No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 66

Marchioness Federica replied with grace, saying that although it was against proper etiquette, she would add Edgar to the palace entry list, considering my situation.

She also mentioned that since the plan had originally been for me to come to her estate and ride with her, she would now send her carriage directly to the Linton household instead.

We had carriages of our own, of course—but they were small, only drawn by two horses.

Edgar liked to act as if money was no issue, yet he was careful not to display any overt signs of luxury.

Given that the former Count Linton had lost the family fortune to gambling, Edgar had reason to emphasize frugality.

Penelope, still unhappy with the dress even after all her adjustments, helped me prepare with a dissatisfied look on her face.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” I told her.

“Only because you’re wearing it, my lady,” she replied.

But the truth was, the dress would have looked beautiful on Isla, too.

Instead of correcting her, I stayed quiet.

If we talked too long, I feared she’d start calling me her muse again—one of those overwhelming titles I couldn’t quite handle.

“It’s Ricky’s fault,” she muttered. “If it weren’t for him, I could’ve made the grandest, most stunning dress in the world for you.”

Penelope grumbled, but the reflection in the mirror didn’t need any improvement. The dress already looked like the grandest in the world—not because of me, but because of itself.

It was wide across the hips, revealing layers of lace beneath with every step. The shoulders and neck were fully covered, but the bodice was cut low at the chest—just enough to let the imagination wander. It was a perfect contradiction, capturing both modesty and indulgence in one look.

“It’s heavy.”

“That’s because it’s an old-fashioned design. Whoever came up with this must’ve been trying to torture women,” Penelope huffed.

It felt like I was carrying sandbags below my waist.

At this rate, I’d be exhausted just walking—unless someone supported me the entire time.

“Do you have to wear something like this every time you go to the palace?” she asked, steadying me when I staggered after just one step.

I shook my head, remembering Ricardo’s letter.

“Only for the first visit, apparently.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

The palace was a traditional place, but royals were still people. It seemed they weren’t entirely immune to the pressure of keeping up with modern fashion.

When I’d seen the Queen during Josephine’s boating party, she’d worn a gown with a simple silhouette.

Sticking to old-fashioned grandeur wasn’t nearly as impressive as being seen as a trendsetter—and for royalty, appearances mattered.

“I guess the Queen being modest helped shift the fashion.”

But the Queen I had seen was far from modest.

Her gown had been simple, yes, but she’d offset the plain design with extravagant accessories.

Not wanting to ruin Penelope’s fantasy, I simply nodded.

“Pepe, that’s enough,” I said, stopping her as she reached for yet another decorative ribbon.

Penelope insisted that the torture-worthy design deserved to be over-decorated—as revenge.

“That way, the designer will regret it. If men end up hurting their backs trying to help women in these dresses, that’s justice.”

That designer was probably long dead and dust by now.

“Maybe they’re still watching from the heavens,” she countered when I pointed that out.

“If it were me, I’d keep both eyes wide open, even in the afterlife, just to see how my dress was treated.”

“They say all artists are strange… and I guess that includes you.”

She blushed at the word strange, but didn’t deny it.

“Pepe?”

“Yes?”

“It’s just… you called me an artist.” She laughed shyly. “I call myself a party planner, but most people still see me as just a seamstress.”

Designing and creating dresses at her level was, in my view, absolutely an art.

“If anyone here’s strange, my lady—it’s you.”

I’d been called creepy or unsettling before, but strange—and especially from someone actually strange—was new.

“I’m not normal, sure,” I said quietly, “but I’m trying.”

Even after stepping into Cecilia’s body, I was still just me. That realization came with a bitter taste.

Penelope’s eyes widened, and she shook her head firmly.

“No—I meant it as a compliment. You’re incredible.”

“Incredible?” I echoed.

“You saw me as an artist. I talk big, but sometimes, the negativity around me wears me down. But you—you always say exactly what I need to hear.”

Her eyes sparkled with such overwhelming sincerity that I had to look away.

This sort of thing happened because I wasn’t used to hierarchical society.

Back where I came from, I saw others as inherently complete and worthy, even without doing anything. But in this world, that attitude unintentionally gave the impression that I recognized people—that I saw them.

And in a world built on status, that was powerful.

It made Margaret’s behavior make more sense, too.

As the illegitimate daughter of a minor baron, she probably lived her life constantly overlooked. Just the fact that I didn’t judge her status might have been enough for her to grow attached.

—People like us, we can spot someone like Cecilia from a mile away.

That’s what she had said once. At the time, I thought she meant people like us—people who were broken in similar ways.

“I need to be careful,” I murmured to myself.

Penelope tilted her head, confused.

“Nothing,” I smiled. “Pepe, the dress is perfect. You can stop adjusting it.”

“But—”

“The Marchioness’s carriage is already here.”

I had just heard the sound of wheels passing through the front gate. But Penelope, too absorbed in “fixing” imaginary flaws in the dress, hadn’t noticed.

“It is?”

“Yes, it’s already here.”

