No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 67

Edgar sat beside me, and Ricardo sat directly across from us. There was no escape—whether I turned to the side or looked ahead, it was a lose-lose situation.

Marchioness Federica probably saw Ricardo as a slightly mischievous but pitiable young man. She couldn’t have possibly anticipated the kind of tension he’d stir by sending him in her carriage.

So, I didn’t blame her.

If I were to point fingers, Ricardo would take first place—for constantly provoking Edgar—and Edgar would come second—for falling for it every single time.

But if I’m being honest, the one who gave Ricardo even the smallest glimmer of hope—me—deserves the top spot.

With nothing to gain from looking at either of them, I fixed my gaze out the window and distracted myself by watching Sir Juan ride ahead of us, his movements smooth and rhythmic.

“Lady Margaret has gotten quite good at horseback riding,” Ricardo said suddenly, breaking the silence.

The last time I’d seen Margaret ride, it had been a miracle she didn’t break her neck falling off the horse.

“She must’ve practiced hard,” I replied.

If it were just the two of us, I wouldn’t have bothered answering. But with Edgar in the carriage, ignoring Ricardo’s comment would suggest our relationship was familiar enough to allow such rudeness—which I didn’t need fueling any more assumptions.

“Does the Countess of Linton enjoy riding as well?”

“Cecilia has always been frail. Rough sports like that are not suitable for her,” Edgar cut in coldly, shooting me a look that clearly meant agree with me.

“Well, riding is standard for a noblewoman, isn’t it?”

Ricardo ignored Edgar’s tone entirely and continued—clearly having prepared the next part of this conversation.

“Even Baron Artois makes sure his daughter keeps up with horseback lessons. What would people think if the Countess of Linton couldn’t do the same?”

It was an obvious move, exploiting Edgar’s deep concern with public perception—and it worked like a charm.

“Lady Margaret…?”

“The Baron’s daughter, Edgar,” I said quickly, saving him from further embarrassment. “We first met at the banquet, and she joined us on Josephine’s boat outing too.”

He squinted, trying to recall.

Not the banquet—but the boat ride must have triggered a memory. Likely the moment she said something that got under his skin.

“Oh. That girl.”

His voice was full of disapproval.

“Cecilia, you really should choose your friends more wisely. Just because someone’s nice to you doesn’t mean it’s genuine. Even if she was the Baron’s legitimate daughter, she still wouldn’t be your type—so why lower yourself for some illegitimate brat?”

It was a smug, patronizing warning, held back only because Ricardo was watching. If it had been just the two of us, Edgar would’ve added how this whole thing was another stain on the Linton family name.

He had deliberately used the word illegitimate—a not-so-subtle dig aimed at Margaret and Ricardo alike.

At first, his expression was twisted with irritation, but by the end of his rant, he looked smug and satisfied.

“How surprising to hear the honorable Count of Linton gossiping about a baron’s daughter behind her back,” Ricardo said calmly.

Edgar’s face twisted again, and I could feel his patience wearing thin, second by second.

“A husband has every right to protect his wife,” he snapped.

If Ricardo had been the illegitimate son of a count, Edgar wouldn’t have felt so threatened.

But unfortunately for him, Ricardo was the son of a duke—and one in the line of succession.

Some bastards were treated worse than commoners… but Ricardo was the kind that even old noble families had to bow to.

“Oh? I hadn’t realized the Countess of Linton needed protecting. I always thought the Count was too dignified to have enemies—but maybe not?”

“If my wife associates with someone who could damage our family’s reputation, it’s my duty—as head of the house—to intervene, Lord Ricardo.”

It was a thinly veiled insult: You’re just a bastard with no real upbringing—so let me explain how noble families work.

Ricardo smiled, eyes gleaming like a hunter finally springing the trap.

“So you’re not protecting her—you’re protecting the Linton family name.”

Edgar opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, unable to refute the logic.

“Lady Margaret is a fine young woman,” Ricardo continued. “Even Lady Isabel recently called her refreshingly sincere—a rare quality these days.”

I turned to look at him.

He smiled so radiantly, I momentarily forgot how to respond. The smile wasn’t a lie—it was a deliberate performance.

For a second, I felt like the entire carriage had brightened.

Even Edgar, caught off guard, found himself staring—before quickly scowling and turning away.

Edgar was handsome, yes—but in a delicate, almost pretty way. Ricardo, meanwhile, exuded a strong masculinity, while still retaining just enough beauty to be called elegant.

In the end, the one with more of everything always wins.

If you lined up Edgar, who was only pretty, next to Ricardo, who was both beautiful and striking, there was no contest. Ricardo would always seem superior.

“Unfortunately,” Ricardo said casually, “Lady Margaret’s status isn’t high enough for Isabel to meet her personally. She regrets that.”

