No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 74

The Marchioness Federica’s estate was peaceful.

Though she could barely contain her anger at Edgar’s actions, she still gently suggested that perhaps I should postpone becoming the Queen’s lady-in-waiting.

Just as Ricardo had said, her highest concern was the Queen’s well-being.

The visit from Lorraine, who was supposed to begin my training, was also delayed.

After I escaped, Edgar sent a letter asking me to return home—conveniently leaving out any mention of the convent.

To outsiders, it seemed the official story was that Edgar, worried about Marchioness Federica’s health, had graciously offered to send me to stay with her.

Lady Rosette, of all people, was now enthusiastically praising Edgar’s kindness and concern wherever she went.

Ricardo visited the estate daily, having long conversations with the Marchioness.

I could only assume he was trying to convince her that placing me in the Queen’s service wasn’t a mistake.

“How is Lady Elodie?”

I had asked Ricardo to stay back after his meeting with the Marchioness so we could talk privately.

Judging by his expression, it seemed he had failed once again to sway the Marchioness.

He couldn’t even meet my eyes, looking like a disgraced knight who had failed his monarch.

For someone who’d said he wanted to make me his queen, he now looked like he was kneeling before a throne he couldn’t protect.

I tried to steer the conversation to something he had handled well.

“She seems to be adjusting. There’s an experienced midwife living with her, so nothing should go wrong.”

Two days after I arrived at the estate, I’d arranged for Elodie to move into a safe, quiet home.

She hadn’t resisted. Ricardo’s people said she followed without a single word of protest.

Considering she was pregnant, I thought she’d still be clinging to hope for Edgar. Her quiet acceptance surprised me.

“She didn’t send Edgar a letter to end things?”

Her belly was visibly full now. Even with a tightly laced corset, it would’ve been hard to hide. Seeing Edgar face-to-face was too dangerous at this stage.

She’d moved without issue, yet hadn’t officially ended things. Was she waiting for Edgar to come find her? Was she playing the damsel-in-the-tower role?

“Edgar’s not quite himself lately. Seems your escape really rattled him,” Ricardo said. “He’s putting on a calm face, but inside, he’s rotting. Elodie probably figures if she just disappears, he’ll see it as one less problem to deal with.”

Elodie’s perspective, as relayed by Ricardo, was surprisingly cold.

“And he hasn’t tried to find her? She vanished so suddenly.”

“Lia, you come first. It’s not like he truly loved Elodie anyway.”

Once Ricardo realized I wasn’t hostile toward Elodie, he began treating her with a certain respect.

It was a stark contrast to Martha, who still called her “that girl,” “that woman,” or worse.

“Cecilia, please,” I said, correcting him. “I’m still Countess Linton, and we’re in Marchioness Federica’s estate.”

After updating me on the outside situation, I reminded him of the proper title.

Ricardo bit his lip in mild frustration but eventually shrugged and gave in.

“Fine, Lady Cecilia.”

“What does Her Majesty think of all this? Will she insist on keeping me even if the Marchioness continues to oppose it?”

Ricardo had been trying to persuade the Marchioness while also working behind the scenes to ensure the Queen didn’t give up on me.

“You don’t need to worry about that. Right now, the Queen is in a desperate position—she’d grab at any straw.”

The Queen? The woman I’d seen had looked like someone who had everything.

I’d thought of her as the type who longed for family love only because she had everything else.

That’s why I’d tried to win her over by positioning myself as a kind of surrogate sister.

Even if her grandmother, Marchioness Federica, gave her unconditional love, the loss of her mother had likely left a hole no one else could fill.

I—or rather, Cecilia—shared that same kind of wound with her.

Something the Marchioness could never understand: the pain of losing a mother at a young age.

Ricardo looked around briefly, then gestured for one of the Marchioness’s maids to leave us alone. He sat down closer to me.

“The King’s mistress is pregnant again. It’s her third time.”

He spoke of the palace’s tragedy like summarizing a stage play.

“The Queen intervened the first two times. Those babies never saw the light of day.”

My chest tightened at the way he said it—so casually, as if the lives never existed.

“Not all illegitimate children are equal. But a king’s bastard? If they’re acknowledged, their whole world changes. And if the Queen still hasn’t given the King a son… then what happens? The mistress becomes the mother of a future king, and the Queen gets shoved into the background like some relic.”

I never believed all the rumors about the royal couple’s love, but I hadn’t expected this.

“What exactly did you promise the Queen?”

I understood her desperation—but I couldn’t figure out how Ricardo became her last hope.

“The House of Bastian has a claim to the throne.”

Ricardo mimed tearing an invisible piece of paper.

“I gave that up.”

That still didn’t explain everything. Ricardo was born illegitimate.

Even though he had no rival heirs and had been accepted as the next Duke, no one would seriously consider a bastard duke a viable royal successor.