Still wearing a dissatisfied expression—but clearly out of options—Penelope finally stepped away from the dress.

“I’ll help you down to the entrance.”

Dragging what felt like a bag of sand—no, a dress—I made my way down the stairs, one heavy step at a time.

The front door was already open.

“My lady! What took you so long?!”

Sarah, dressed impeccably, rushed over in a hurry and pointed outside with urgency.

“Hurry—go to the Count!”

Penelope’s mouth opened wide, as if ready to scold her.

I quickly gave Penelope a subtle look, shaking my chin to stop her from making a scene.

“Where’s Martha?”

“No idea. As soon as Lord Ricardo got out of the carriage, she ran off somewhere!”

Ricardo? What is she talking about?

“Marchioness Federica sent Lord Bastian in the carriage! I don’t know what she was thinking, but never mind that now—go to the Count! Something bad’s going to happen if you don’t!”

Sarah pushed me toward the door. As if the weight of the dress wasn’t already a struggle, being shoved forward only made keeping my balance harder.

“W-wait, Sarah! Don’t push me—I’ll walk on my own…!”

I knew it would happen. My feet tangled, and I lost my balance. As my knees buckled, I shut my eyes tightly, expecting to fall hard.

A dozen thoughts flew through my mind.

I’ll have to redo my makeup. My hair, the dress… please don’t let it rip…

“Cecilia!”

Edgar’s voice came first.

But the arms that caught me didn’t match that voice.

“C-Countess Linton…”

A strong arm wrapped firmly around my corseted waist, pulling me upright.

“Lord Ricardo. Get your hands off my wife. Now.”

Edgar grabbed my wrist harshly and pulled me behind him.

Had I been wearing a lighter dress, things might’ve gone the way he wanted.

But the weight of this thing was far from normal. Instead of pulling me back, Edgar stumbled toward me, off balance.

Ricardo’s lips curled slightly. Even I could tell—it was a smirk.

“You look stunning, Countess Linton.”

Heat surged into Edgar’s grip on my wrist.

“Lord Ricardo, mind your words.”

“Since when does complimenting a lady require censoring one’s speech?”

“Cecilia is my wife. When complimenting a married woman, there are countless ways to phrase it more appropriately.”

Edgar managed to sound sharp, but Ricardo had simply said I looked beautiful.

“You may not be used to this concept, Lord Ricardo,” Edgar added, “but nobles are expected to follow a certain standard of decorum.”

Ricardo just shrugged, a clear dismissal.

“I paid the same compliment to Lady Isabel,” he said. “She didn’t throw a tantrum like you are.”

The message was clear: If someone like Marchioness Isabel—who comes from a house with a century of legacy—wasn’t offended, then who are you to complain?

“Cecilia. Say you were offended.”

True to form, Edgar turned the burden onto me.

“Say you found it inappropriate for a married woman. Say it made you uncomfortable.”

If I said I was bothered, it would give him an excuse—a righteous reason to be angry as my husband.

I looked between the two men, then quietly twisted my wrist free.

“Did the Marchioness send you, Lord Ricardo?”

“She did. If someone not on the official guest list is to enter, they need a sponsor.”

If Marchioness Federica had sent Ricardo as a gesture of consideration, then treating him coldly would only be disrespectful in return.

“Edgar, I think she made the request for your sake as well.”

Edgar stared at me, completely confused.

“If Lord Ricardo is helping, shouldn’t we overlook a small misstep?”

Of course, Ricardo hadn’t made any misstep at all—but I didn’t want Edgar’s bruised pride causing unnecessary problems.

“…Hah.”

After a long pause, Edgar let out a stunned, bitter laugh.

“I doubt Lord Ricardo explained any of this before you showed up.”

And there it was—Sarah had been panicking because Ricardo had clearly been messing with Edgar the whole time.

“Regardless of his title,” Edgar said stiffly, “Cecilia is my wife. Lord Ricardo, please act with the respect your station demands.”

With that, he pulled my hand and wrapped it around his arm.

Ricardo’s eyes followed the movement—my hand, Edgar’s arm—and then slowly rose to meet Edgar’s face.

“Of course, Count Linton. I would never do anything that Countess Linton herself finds inappropriate. I swear it—on my family’s name.”

Technically, it fulfilled none of Edgar’s demands.

What Ricardo said was simple: I’ll act as she wants. I don’t care what you want.

Edgar clearly understood, and his face twisted in frustration.

“Lord Ricardo!”

“Edgar. If you don’t want to be late, we should leave now.”

I had no intention of wasting time caught between the two of them, so I stepped into the carriage first.

While they stayed behind, still glaring at each other, Sir Juan approached and offered his arm.

If it weren’t for him, I’d have ended up awkwardly flailing in the heavy dress.

“Thank you, Sir Juan.”

As he stepped back, he clicked his tongue loud enough for the others to hear.

Both men, looking awkward now, finally followed me into the carriage.

And just like that, an uncomfortable ride to the palace began.

Even before we set off, I already felt suffocated.

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