No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 72

The warm tea Martha had brought and the softness of the bed helped bring me back to my senses.

Once my mind cleared, I realized I should cancel the order I’d given to summon Ricardo.

Edgar’s declaration—that he would confine me to a convent—had been a move I hadn’t anticipated.

The Edgar Linton I knew was proud, deeply ambitious, and shrewd enough to pursue what he wanted.

Given his immense pride, I had fully expected him to be displeased that no one had consulted him about my appointment as the Queen’s lady-in-waiting.

However, I had always believed that, for all his cleverness, Edgar lacked true wisdom—and that he would, in the end, prioritize the dignity of House Linton above his own irritation.

“My lady, are you feeling better?”

Martha, seated at the edge of the bed, gently took the teacup from my hand.

I looked down at her wrinkled hands.

Just as I had misjudged Edgar, maybe I had misjudged others as well.

It was probably true that Martha once intended to use Cecilia. But was it really possible that there hadn’t been even a shred of sincerity mixed in?

I always thought that my lack of affection made me especially attuned to detecting others’ emotions. But perhaps that, too, had been a delusion born of insecurity.

“Let’s send Justin to Lord Ricardo,” I said. “He can use the excuse that Sarah is still at the palace and needs to be brought home.”

Martha, wise as ever, didn’t act immediately on the frantic nonsense I’d said earlier.

“No. What I said before—I didn’t mean it. There’s no need to summon Lord Ricardo.”

At my words, Martha visibly relaxed.

“Then will you tell this old nurse what happened?”

She set the teacup gently on the bedside table.

I hesitated, watching her movements.

I had pushed her away. At the same time, I kept her close enough to keep an eye on her, with a figurative leash around her neck.

Because I had promised adequate compensation, I told myself it was fine. But I also knew—people are not livestock, and no one enjoys being leashed. I had been certain she resented me for it.

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes and instead stared at the folds of the bed sheet.

“Angry? At you, my lady?”

Martha gave a small laugh, as if I’d said something utterly absurd.

“There were plenty of times I was exasperated with you. You were such a handful as a baby. You barely ever slept, day or night. I told you, didn’t I? I couldn’t spare a second for Justin—I spent every moment looking after you.”

Her gentle tone made me think this was likely one of the memories she and Cecilia had shared many times before.

“I raised you so dearly, only for that wicked stepmother to come along. And still, you adored her as if she were your real mother. The first time you called her ‘Mama’… I was so heartbroken I couldn’t sleep that night.”

I fiddled awkwardly with my fingernails.

Asking if she resented me had led, unexpectedly, to a reaffirmation of Martha’s affection for Cecilia.

All the moments she had mentioned—the times she’d been exasperated—had happened at the Rosette estate.

In other words, she hadn’t brought up any of the pain or cruelty I had inflicted after becoming Cecilia.

“Not that,” I said quietly.

I was about to recall how Cecilia had once accidentally spilled ink all over the Count Rosette’s study and, terrified, hid in fear—only for Justin to lie and say he’d caused the mess himself.

“For example… the fact that I call you just Martha. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Martha fell silent for a moment. Then she pulled me into an embrace.

“I wasn’t a very good nurse to you, my lady.”

Her warmth and those words took the breath from my lungs.

“I wasn’t angry. I was hurt. I wondered how you could cast me aside after everything I did to raise you. But then Justin asked me—did I really love him and you equally?”

Martha felt small in my arms. Though she was hugging me, my shoulders stretched beyond hers, like I no longer quite fit in the space she once held me in.

“Justin is my son by blood. But you, my lady—you were my daughter of the heart. And yet… I’m ashamed to say it, but I started to expect something in return once you grew up, got married to a good husband. That’s when I started to feel I was owed something.”

But could that really be called selfishness?

Raising Cecilia, Martha must have neglected her own son, Justin, in ways she couldn’t fully express.

Isn’t a sacrifice meaningless if it yields no return? I understood that logic all too well. That’s why I had tried to control Martha’s desires from the start—to minimize them before they grew.

“What kind of parent expects repayment from their child?” I asked.

They exist. Far too many. Not just in my world, but here too.

“I saw how much you were suffering in this house, and yet I only thought of myself. I betrayed you first.”

“And I…” I tried to say I did the same.

“That’s not true, my lady.”

Martha gently pushed me back to look at my face.

“I didn’t raise you right. You went into marriage still the same little girl I once carried on my back. I made you see me as your mother… but then I turned around and treated you differently than Justin. The shock that must have given you—I can’t imagine.”

She sniffled, wiping her nose.

