No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 61

It was a dark night. The servant in charge of extinguishing the lights in the mansion went from room to room, opening each door to make sure no candle had been left burning.

In truth, it wasn’t a task that required much care.

The Duke of Bastian’s illegitimate son seemed so accustomed to frugality that he walked through the darkness without the slightest discomfort.

It was the mark of nobility to demand even the hallway between bedroom and bathroom be lit with candles just to relieve themselves in the middle of the night.

The servant scoffed in secret, sneering that his master’s unusual nature must be the result of his lowly birth.

Ricardo, the Duke’s bastard, had even dismissed half the servants sent from the main estate, claiming he had no need for them.

The servant considered this nothing more than a difference in luck at birth between the two of them, and because of that, he secretly looked down on Ricardo.

That bastard’s mother had been lucky enough to lie with a duke, while his own mother had not — that was the only difference.

Of course, the servant ignored Ricardo’s breathtaking beauty, his broad shoulders despite growing up just as poorly nourished, and even the difference in stature so great that one had to crane their neck to meet his gaze, despite them both being of the same gender.

When he finally opened the door to the study, the servant was startled by a sudden glint of sharp eyes in the darkness and stumbled backward.

He tripped over the threshold and landed hard on his backside, looking utterly ridiculous.

“M-My Lord. What brings you to the study at such a late hour…?”

Then he noticed the desk where Ricardo sat was perfectly empty.

A sneer flitted across the servant’s lips.

So what if he’s called ‘Lord’ now and recognized as a young duke? That bastard still grew up under a mother who earned her living off men in the backstreets.

He doubted Ricardo could even read.

The mansion had been prepared by Duke Bastian, and nothing flaunted noble wealth quite like a grand study — so this one, too, was filled with a vast collection of books.

But they were just that — decorations. Ricardo rarely, if ever, used the study.

To be blunt, he treated every space outside his bedroom as if it didn’t exist.

“You haven’t even lit a candle,” the servant said, rubbing his sore backside and setting the one he’d been holding down in front of Ricardo.

“Are you troubled by something?”

But the face illuminated by the candlelight looked far too calm for someone burdened with worries.

Calm?

Upon closer look, Ricardo’s beast-like, golden eyes gleamed unnervingly. The servant involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath.

Having once considered the Duke’s bastard as his equal, the servant now found himself irritated by the fear creeping into his chest.

Beastly bastard, he grumbled inwardly, though he maintained a respectful expression.

After all, he harbored ambitions of catching the eye of this foolish bastard and becoming the mansion’s steward someday.

“You.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Ricardo glanced sideways at the servant, moving only his eyes.

After confirming the servant wore that smug expression of someone who thought himself clever, Ricardo looked away disinterestedly.

“Send someone to Baron Artois’ estate at sunrise tomorrow.”

The servant’s eyes narrowed subtly. He already knew whom Ricardo wanted to meet.

Her name was Margaret, wasn’t it? Birds of a feather…

He racked his brain, trying to remember what the Baron’s illegitimate daughter looked like.

His memory was vague — she must not have been particularly striking.

So the young duke plans to pair himself with another bastard, huh?

But he concealed his scorn and replied politely.

Receiving no response, he lifted his head, only to lock eyes with Ricardo directly.

Those cold, gleaming eyes sent a chill through him, and he flinched despite himself.

“Don’t just send someone — take a carriage and bring her here.”

Ricardo gave the order without further explanation, then flicked his hand dismissively to send the servant away.

The servant backed out of the study and closed the door behind him.

Only then did he let out a derisive snort.

It was a petty attempt to forget how genuinely frightened he’d been just moments earlier.

Ricardo pressed the candlewick down with his fingers, snuffing out the flame.

The envious, muttering servant was already forgotten the moment he disappeared from sight.

“Lia, what must I do to protect Cecilia’s honor?”

Tapping his fingers on the desk, Ricardo ran through several possibilities.

Realizing he hadn’t yet been granted permission to use her nickname, he quickly corrected himself out loud.

Even if Cecilia never found out, Ricardo didn’t want to disobey her wishes.

The night before, Ricardo had cried out a nickname he had no right to use while praying desperately. The guilt weighed all the heavier because of it.

He knew all too well how unfairly this conservative kingdom treated a woman branded with the label of “divorced.”

Why else would the Duchess of Bastian silently endure the humiliation of her husband’s illegitimate child being acknowledged as the next heir?

Cecilia’s decision to divorce that fool of a man was undoubtedly wise—but the trouble lay in what came next.

Ricardo had come to realize that Cecilia was unfamiliar with the complex ecosystem of nobility.

