No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 57

Penelope gladly agreed to my request to meet Ricardo in secret.

“The Lord’s probably busy, but it would be great if we could arrange something as soon as possible.”

Even though he didn’t live at the Bastian duchy, Ricardo was still the heir. With the Queen’s favor behind him, his future looked bright.

Naturally, countless opportunists swarmed around him, eager for a meeting.

Even if he acted the part of an arrogant young noble, there was no way he could turn them all away.

I needed to find a place to hide Elodie before Edgar returned.

I hinted at the urgency, wrapping it in a layer of worry.

“We could go now, if you like.”

Penelope’s breezy reply swept my concerns away—though it stirred a new one.

“If Lady Cecilia says the word, Ricky would come running like a dog.”

I wondered—was that really something you could say about a childhood friend?

“He gets insanely jealous that I see you more than he does. He even said if he’d known things would turn out like this, he would’ve ditched the whole duke thing and become a tailor.”

I used to think “no secrets between friends” was just a metaphor. But watching Penelope and Ricardo, it seemed that phrase was meant to be taken literally.

“I mean, what does he think tailoring is, anyway? I only became a dressmaker you like because I’m me. Ricky would’ve stabbed his fingers in the back room a couple of times and given up.”

I swallowed the snarky comment I had prepared—something about how pathetic it was to be so obsessed with a married woman.

Apparently, her biggest issue wasn’t her friend falling for a married woman, but that he insulted her profession.

“You’ve grown up with only the finest things. There’s no way you’d be satisfied with clothes made by someone like Ricky.”

That struck a chord—something similar to what I’d felt around Margaret.

When people reacted to me with emotions I hadn’t intended to provoke, my mind always went blank. I never knew what to do.

Penelope and Margaret were confusing enough on their own, but throw Ricardo into the mix and it was far beyond anything I could make sense of.

“Even his pretty little face isn’t enough to make up for it. So he just flails around, not realizing you’re already so used to my dresses that nothing else will satisfy you.”

I’d never understood people well, but even I could tell that Penelope’s words… sounded strange. Really strange.

What had they taught in health class again?

“No, stop, don’t do that?”

“Huh?”

I must’ve gotten that wrong—or maybe those lessons had been criticized in later years for being outdated and ineffective.

Judging by Penelope’s puzzled look, I could see why. My attempt at subtle resistance only served as further proof that those old lessons were useless.

“Is there a way to meet without drawing attention?”

I deflected her confused stare with a new question.

“How many houses do you think Ricky owns?”

“Houses?”

I’d imagined various scenarios for how to meet Ricardo—quiet cafés, unpopular spots—but never considered one of his houses.

“Apparently, growing up without a home really scarred him, so he’s been secretly buying up buildings behind the Duke’s back. I know of at least three. When I asked if there were more, he gave me this smug grin. I’m sure he’s hoarding a bunch more somewhere.”

I’d expected a meeting spot to be something low-key, like an unpopular café.

But his house?

I almost asked Penelope to reconsider, but bit my lip.

I’d decided to approach Ricardo as Cecilia.

As Countess Linton, I had no reason to be uncomfortable around Ricardo. On the contrary—I should be glad to use him.

The part of me that hesitated around him had to be sealed away.

“Just let me know what time works for you, and Ricky will handle the location. You can slip out with me, pretending you’re visiting my workshop.”

Penelope sounded completely confident.

It had been only thirty minutes since I mentioned wanting to meet him, and she had already figured out the least suspicious way to get me out of the house.

“Normally, it’d be weird for someone like you to visit a workshop, but since you’re my special muse, no one will question it.”

Her muse—the source of her artistic inspiration.

When did I become her muse? I thought I was just her patron.

Fortunately, having already dealt with Margaret, I knew better than to respond.

If I kept talking, she’d say something even more baffling, and I’d lose control of myself before I even got to Ricardo—undoing everything I’d worked to suppress.

That was the last thing I needed.

My resolve worked—at least for now.

I made it all the way to Ricardo’s home, sat across from him, and greeted him without flinching.

“Lord Ricardo.”

Ricardo, who used to call me Countess Linton so effortlessly, didn’t say a word.

He simply looked at me—quietly, steadily, and for a long time.

“I came to ask a favor, remembering the kindness you once showed me.”

Since Ricardo, the owner of the house, hadn’t told me to sit, I remained standing and got straight to the point.

“Even if you refuse, I won’t hold it against you. I came here desperate—grasping at straws. But that’s my perspective. It’s not the straw’s fault I’m reaching.”

“I see,” Ricardo finally spoke.