“I suppose I’m in no place to speak ill of stepmothers after all.”

I buried my face in her chest, trying to hide the look on my own.

It felt strange.

Martha’s love—had always belonged to Cecilia.

That was why I—the person who was no longer Cecilia—had pushed Martha away and doubted her.

Cecilia had longed for affection. I didn’t. And I didn’t want to be used in exchange for Martha’s love.

If Cecilia had never left this world, perhaps the two of them would have eventually had this heartfelt conversation and lived on as a happy family.

It was devastating.

I had wanted to repay Cecilia’s kindness. But in the end, all I had done was destroy what little she still had.

That was the inevitable limit of a defective product.

“Martha.”

Perhaps it was already too late, but I decided to try making amends. My way of doing things had only ever brought Cecilia harm.

If a place like heaven existed, Cecilia was probably up there fuming, blaming me with clenched fists.

“Edgar says he’s sending me to a convent.”

If I hadn’t known Martha’s feelings were sincere, I might have continued deceiving her and planned another way to flee the estate.

“A convent?” Martha shot up in alarm.

“Saint Fidelphia. He said I’d be sent there early tomorrow morning.”

“Saint Fidelphia?! But that place—!”

Martha let out a panicked whisper, almost a scream.

“That’s not a convent—it’s an asylum!”

I’d suspected as much. But hearing it confirmed by Martha somehow cleared my head.

“Why would he send a young lady who just had an audience with Her Majesty to a place like that? I mean, things have been tense lately, but the Count still came home every night. Sure, he kept meeting that shameless girl, but… you were noticed by the Marchioness and even received Her Majesty’s favor…”

“Edgar says I’m insane.”

Martha sank into the bed. The shift in the mattress mirrored the weight crashing down on her heart.

“That wretched woman must have done something. Pretended to be innocent all this time, and now she wants the title of Countess for herself. We have to do something, my lady.”

Even while saying all this, Martha still believed in Edgar.

“Elodie isn’t the type.”

“Oh, my poor lady… You just don’t know how manipulative women like her can be. She may sing pretty songs, but at the end of the day, she’s still a commoner. And now the title is within reach—she won’t let that go.”

I realized then: I couldn’t convince Martha otherwise.

No matter how much she loved Cecilia, the future she envisioned for her was still as the Countess of Linton.

“Elodie may have played a part, but right now, the urgent thing is stopping me from going to that convent tomorrow.”

I shifted the conversation. On this point, at least, we were in agreement.

“Is there a way? If the Count has truly made up his mind, he’s likely already arranged for the carriages and guards to be locked down. Even if Justin could somehow smuggle out a horse… where would you even go? And is there time to convince him? If only that woman hadn’t gotten in the way, our lady would have had a happy life ahead of her!”

As Martha’s frustration rose, she began stomping her feet. I gently coaxed her to sit back down.

“I’ll go to Marchioness Federica’s estate. That was where I was supposed to be heading tomorrow morning anyway. Her Majesty asked me to serve as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The Marchioness said there would be too many distractions at the palace, so she offered her home as a place for my training.”

Martha’s face lit up—only to fall again just as quickly.

“This is serious, then,” she muttered, pacing the room despite my efforts to calm her.

“To serve the Queen is a great honor. Even the Count should be pleased. And yet he’s calling you insane and sending you to a convent? No, no—this is all that vile woman’s doing.”

It was baffling. Martha truly loved Cecilia, yet she still defended Edgar.

So maybe I hadn’t completely misjudged her. Maybe parts of my assessment had been accurate after all.

That thought reminded me of something—of my grandmother coming to visit, asking my mother to reconsider the divorce.

Even then, I couldn’t understand it. And I hadn’t believed in my grandmother’s love for us, either.

After the divorce, my mother was miserable.

But that had been my fault.

If I hadn’t constantly reminded her of my father’s betrayal, maybe she could’ve found a different kind of happiness.

Now, here I was, standing at another crossroad, facing a choice just as painful.

I had to find Cecilia’s happiness—without betraying Martha a second time.

“The Marchioness will protect me. Once I officially begin serving Her Majesty, even Edgar will have no choice but to reconsider.”

That wasn’t true. Edgar wouldn’t back down.

But it was enough to convince Martha.

“Yes! Of course! Once you’re a lady-in-waiting, that woman wouldn’t dare try to steal your place anymore!”

The irony was painful. Elodie was likely curled up somewhere, her hands on her swollen belly, anxiously waiting for some sign that I’d leave Edgar.

Watching Martha glow with hope, I was struck again by how love is a double-edged sword—and how incredible the people are who manage to bear it.

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