The only reason he’d even entertained the unbelievable hypothesis that someone else had taken on the shell of the Countess of Linton was the faint, yet undeniable, sense of dissonance she sometimes gave off.

Cecilia had done a remarkable job mimicking the Countess, but it was only possible because the real Countess kept few close relationships.

If there had been someone else—like Ricardo—closely watching her, anyone would have noticed that something felt off.

“Well, her husband didn’t even notice. That gluttonous bastard, may he choke on his own greed.”

In hindsight, perhaps it was for the best.

Had Edgar shown even a shred of interest in the changed Cecilia…

A vulgar curse slipped through Ricardo’s clenched teeth.

He had made a conscious effort to avoid crude language since stepping into noble society, but no other words seemed more fitting to express his current feelings.

Cecilia was different. Her fairness extended to everyone, without exception.

If Edgar hadn’t been such an utter fool, she might have even given him a fair chance.

“And then there’s that woman from House Artois, unable to pull herself out of it.”

Thinking of Margaret—desperately trying to forge a friendship with Cecilia—made Ricardo frown.

He could understand why Margaret, in a similar situation, might have been drawn to Cecilia. But he refused to be lumped into the same category.

The kind of friendship Margaret sought was not something Ricardo had any interest in.

And if one were to ask whether he felt romantic affection for her, he could just as firmly deny it.

Margaret seemed so sure he wanted something more, acting as if she held some kind of leverage over him—but her assumption was so absurd, he didn’t even feel the need to refute it.

“Still, she could be useful.”

Cecilia had no personal desire for emotions, yet she showed astonishing generosity toward the ugliness in others.

The very thing Ricardo found revolting, Cecilia tried to protect like it was something precious.

Before moving to House Artois, Margaret had received abundant affection from her birth mother. Maybe that’s why she was unusually emotional for a noble and had the courage to confront things head-on.

She might be the perfect tool to prod at Cecilia’s softer side.

“Leaving her as the Baron’s bastard will only be a hindrance to Cecilia.”

She needed a suitable match.

Someone of countess rank, at least—so that even after her divorce, Cecilia wouldn’t be casually slandered in noble society.

“No, no, that won’t work. She’d still just be a bastard who became a countess.”

Ricardo scrapped the plan to marry Margaret off.

He felt no unease over making life-altering decisions for her without her knowledge.

“I was too hasty. If I had known it would turn out this way, I would have found her a more suitable friend from the start.”

It was his mistake—one born from Cecilia’s hesitation to accept him as one of her own.

Ricardo ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“This is my fault.”

It had to be punishment for having dared to test Cecilia in his own way.

Now, it wasn’t even easy to push Margaret aside.

She clung to Cecilia like a shadow, and if Ricardo made a single wrong move, she would surely run straight to her and tattle.

And yet he was supposed to just stand by and watch as a woman who brought no benefit to Cecilia’s life took full advantage of her fairness?

“This is my fault.”

Ricardo repeated his confession over and over, like a repentant sinner chanting Mea culpa.

Finally, when his long penance ended, Ricardo opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of stationery.

It was a letter addressed to the Marchioness Federica.

The old noblewoman viewed Ricardo as a pitiable young man and had taken a sincere interest in looking after him.

Back when he was roaming the land gathering signatures to be recognized as the Duke of Bastian’s heir, playing the part of a hopeless, miserable youth had proven quite effective.

Though her sympathy wasn’t much different from what one might feel for a starving stray cat, Ricardo found her all the easier to manipulate because of it.

From what he’d gathered, Marchioness Federica was scheduled to enter the palace in two days to meet the Queen.

Cecilia’s name hadn’t appeared on the entry list he had obtained through secret channels.

He had assumed the kindhearted Marchioness would have no trouble helping Cecilia too, but—

“Cecilia is perfect… so of course not.”

Ricardo understood it was only natural that Cecilia hadn’t won over the Marchioness.

Unlike himself, who lacked the courage to reveal his true self and kept hiding behind a mask, Cecilia was genuine.

She was a pure being, untouched by filth. She knew what emotion was but never tried to mimic it.

From Ricardo’s perspective, she was someone who had reached a level of self-acceptance and truth few ever attained.

She was the very ideal he longed for.

Ricardo filled the letter with flowery phrases to charm the Marchioness and, at the end, wrote down his true intention:

He wanted to accompany her on her visit to the palace in two days.

“The Queen has a duty to protect her ladies-in-waiting.”

A satisfied curve tugged at Ricardo’s lips.

He intended to ask the Queen to accept Cecilia as her lady-in-waiting.

To make that happen, he would have to give up the greatest right bestowed upon him by the House of Bastian.

“I don’t care.”

After all, the royal succession rights of the Bastian family were nothing more than worthless scraps of paper to Ricardo.

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