“Then I’m glad to be a straw, at least.”

His overly formal tone didn’t suit him. I lifted my gaze from the floor, finally meeting his eyes.

“Please, you don’t have to be so formal.”

“I wouldn’t be so rude as to speak casually with someone whose identity I’m not certain of.”

He hadn’t lost his talent for sarcasm.

The words had changed, but the tone was the same.

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I didn’t expect you to say you don’t even know who I am. That’s… disappointing.”

I am Cecilia. Countess Linton.
I repeated that to myself like a mantra.

I managed to keep my face still, but my discomfort showed when I sat down before being offered a seat—exposing my nerves.

“I need your help.”

Only then did Ricardo sit down across from me, as if I were the guest and not the one asking for something.

“You want to ask for a favor without even telling me the truth?”

His calm voice sounded like criticism, but I could feel the sadness in it.

There were no servants in this house of his—one of many, no doubt.

It was spotless, clearly maintained on schedule, but I doubted there was a maid on staff—or even tea leaves in the kitchen.

“As I said, if you refuse… I understand.”

“I won’t refuse.”

His polite tone felt foreign. It was the kind of humility I’d only ever read in his letters.

Even when he had once practically begged me to accept him, he’d never completely let go of his pride.

“You called me a straw. And if even a straw turns you away, where would you go? That frightens me… so no, I won’t refuse.”

I didn’t even catch half of what he whispered next.

All I could think was that I wanted Ricardo to act like himself again.

Despite all my effort to keep me hidden and stay in character as Cecilia, Ricardo had become someone entirely unfamiliar.

I had prepared myself for a Ricardo who doubted Cecilia—but not for one who pretended not to know her at all.

“Say it,” he urged.

He hadn’t even offered me tea, so I had nothing to hold to hide my expression. I was exposed.

“Just tell me what it is. Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.”

I looked up—and there he was. The Ricardo I knew.

That beautiful face even Penelope acknowledged, and that lingering gloom in his eyes—I knew them both.

But if I turned my head and just listened to his voice, he sounded like a stranger.

Seeing through someone completely, and still not knowing how to respond… it was an unsettling feeling.

I had survived this long by hiding my broken self, blending into crowds.

But Ricardo knew me. And I knew him.

I could even sense what he wanted. But that was the limit.

When someone wanted something, I’d learned to meet their expectations. That was how I survived.

What Ricardo wanted from Cecilia was obvious.

I’d already decided to give it to him—at least on the surface.

After divorcing Edgar, I knew I wouldn’t avoid the gossip, but at least I wouldn’t be condemned as a cheat.

If Ricardo wanted to stay by my side, I would let him. If he wanted to give me something, I would accept it.

That was my plan.

But I hadn’t expected this. Ricardo didn’t want Cecilia.

He wanted me. The real me.

“I can’t.”

I stood up. I always reacted the same way to people who asked for what I couldn’t give—I left.

“I must’ve come to the wrong person. I’m sorry for bothering you, my lord.”

I tried to leave, stumbling over my own urgency, but I didn’t get far.

“My lord?”

Ricardo grabbed my wrist. He stared at the spot where his hand held me, then slowly followed the path upward—wrist, arm, shoulder, lips, nose…

And finally—eyes.

“I want to call you.”

His eyes, which had been so still, now trembled violently—as if all his previous calm had been a lie.

“I watch you from a distance, doing pathetic things… and even then, I couldn’t call your name.”

His voice cracked, each syllable sounding painfully difficult.

“I dream about you. Sometimes you drift away. Sometimes, generously, you come to see me. But even in the dream—I don’t know your name. I don’t know who you are. I try to chase after you, but I always lose you in the end.”

His grip wasn’t strong.

If I had wanted to, I could’ve pulled away and left.

But I stood there, frozen—as if someone had driven a nail through my foot.

“Cecilia Rosette. I’m Cecilia Linton now, my lord. You know that.”

Even my voice sounded brittle and sharp.

“I’ll do it. Whatever you command—I’ll do it all. So please… show me your real self. I’ve already exposed everything. There’s nothing left I can hide from you. Just your name. Let me have that—so I can call you, even in my dreams.”

It was an impossible request.

“I…”

I remembered everything—my past, my sins, my regrets.

But not my name.

It was as if I couldn’t exist in this world without becoming Cecilia.
As if this world had taken my true name from me.

I had never missed it before.

But in this moment—this exact moment, when I couldn’t give Ricardo what he wanted—I felt the loss like a sharp ache.

Maybe… maybe that name was the only truly precious thing I’d ever had.

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