No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 75

For several days, Edgar’s letters continued to arrive.

Not a single word mentioned the convent. They were filled only with the kind of polite, empty phrases one would expect from a husband concerned about his wife’s health.

Marchioness Federica interpreted them as gestures of reconciliation.

She hoped I would forgive Edgar, make peace, and become a woman without blemish.

“There’s not a single apology,” I remarked.

At that, the Marchioness offered me an awkward smile.

“The fact that he wrote first probably feels like a big enough concession to the Earl of Linton.”

Marchioness Federica wasn’t one to believe Edgar was a good man—not like so many others.

But with the Queen insisting on bringing me into her service, the Marchioness had to choose her battles.

As unfortunate as my situation was, the world saw me as little more than a woman who had run away from home after a spat with her husband.

Edgar’s version of events—that he had sent me to the Marchioness’s estate out of concern for my health—was accepted without question.

And it didn’t help that everyone already knew I wasn’t sick.

No one with a serious illness could have had an audience with the Queen. So the mere fact that I’d seen her made it clear to anyone paying attention that I wasn’t truly unwell.

Naturally, this all made me out to be a wayward wife who had left home in a fit of anger.

Lady Rosette added fuel to the fire, spreading whispers about how little respect I had for my husband.

“Cecilia, I know what kind of man the Earl is. Even from a brief encounter, it was obvious he’s not as gentle as the rumors say.”

The Marchioness looked worn down—probably from being hounded by Ricardo, who visited daily.

She had likely thought of him as a well-mannered, quiet man—only to find he had a sharp tongue and a stubborn will.

“Still, the two of you are married. I assume you don’t actually want a divorce. Forgiving him would make life easier going forward.”

“Edgar imprisoned my nurse, Madam.”

Though I was already preparing the divorce and Ricardo was gathering evidence, I saw no reason to involve the Marchioness in those details.

“He wants Cecilia to come back. He probably fears that if the nurse leaves, she might never return.”

The Marchioness tried to justify Edgar’s actions, but the bitterness in her voice made it clear how forced the words were.

Even if it was for the Queen’s sake, sending me back to Edgar clearly didn’t sit well with her either.

“Lorraine said she’s willing to resume lessons at the Linton estate. It would be a blow to your pride, but if you can endure just a little longer, Cecilia will enter the palace as my Martha’s lady-in-waiting.”

It was a significant concession on the Marchioness’s part.

Now that a scandal had erupted, she no longer had the luxury of simply pitying me. She likely wanted to keep me at arm’s length from the Queen.

Still, she was offering grace—willing to overlook things if I at least made the appearance of reconciliation with Edgar.

“I find it hard to believe there isn’t a carriage already hidden away, waiting to take me back to the Linton estate.”

The Marchioness sighed heavily.

“Would you feel safer if Lorraine went with you?”

Her tone had turned noticeably colder.

I shook my head. The Queen wouldn’t give up on me—not when her own safety might be at stake.

Once I officially entered the palace, I would be under royal protection.

It was a lady-in-waiting’s right—and the Queen’s responsibility.

“I’d rather wait here for Her Majesty’s summons, Madam.”

“And what if I decide not to summon Lorraine at all?”

The Marchioness’s voice was ice now.

“Then Her Majesty will receive a lady-in-waiting who must be trained from the ground up.”

“I thought you were a woman of reason. It seems I was mistaken.”

She stood and left, leaving her tea more than half full.

Ricardo was supposed to visit later that afternoon. I could only hope he might ease the Marchioness’s mood.

I pulled out a piece of paper and began writing a reply to Edgar.

Halfway through asking him to release Martha, Justin, and Sir Juan, I changed my mind and reached for a new sheet.

Edgar wasn’t going to release them. I knew that already.

Getting Cecilia’s diary back was more important than anything else.

I wrote Margaret’s name at the top of the fresh page.

I tried to compose a request—asking her to visit the Linton estate, go through my vanity drawer, and retrieve the diary—but my hand stopped before I could finish. The only mark left was a thick smear of ink.

It wasn’t fear of rejection that froze me.

It was the certainty that Margaret would say yes, no matter the risk.

“Lady Cecilia.”

Just as I sat there, paralyzed by helplessness, Ricardo arrived.

“Lord Ricardo.”

He wore a deep navy suit and quickly crossed the room to me, scanning my face with concern.

Instead of sitting in a chair, he bent one knee on the carpet and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the ink from my fingers—treating me like I was some rare jewel.

“You should see the Marchioness first.”

“She wouldn’t open the door. Said she couldn’t even bear to look at me.”

Once the ink was gone, Ricardo finally stood and sat across from me.

“If it’s about the diary, Penelope could be a good choice.”