“See?” Edgar jumped at the opportunity, visibly pleased with himself. “Even the Marchioness knows that girl—the Baron’s daughter—is beneath her. My wife may not be on par with Marchioness Federica, but someone like Margaret Artois has no place in her orbit.”

He looked downright triumphant.

“That’s why the Marchioness decided to personally arrange Lady Margaret’s marriage.”

That triumph lasted all of five seconds.

“What did you say?”

“Isabel seemed to be considering the Damier family.”

My mind immediately began sorting through what I knew about the Viscount Damier’s household. Ricardo had mentioned them once.

A loyal family, known for their restraint. If the king ordered them to shut an already closed door, they’d find a way to do it—just to follow orders to the letter. They’d had several chances to rise in rank but had declined them, choosing safety and stability over ambition.

Smart, careful traditionalists.

“Doesn’t the Viscount have two sons?” Ricardo added.

“Even if she marries the second son, it’s not like Lady Margaret’s status will rise all that much,” Edgar muttered.

“Exactly, Count Linton,” Ricardo said. “But if the Marchioness herself is arranging it, wouldn’t offering just the second son be beneath her?”

Edgar’s eyes widened.

“You don’t mean…”

“Oh, I do.”

If Margaret became the future Viscountess Damier, it would be the luckiest break of her life.

And for me, it wasn’t a bad outcome either.

It was far more useful to have a Viscountess Damier on my side than to keep company with the illegitimate daughter of a baron.

But then a thought struck me—was this all Ricardo’s plan from the beginning?

When our eyes briefly met, his golden gaze looked innocent.

Too innocent.

But I wasn’t going to fall for it. His intentions were always written just beneath the surface.

Still, I reminded myself of our agreement. We had acknowledged each other as kin—conditionally. Until my own goals were met, I would accept his help, as agreed.

Edgar’s shallow breathing, trying to keep himself calm, helped me center my own thoughts.

“This is absurd. This can’t be real. What is happening to the world…”

He muttered as if Ricardo didn’t exist—completely lost in his own shock.

I had earned Marchioness Federica’s favor. So had Margaret. But Edgar… had not.

And clearly, he couldn’t understand how.

“We’ve arrived,” Ricardo said, turning toward me.

He leaned in slightly, startling me. But then he smirked and simply opened the carriage door.

Oh. That’s all it was.

“Care to give me a chance to redeem myself?” he asked.

His long legs made it easy to step lightly down the carriage stairs. He turned and extended his hand toward me.

He was probably referring to earlier—when Sir Juan had to help me down because Edgar was too busy picking a fight.

I glanced sideways at Edgar.

He hadn’t even noticed we’d stopped. Still stewing in his bruised pride.

“All right,” I said, placing my hand in Ricardo’s.

“A true honor, Countess Linton,” he said, voice soft and teasing.

He had stuttered a bit earlier when addressing me. Now I realized—it wasn’t a stutter. He had almost called me “Lia,” the nickname he’d chosen for me, before catching himself.

“If you want to be my right hand, you’d better behave a little better, Ricardo,” I whispered.

His pale cheeks flushed with a light pink.

“My lady, Marchioness Federica’s carriage is just over there,” Sarah called out as she approached, awkwardly dusting off her wrinkled dress.

Because Ricardo had taken the extra seat, she’d been relegated to riding in the trunk.

Normally, Sarah wasn’t shy about expressing her dissatisfaction with how I treated her as a personal maid. But when the palace was involved, she was eager to go—even if it meant riding like cargo.

Ricardo had explained that it was standard practice for non-personal maids to travel in the trunk. So I let her choose what she wanted.

“Cecilia,” came a warm voice.

Marchioness Federica had spotted me and was already walking over.

This was her granddaughter’s home, practically her domain. I couldn’t let her come all the way to me.

I stepped forward quickly.

“My lady, thank you for your gracious kindness,” I said.

“Oh please, do we really need formality between us?” she replied fondly. “I hope Ricardo behaved himself. That boy tends to act like a loyal pet one moment and then pulls some ridiculous prank the next.”

She was more relaxed speaking to Ricardo than she ever was with me.

“You nag too much, Isabel.”

Ricardo, for his part, shed the arrogant mask he wore in front of Edgar. He now acted like an impish, spoiled child.

“Come on, Isabel. I was perfect. Countess Linton didn’t complain once during the entire trip.”

“She probably kept it to herself. Cecilia, don’t indulge him too much. That boy’s three years older than you, you know.”

Ricardo just shrugged with a cheeky smile.

“But where is Count Linton?” the Marchioness asked, glancing around.

“Ah, over there.”

Edgar had finally emerged from the carriage—and was taking out his frustration on poor Sir Juan.

I watched as Marchioness Federica’s warm eyes grew cold.

And to be honest… I enjoyed it.

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