from her hands.

“That’s enough. Go call Madam Penelope—and let the others know as well.”

Sarah bit her lip, bowed, and left.

I brushed the rest of my hair myself.

Cecilia’s blonde hair was beautiful and silky. But beneath the surface, it revealed everything she had endured.

The outer layers were smooth and well-kept, but deeper inside, it was dry—so brittle it snapped at the slightest touch.

I stared into the eyes of the woman in the mirror.

She wasn’t me. But she wasn’t exactly Cecilia either.

Surely, the real Cecilia—though sorrowful—would have had emotion in her expression.

“Am I doing well?”

I whispered the question quietly.

The woman in the mirror only mimicked my lips—offering no reply.

“I don’t love Edgar, just as you wished.”

She stayed expressionless.

“Even if you didn’t ask for it, I’m going to make him pay.”

My life had never truly belonged to me.

Before, I had lived as my mother’s burden. Now, I was simply acting on behalf of Cecilia.

“This is all I can do. I don’t know why you gave me your life—but still…”

Still, I’ll give it my best.

Just as I once lived trying to atone for my mother, I would now do everything I could to restore Cecilia’s life.

“My lady, your meal is ready!”

Martha’s voice rang out.

“Yes. I’m coming.”

I walked away from the mirror and the woman in it.

Whether I accepted Ricardo or rejected him—those were foolish concerns.

Even if I met him, I couldn’t let myself be myself.

This life didn’t belong to me.

It was Cecilia’s.

Think only of her life. Consider only her path. That’s the only way forward.

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