“And I promised to support whoever the Queen names as her heir.”

He said it so plainly, as if pledging support in a power struggle for the throne was no different than agreeing to host a dinner party.

“Even if she names the mistress’s son as Crown Prince?”

“A promise is a promise.”

I felt lightheaded. Ricardo had willingly stepped into a pit that could swallow his entire life—just to secure a lady-in-waiting position for someone like me.

“Stop. I’d rather not become a lady-in-waiting at all than owe you that much,” I said, horrified.

Ricardo just laughed, a carefree, low chuckle.

“The King doesn’t have much time left.”

I hadn’t heard any rumors about the King being seriously ill. But the implication in his words made me squeeze my eyes shut.

“Tell me you didn’t promise that much.”

“Of course not,” he said—but not firmly enough.

I reached for his hand and stared into his eyes.

“Say you didn’t.”

Ricardo looked down at our joined hands in silence. Then slowly, his lips curled into a smile—radiant, like a flower beginning to bloom.

“I didn’t promise that far, Lia.”

That was a relief. I let out a breath and released his hand.

For a second, he looked like he wanted to hold onto mine, but instead, he clenched his empty fist tightly.

“Lady Cecilia,” he corrected himself at last.

“Lady Cecilia,” I echoed.

His willingness to correct himself without complaint brought more exhaustion than satisfaction.

Because of me, he had thrown away a peaceful future as the Duke of Bastian.

“I don’t plan on having children anyway,” he said, noticing my fatigue. “So the Bastian line ends with me.”

He tried to sound casual, like it was no big deal.

“I told the Queen I’d support whoever she names as heir. But I didn’t make some reckless vow to put them on the throne myself. I’m not even sure my support, as a bastard duke, means anything.”

Then why did the Queen need him at all?

“I told you,” he said with a crooked smile. “She’s grabbing at straws.”

He was too handsome for his own good—and at a time like this, that smile only unsettled me.

“Then I must be a straw too.”

If Ricardo was her practical support, I was the Queen’s emotional one.

“I’m worried I won’t be much of a sister to Her Majesty.”

What I had planned to offer her was little more than imitation affection.

That was all I had—an empty shell. I couldn’t conjure something I didn’t have inside me.

I had assumed that the Queen, with Marchioness Federica’s unwavering love, wouldn’t need more. That it would be enough.

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

His sudden praise made me exhale a mix of laughter and disbelief.

“You said we were the same. Then you must be perfect too.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Ricardo suddenly froze like he’d been struck.

He covered his eyes with his palm and dragged it down across his face.

“See? This is exactly why people can’t help falling for you. If I had it in me to be selfish, Lia, I’d wish you’d never speak again.”

I’d heard a softer version of that from Margaret—and a far more intense one from Penelope.

“It’s because I don’t belong here.”

Ricardo was the only one who knew I wasn’t really Cecilia.

“In my world, it never worked.”

Back then, I was the kind of person who made others uncomfortable. I watched people too closely, picked up on what they wanted to hide. No one liked being around me for long.

“You weren’t from here?” he asked, suddenly alert, sitting up straighter. I could feel how much he wanted to know more.

But I changed the subject.

“I want to file for divorce. Can you help me find a lawyer?”

Ricardo looked disappointed, but he smiled like he found my bluntness endearing.

“Already done. Adultery cases rely heavily on emotional appeal. Witnesses can be arranged, but it’s better to have physical evidence too.”

“I have a journal.”

Cecilia’s tear-stained diary was still at the Linton estate. I’d need Martha to retrieve it.

“And I suspect Edgar embezzled my assets.”

“Embezzled?”

Ricardo narrowed his eyes.

“The region he keeps visiting for ‘business’—I think that land came from Cecilia’s dowry. He likely made some arrangement with Lady Rosette when they got married. I don’t have proof, just a strong hunch.”

Ricardo muttered a curse under his breath.

“His father lost everything to gambling, but the debt was mysteriously resolved after he married me. There has to be a connection. Martha told me Edgar once said he was covering my short dowry with his private funds—but I think he was just giving me back a portion of what was already mine.”

“If we can confirm that, we won’t even need a court battle.”

Ricardo didn’t seem worried about finding proof.

I had been trapped inside the house, and it had taken me forever just to learn that Elodie’s residence was in Cecilia’s name. But for Ricardo, these things seemed easy.

If I had access to my own money and freedom to move around, maybe I wouldn’t need his help so much.

Ricardo was a complicated presence—part relief, part burden, and a painful reminder of my own helplessness.

“Lia?”

He looked at me with concern, clearly reading my expression.

But I pushed my thoughts aside.

Because whether I wanted it or not, Ricardo had chosen to give me his life.

Even if the burden he carried was made of gold, it was still heavy. Still, something I would have to bear, just to have him nearby.

Support