No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 64

It was early morning. Even though I had woken up earlier than usual, Penelope had already arrived.

Lately, she had been so busy, it was as if even having two bodies wouldn’t be enough to keep up with her schedule.

It wasn’t because of my lackluster speech at the banquet. The real reason was that, once Ricardo’s support became public knowledge, everyone was desperate to associate themselves with Madame Penelope.

That’s why I had told her it was perfectly fine to just send the dress instead of coming herself.

But the ever-dedicated party planner insisted on acting as my personal dressmaker—the one person who would always show up in person, even though I hosted no gatherings at all.

“You look beautiful, My Lady.”

She meant the dress, of course. Penelope kept her head low, apologizing that she had to alter a ready-made gown due to lack of time. But honestly, even the Queen herself wouldn’t be able to tell it wasn’t custom-made.

“To put such a poor excuse for a gown on someone so beautiful—what a crime. I deserve punishment.”

I blinked. So… the compliment wasn’t for the dress?

It was for me?

There was no denying Cecilia had always been beautiful.

Once she changed her lifestyle—no longer consumed by the stress Edgar had caused—her beauty had truly blossomed, like a flower in full bloom.

But maybe because it was my dry and withered soul inside that body, the face never looked truly alive.

Like a cactus flower—blooming against all odds, but surrounded by prickly spines.

No matter how lovely a cactus flower might be, people always notice the thorns first. Wearing Cecilia’s outer shell couldn’t completely conceal the ugliness of the spirit within.

“There’s no doubt about your skill. If anyone deserves praise, it’s your hardworking hands, Pepe.”

Penelope’s dedication was admirable, even if I didn’t understand what drove her to insist on making a new dress despite the time crunch.

“No, I deserve punishment,” she repeated. “To make my muse wear off-the-rack clothing—what a disgrace. I should be disqualified as an artist.”

I didn’t mind her seeing herself as an artist. In this world, dressmakers were typically treated as mere skilled workers.

Penelope had likely fought hard for the right to be proud of her talent.

But still—

“Um… could you maybe not call me your muse?”

That word was usually reserved for women who were either extraordinarily beautiful or possessed a kind of creative passion that inspired others.

Whenever I saw the sparkle in Penelope’s eyes, I felt like a con artist selling a flashy, empty box.

Not just any con artist, either—but the kind who lies about miracle cures while pushing jars of murky water.

“Why not? You are my muse. Just seeing you—or even imagining you—ignites my passion.”

I averted my gaze.

It wasn’t that being called a muse was so terrible. But if I listened to much more of this, I’d start to feel like a complete fraud.

“Thank goodness Marchioness Federica was kind enough to lend me a carriage,” I said, changing the subject. “If not, I’d have had to appear before the Queen in a dress all wrinkled from travel.”

The gown Penelope had so lovingly prepared was wide and extravagant. I wasn’t even sure I could fit through my bedroom door while wearing it.

It wasn’t in line with current fashion trends.

Lately, the style had shifted toward more minimalistic silhouettes—fabrics so light, they fluttered at the faintest breeze, to show off delicate figures.

But the palace was the last place to follow fleeting trends. It was the most conservative setting of all.

Tradition dictated that a woman visiting the palace should wear a lavish, formal dress—a symbol that the old glories were not forgotten.

This too was Ricardo’s advice.

He’d assumed Penelope, being a commoner, wouldn’t know the royal customs, and had sent me a list of very specific instructions—numbered, no less—for me to pass along to her.

“Truth is… I had already finished a dress for your palace visit,” Penelope confessed with a look of regret.

“I thought all it needed was to be pretty, so I made one I thought would suit you perfectly. But now it’s all gone to waste.”

It felt familiar, this strange déjà vu. It reminded me of when Margaret had confessed that she’d planned to invite me horseback riding with her clumsy and dangerous skills.

It felt like I was being toyed with on the palm of Ricardo’s hand—but surprisingly, I didn’t hate it.

It was… overwhelming, though.

Even when I hadn’t accepted him, Ricardo had continued making arrangements for me behind the scenes.

“If Ricky had just told me sooner, you wouldn’t have had to wear this subpar dress.”

Penelope quickly placed the blame on Ricardo. I opened my mouth to correct her—but instead of speaking, I tilted my head in thought.

Ricardo had known I’d be entering the palace. Maybe he even planned it.

And yet, he waited until I personally asked for help before sending Penelope the list.

Coincidence? Unlikely.

More likely, Ricardo had let himself indulge a little.

Before, when I hadn’t allowed him to get close, he had to pull strings from afar. But now that he was openly fulfilling my requests, he probably wanted to savor it.

“Lord Ricardo’s the real villain here.”

“Exactly! What’s the point of becoming a noble if he’s still the same bratty little tyrant as before?”

Penelope, thrilled to have me on her side, launched into a cheerful string of complaints—retelling all the terrible things Ricardo had done with his twisted personality.

The dress was heavy, Penelope’s chatter was endless, and by the time we even set off for Marchioness Federica’s residence, I was already exhausted.

“My lady, what shall we do about breakfast?”

