No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 65

There were more dishes on the breakfast table than usual.

Most likely, the kitchen had scrambled to prepare something elaborate the moment Edgar appeared in the dining hall.

My suspicion was confirmed when the main course followed a light soup—heavy, greasy food that felt far too rich for a morning meal.

Edgar, unfazed, cut into a steak and popped a piece into his mouth with ease.

Now that I thought about it, every time he had joined me for breakfast in the past, the menu had been similar.

I had shaken off the label of a “madwoman,” yet here I was—still a wife unworthy of her husband’s respect. It was a pitiful role.

I didn’t feel bitter. But I couldn’t help wondering what kind of quiet humiliation Cecilia must have endured.

Knowing how emotional she was, it was surprising she’d managed to hold out as long as she had.

His indifference, the staff’s disrespect—none of it would have been easy for her to bear.

I selected a steak knife with practiced ease and sliced the meat into smaller bites. Even then, I only ate a few pieces before washing the taste away with wine.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

Edgar looked puzzled when I set my fork down.

“If you’re trying to watch your figure, don’t bother. I prefer women who are soft and curvy—not dry and shriveled.”

That was a piece of information I neither needed nor wanted—something I worked quickly to erase from my mind before it could embed itself.

“I have to wear a dress,” I said simply.

“Ah. The palace does have some stiff traditions.”

He smirked, as though waiting for me to say something foolish.

Edgar knew enough about Cecilia’s background.

He knew she hadn’t received a proper education. He knew that she’d been afraid of putting herself on display.

There had been a line in Cecilia’s diary, too—something about Edgar being disappointed with her lack of refinement.

She had believed that if she worked hard enough, he would eventually come to trust her. But that day never came.

Edgar was never satisfied. And as she wore herself thin trying to please him, she lost sight of how to try at all.

Eventually, she gave up entirely—she stopped attending her etiquette lessons and started clinging to him instead.

Begging him to stay home a little longer. Pleading with him not to go to Elodie.

And the colder his response, the more she withdrew.

Until, at last, she let everything go.

“The royal palace isn’t like Countess Allegro’s little games.”

Edgar casually chewed a large piece of meat.

“Even if Her Majesty turned a blind eye to your free-spirited attitude there, I doubt she’ll do the same at the palace.”

My appetite vanished completely.

I didn’t like Edgar, but I couldn’t say I hated him either.

Outside of matters related to Cecilia, he was nothing to me—a presence so faint it might as well have been air.

But still, I owed Cecilia something.

Even a person like me—damaged as I was—had enough decency to feel some sense of obligation. Or maybe I had simply decided that I should.

Either way, it felt real.

I owed her. And in any deal, I always prioritized keeping my end of the bargain. That was my personal rule: be cautious, and once the transaction is made, satisfy the terms.

“Marchioness Federica will be there. It’ll be fine.”

I lifted my glass, but instead of wine, I changed my mind and took a sip of water.

“Her Majesty invited her grandmother. It’s a personal visit, not an official audience. I don’t think the Queen would be overly formal, given the circumstances.”

Edgar scoffed.

“So naive. No wonder it took me two years after our marriage just to let you show your face in public.”

If only Cecilia had indulged in some form of pleasure, maybe she wouldn’t have given up on life so easily. The thought came to me, cold and bitter.

If she’d experienced a world beyond Edgar—one with color, joy, curiosity—maybe she wouldn’t have been consumed by loneliness.

“Is that so.”

“Thinking the Queen won’t care about formalities… Imagining that kind of fantasy makes my skin crawl. Just picturing our family name—House Linton—being tarnished by your clueless optimism makes me sick.”

“That’s assuming there’s any reputation left to tarnish,” I replied, coolly.

At my words, Edgar’s knife screeched across his plate with a sharp, unpleasant noise.

“I was under the impression the late Count Linton gambled away the entire estate. I suppose it’s fortunate he didn’t put the family name on the table too.”

“Cecilia.”

“And as for the current Count,” I continued smoothly, “he started a business just to keep what little we had left. Thanks to his cunning, he not only preserved the assets—he grew them. Though I wonder… did the honor of the house grow with them?”

“Cecilia Rosette.”

“Maybe not. But like you said—it’s probably just my ignorance talking.”

There were plenty of rumors floating around about Edgar’s mysterious business—how it had succeeded, how it had supposedly doubled the Linton estate’s wealth.
But no one actually knew what he did.

After all, nobles weren’t supposed to work. And that wasn’t just about physical labor or exchanging effort for money—it was about appearance.

A noble’s wealth was expected to grow while they sat still. Land, real estate, merchant ventures managed by proxies—gold was supposed to multiply just by blinking, as if by magic.

For Edgar to put his name on a business and travel around the countryside under the guise of “work trips” was, by those standards, a stain on the honor of House Linton.