Apparently, he’d already read the letter I didn’t finish.

“I thought about her.”

“And?”

“I have nothing to offer as payment.”

Both Margaret and Penelope had made their desires clear.

Sadly, I had none of what they wanted. Not genuine friendship, not trust, not affection.

Those things didn’t exist in me.

“Did you consider me, too?”

Ricardo asked.

“You stand out too much. I don’t want to give Edgar’s imagination any fuel.”

If Ricardo got involved, Edgar would immediately paint us as having an illicit relationship.

The divorce needed to be rooted solely in Edgar’s infidelity and the embezzlement of Cecilia’s dowry.

Even if I divorced him as a perfect victim, people would still whisper. But if there were rumors I had done something wrong too, Cecilia’s reputation would be destroyed.

In the end, Cecilia had prayed not to love Edgar.

Even though she decided she’d rather die, divorce never crossed her mind.

Maybe she wanted to remain Countess Linton even in death. Or maybe it was her way of punishing Edgar—leaving him as the husband who drove his wife to death. Only Cecilia would know.

Whatever the reason, I had a duty to protect her reputation after death.

Her chance to remain the Countess until the end had been lost. So now, at the very least, I had to ensure she wasn’t remembered as a terrible wife.

“If I don’t get involved directly, will you allow it?”

Ricardo gave me a devilish grin.

“Even if you hire someone else, there’s always a risk of being exposed.”

“I wasn’t planning on using an amateur.”

If not a messenger or mercenary… then what?

“Just start a fire.”

I blinked.

“…What?”

“Unattended fireplaces catch fire all the time.”

Ricardo said it so cheerfully, as if he were explaining how to make tea.

“And Lady Cecilia’s room has been left untouched. It’s the perfect condition for an accident.”

I rubbed my temple, already spotting the flaw in his plan.

“Who’s going to start the fire?”

“Our loyal knight.”

Oh no. Ricardo was talking about making Sir Juan an arsonist, and he didn’t seem remotely guilty about it.

“Sir Juan doesn’t have access to my room.”

“It’s prohibited, not impossible. There’s a difference, Lia.”

“Lady Cecilia.”

He ignored the correction.

“Remember the night you escaped? Matias reached your balcony just fine, didn’t he?”

Sir Juan had made it there, dodging dozens of eyes, even hiding a massive ladder in advance.

“I should tell Elodie to send Edgar a farewell letter today. We’ll give the grieving Count a grand fire show to distract him.”

Watching Ricardo so giddy as he plotted Edgar’s ruin only confirmed my suspicion—he wasn’t as damaged as I was.

If he could enjoy revenge this much, he was probably just a little twisted—not entirely hollow.

“Do you really think Sir Juan would agree?”

Now wasn’t the right time to tell Ricardo he wasn’t as broken as he believed. Because if he was whole, this situation worked against me.

My conscience gave a sharp twinge. Though, with how little I actually had of one, it was probably just phantom pain.

“If the Matias I know is still in there, he’s probably already out collecting kindling.”

Apparently, his Sir Juan and mine were two different people.

“If he agrees, fine.”

I fully expected Sir Juan to say no. He was a man of principle.

He might help someone escape out of compassion, but setting a fire was another matter entirely.

“I’ll send someone. We just need a yes or no—it won’t take long.”

Ricardo scribbled a short note on the back of my ruined stationery and sent a servant to deliver it.

“Sir Juan might need time to think.”

I subtly tried to suggest that Ricardo leave.

“Maybe.”

He sipped from the tea Marchioness Federica had left behind.

I rang for a maid to bring a fresh pot.

“You shouldn’t drink what someone else abandoned.”

“Goes down the same, anyway.”

I didn’t meet his eyes with pity. Not even when he made it obvious that he was flaunting remnants of a troubled childhood.

“And don’t act like you enjoy it if you don’t.”

“I’m losing it.”

I let his nonsense wash over me.

“Every time you do this, I lose my mind and want to do something insane.”

“If you could just hold it together until the divorce, I’d appreciate it.”

Ricardo set down the teacup. The quiet clink told me his earlier words weren’t a joke.

His hand was shaking.

“It’s a strange kind of happiness,” he muttered. “To have someone who sees straight through you like a mirror.”

I thought to myself: Ricardo might not be as broken as me, but he definitely wasn’t flawless either.

By the time I’d nearly finished the fresh tea, the servant returned.

“Well?”

He gave a respectful nod.

“Sir Juan said to tell you: yes.”

Ricardo grinned and looked at me.

I reevaluated Sir Juan from a man of principle to simply… normal.

Though, I wasn’t sure if “normal” was the right word for someone who just agreed to arson.

From now on, I might need to think twice before taking any of his advice too seriously.

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