Thankfully, Sarah knocked on the door, breaking the flow of conversation. Penelope, who had been chatting non-stop, flinched and quickly began helping me out of the dress.

“For two,” I said briefly.

My curt tone made Sarah’s expression darken. It seemed her once-prized title as my personal maid no longer felt so rewarding.

“The Count said he wasn’t planning to eat,” she replied.

“Not for Edgar. I meant Madame Penelope.”

Penelope flinched again and waved her hands quickly.

Sarah’s eyes flicked toward Penelope, her glance sharp with something close to jealousy.

“I still need to make more adjustments to the dress,” Penelope said.

“The dress is perfect, Pepe.”

“I’m always ready to agree with your every word, my lady—except when it comes to the dress. Just because you’re generous doesn’t mean others will be. This gown still needs a lot of work. My job isn’t to sit and enjoy breakfast across from my muse. It’s to perfect every detail so my muse doesn’t end up embarrassed.”

Penelope fired off her entire explanation in one breath. It left me winded just hearing it, but she didn’t even seem tired.

“And I want to prove I’m not just living off Lord Ricardo’s support. He specifically told me to give this my full attention.”

She brought up Ricardo’s title, likely for Sarah’s benefit.

I didn’t think I’d ever truly understand why Penelope cared about me so much, but I had no reason to doubt her sincerity.

Perhaps she simply wanted Sarah to know how important I was—how close I was to someone like Ricardo—and elevate my standing in Sarah’s eyes.

The real issue, however, was that Sarah wasn’t just a maid.

She was the spy Lady Rosette had planted.

Even when there had been that ridiculous rumor involving Justin, Edgar had flown into a rage, claiming his name had been dragged through the mud.

Thinking about how Edgar had reacted back then—when there wasn’t even anything between Ricardo and me—it didn’t take much imagination to guess how this would play out once Lady Rosette got her hands on this information.

“Sarah,” I said again, this time more gently.

“…Yes, my lady?”

Sarah responded a beat later, eyes narrowed as though she were lost in thought.

“You’re probably busy today too. Why don’t you go get ready?”

“Pardon? Me?”

I hadn’t planned to take her with me to the palace.

She wouldn’t be meeting the Queen—she’d be waiting in one of the side rooms—but even so, I didn’t want to give Lady Rosette so much as a hint.

No matter what I spoke about with the Queen, whether she took a liking to me or not, I didn’t want Lady Rosette to find out early and have the chance to prepare.

“As my personal maid, who else would I bring to assist me?”

Sarah’s face lit up immediately.

I told her to go and get ready, assuring her I wouldn’t call for her again until it was time to leave.

Rosette was so eager to hear about my visit to the palace that, once she found out Sarah had accompanied me, she’d pour all her attention into digging out details of what had happened there.

Whatever strange connection Sarah might’ve sensed between Ricardo and me—she wouldn’t have the chance to say a word about it.

“My lady, you’re far too kind,” Penelope muttered, glancing toward the door Sarah had exited through.

“Am I?” I smiled faintly.

Kindness was the opposite of cruelty—but I didn’t think I was either.

If I were truly kind, I would’ve given Sarah a real choice.

I would’ve told her I knew she was feeding information to Lady Rosette. I would’ve warned her, and offered something in return for her true loyalty.

But the truth was, I didn’t feel anything toward Sarah—not even betrayal.

If anything, I understood her. People followed their own interests. That was human nature.

“If you want to keep working on the dress, I won’t stop you,” I told Penelope.

Even her unwavering support felt like a weight on my shoulders.

Now that Ricardo had officially become her patron, she no longer needed my favor. And yet, she stayed.

I’d already fulfilled my promise—to announce her as the lead of the banquet. That was the end of our agreement.

“See? Too kind,” Penelope muttered again. She didn’t even accept my offer of breakfast, yet still called me overly generous.

I started to wonder what I’d have to do to finally be called harsh.

“That’s why Ricky likes you—”

“Madame Penelope,” I cut in, gesturing toward the open door.

“Oh! I’m sorry. That was something I shouldn’t have said out loud.”

“You don’t need to apologize for saying something inappropriate—only for saying something that isn’t true.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. She looked at me like I was the one who didn’t understand.

She truly believed Ricardo had feelings for me.

“My lady, Ricky—”

She lowered her voice, mindful of the room, but still tried to object.

“Pepe,” I said softly, gently.

I knew this tone would be more effective with someone as sincere as her.

“Lord Ricardo just… pities me, that’s all.”

And it wasn’t a lie. Ricardo pitied himself. And because he thought I was like him—he pitied me too.

I turned away from Penelope’s pout and stepped out, heading toward the dining room.

It was a relief Edgar had chosen to sulk in his bedroom like a child instead of confronting me.

“My lady.”

That relief was short-lived.

“I nearly starved waiting for you. You really took your time.”

I swallowed a sigh.

Of course. I should’ve known that someone like him—a creature ruled by his own wants—wouldn’t give up so easily.

I sat down across from him, silently regretting that I hadn’t expected this sooner.

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