And maybe that’s why he was so strangely sensitive about Ricardo.

Edgar always said, “A mere bastard, handed everything by luck, took the place I earned.”

He meant the honor—honor born from blood.

On a personal level, Edgar had a good reputation. Ambitious. Sharp. A promising young Count, people said.

But had he not been married, would anyone has seriously offered their daughter to a noble who ran around with a business bearing his own name?

It was almost sad that Lady Rosette clung so desperately to this man, as if he were her most valuable connection.

If I weren’t living in Cecilia’s body, I might have felt sorry for her.

“That’s why Marchioness Federica is important, isn’t it?” I said.

“What?”

“If Her Majesty’s grandmother favors me, then a small misstep won’t be such a big deal.”

Edgar understood exactly what I meant: I’d rather trust Marchioness Federica than some pretentious, money-chasing nobleman.

His knife clattered loudly against his plate, thrown with irritation.

Same as always—he had a bad habit of lashing out at whatever was nearby when he lost his temper.

I straightened my back and held myself still, refusing to flinch.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said calmly. “Maybe because I’m still Cecilia Rosette, I’ve been careless in fulfilling my duties as Countess of Linton.”

His expression flickered with surprise.

In his anger, he hadn’t called me Cecilia Linton or Countess Linton. He’d defaulted to my maiden name.

Whether he realized it or not, it was an unconscious rejection—he no longer saw me as one of his.

“Countess Linton,” he said tightly.

“Yes, Count Linton?” I replied sweetly.

Edgar forced a smile, barely masking his irritation.

“Even so, what will you do if I insist on coming?”

“Then you should,” I answered lightly.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly thrown off by the unexpected agreement.

“Are you playing games with me?”

“Marchioness Federica’s carriage likely only seats two,” I said. “You’ll have to take the Linton family’s carriage. Your formal wear isn’t prepared, but if you show up looking underdressed and claim your sole desire was to humbly offer your hard-earned gifts, I’m sure Her Majesty will understand.”

I listed each reason why he shouldn’t go—politely, but firmly.

For a moment, it seemed like I’d finally managed to push him back.

“I do have formalwear,” Edgar said with a smug grin.

“And I’ll have to get out and walk once I arrive at the palace anyway. The carriage doesn’t go inside.”

I hadn’t known that.

The curve of his lips tilted more noticeably now, pleased that he had caught me off guard.

“Go on, then,” he said, triumphant. “Let the Marchioness know I’ll be joining.”

I could hardly stand the sight of him, full of himself like he’d just won some grand war.

So I said I would—and stood from my seat.

When I returned to the room, Penelope looked completely dumbfounded after I told her Edgar would be coming too.

“Excuse me, my lady—but is that man serious?”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” I muttered.

I sat down and began writing a long, apologetic letter to Marchioness Federica.
It was extremely rude in society to add someone to an event the day of.
But Edgar had no problem encouraging me to build ties with the Marchioness while also pushing me into doing something that could ruin her impression of me.

In his mind, he was an irresistibly charming man. Whether it was Marchioness Federica or the Queen herself, he was sure he’d win them over.

To him, I was just a stepping stone. Once he crossed the river, the stone’s usefulness would end.

Unless, of course, he planned to come back.

But Edgar wasn’t the type to return the way he came. He’d rather cut through a thorny path than take a single step backward.

“What should we do, my lady…”

Penelope’s voice had an unusual note of concern as I focused on the letter.

“It’s alright,” I said, thinking she was worried about me being put in an awkward position.

“Marchioness Federica will help. She knows my relationship with Edgar isn’t exactly ideal. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“That’s not it.”

“Hm?”

Penelope crawled over on her knees, brushing aside the dresses piled nearby.

She beckoned me close and whispered something in my ear.

It was… one of those Oh no moments.

“Ricky said he’s meeting the Queen today too. I teased him about it earlier, told him he’d probably see you there. But now, if Lord Linton’s going as well…”

I blinked slowly.

The fact that Ricardo hadn’t told me he’d be there didn’t even make me angry.

In fact, knowing he’d be there made me think—at least this visit to the palace wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.

But with Edgar tagging along?

“Should I go sabotage the carriage wheels?” Penelope offered seriously, clenching her fists.

I blinked at her overwhelming loyalty and quickly shook my head.

“It’s alright. We’ll be in front of the Queen. Even Edgar will behave himself there.”

“I’m not worried about him,” she muttered. “I’m worried about Ricky.”

Ricardo always handled Edgar’s provocations calmly.

I tried to reassure her with that, but Penelope’s tense expression wouldn’t budge.

And truthfully, I should have paid more attention to her reaction, analyzed it more carefully, and adjusted my plans accordingly.

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