No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 91

Chapter 91

The drawing room was radiant, as if it had burst into bloom.

Marchioness Federica wore a gown in a calm, muted tone appropriate for her age. Lady Rosette, a widow who had taken on her late husband’s legacy, was also dressed in colors far from bright.

And of course, there was Countess Damier—well known for her modest lifestyle, even the royal family acknowledged it. She was the very picture of restraint.

Lady Margaret, the only unmarried woman present, lacked the means to replicate the elaborate fashion once expected when being received by the Queen.

So, the brightness in the drawing room came solely from Ricardo.

In a dark formal suit, Ricardo stood out with a striking appearance that couldn’t help but shine, even in the dimmest light.

The moment the drawing room doors opened, his dark hair lifted slightly—then his gaze locked onto me, following behind the Queen. He didn’t look away until I had taken my seat.

Maybe it was because the Queen had just given me a subtle push—permission, even—to desire him.

I found myself once again admiring Ricardo’s face.

Objectively, he wasn’t what you’d call delicately handsome. His features were bold, distinctly masculine. Perhaps because of a difficult childhood, he trained his body instead of neglecting it, unlike many nobles. He was well-built, muscular.

Not the kind of muscle that was overly bulky or awkward. His physique was refined—captivating, even. The kind that made you pause and take notice.

As the only gentleman in the room, Ricardo rose slowly and bowed politely to the Queen.

Since this wasn’t a formal event, the ladies had the rare honor of remaining seated while welcoming Her Majesty.

Women’s dresses, no matter how simple, wrinkle easily when one rises and sits again—so at small gatherings like this, preserving the dress often came before etiquette.

“Grandmother,”

The Queen greeted Marchioness Federica first, speaking with warmth.

Her gaze passed in order over Countess Damier and Lady Margaret, before settling on Lady Rosette.

“Your Majesty.”

Lady Rosette looked overwhelmed with emotion, as if the Queen’s glance were an extraordinary blessing. She awkwardly stood and curtsied.

Everyone knew that, since no one had stood when the Queen entered, such formal gestures had been silently set aside. Still, Lady Rosette insisted on performing one.

I realized then how desperate she truly was.

Isla’s reputation had already hit rock bottom.

Just two mistakes—once during Josephine’s boating party, and again at Marchioness Federica’s luncheon. Only twice, but it was enough. Isla had shattered the very ladder she’d needed to climb.

Rumors had even begun to circulate about how unimpressive Lady Rosette’s own family background was—being the second wife of Count Rosette had done her no favors.

Though people once admired her as a noble widow who refused to remarry out of love for her late husband, some now whispered that she simply didn’t want to return to her lowly family home.

That’s how far things had fallen. Lady Rosette was desperate.

Edgar was caught somewhere between outrage and denial, refusing to accept the reality he faced.

Lady Rosette had hoped to secure Isla’s future by tying her to the Linton family. But from the moment I stepped into Cecilia’s body, her plans were doomed.

In-laws may be considered family in name, but if that connection was through a stepdaughter, it became nothing more than an unfunny joke.

The real Cecilia might’ve made it work.

She probably loved her stepmother sincerely. She would’ve wanted to be a true sister to her half-sibling.

“Lady Margaret.”

The Queen’s voice shook Lady Rosette’s gentle smile. While keeping her gaze firmly on Rosette, the Queen extended a hand toward Margaret.

“Your Majesty.”

Margaret looked a little nervous, but she was never someone who obsessed over status.

Not because she had some overflowing confidence—quite the opposite. She’d realized early on that, in the world she lived in, she was no more important than an ant beneath someone’s heel.

“Cecilia used to speak of Lady Margaret quite often.”

I tried not to react to the Queen’s lie. She told it so naturally, so easily—while I had to work to keep my expression from slipping.

The Queen could do things I couldn’t. She could even see straight through me.

It made my face flush with heat, just thinking about it.

Though I claimed to admire and even envy people who were whole, I often used my brokenness like a weapon—wielding my emotions as if they made me special.

It was arrogant. Like a frog in a well, thinking the tiny circle of sky above it was the entire world.

“I’m truly glad to hear Cecilia hasn’t forgotten me, Your Majesty.”

Margaret smiled. She said she’d thought our treasured friendship had ended, since I hadn’t written back or even sent a short message.

She said it like a joke, but it wasn’t one.

The Queen seemed intrigued by Margaret’s honesty and motioned her to sit closer.

“Oh dear, you’ve been standing this whole time. Please sit, Countess Rosette.”

Lady Rosette, who had remained standing because the Queen never acknowledged her greeting, forced a smile. She looked like she had just swallowed something bitter.

Was I imagining things, or did she look just like Edgar—back when he was completely ignored by the Queen?

Lady Rosette and Edgar were, in a way, a perfect match.

If Edgar had been a little older, or if Rosette had been born a few years later, they might have truly belonged together.

“Lord Ricardo has shared a few updates on Cecilia from time to time,” said the Queen, “but as you know, men tend to be poor judges of what matters and what doesn’t.”

Margaret, to her credit, didn’t forget to casually reveal that she had a personal connection with Ricardo.

It was not the Queen, but Countess Damier whose expression grew especially pleased.

Countess Damier seemed to care little for Ricardo’s background. What mattered to her was that he was the future Duke of Bastian.

“Is that so? Since Cecilia entered the palace, Ricardo hasn’t been allowed to visit. I wonder how he managed to gather news about my lady-in-waiting.”

“Lord Ricardo has a somewhat sly side when it comes to Cecilia, Your Majesty. I imagine he thought up and acted on a method that I could never dare to imagine.”

Margaret, as calm as ever, handed over Ricardo without hesitation.

Even with his betrayal being spoken aloud right in front of him, Ricardo’s lovely face didn’t lose an ounce of charm.

“Having witnessed Lady Cecilia’s unfortunate marriage, I couldn’t help but act in the spirit of chivalry.”

His excuse was shameless. I glanced over at Countess Rosette to see how she reacted.

My unhappy marriage was an open secret.

Count Edgar Linton was barely holding on to what remained of his good reputation.

Josephine, who had once promised to support me, had taken to casually mentioning my misfortune during small social gatherings. And Marchioness Federica—she had taken me in when I ran away from Edgar. She was the one who gave me refuge.

So, really, the only person in this room who might have been surprised was Countess Damier. But even she showed no reaction—just calmly sipped her tea.

In fact, her quick glance toward Countess Rosette seemed to say she was enjoying the justice being served.

“Ah, chivalry,”

The Queen said with a smooth smile.

“Yes. I hear His Majesty is to grant you a knighthood. How noble of you to act with such gallantry even before the title is bestowed.”

“My only concern, Your Majesty, is that I will never be able to repay such a gracious honor.”

Ricardo played the part of a man overwhelmed by royal favor with perfect ease—like he’d rehearsed the role.

“Then I suppose we should now call you Sir Ricardo, not Lord.”

Margaret joined in, and with that, Ricardo’s knighthood—still unofficial—became a settled fact.

Even Marchioness Federica followed along, albeit half-heartedly. “Congratulations, Sir Ricardo.”

“Now that it’s come up,” Countess Damier said in her calm yet bold way, “it is strange, isn’t it? That Sir Ricardo is only now receiving his knighthood. The Duke of Bastian holds so many titles, and yet this one only comes now?”

Everyone knew Ricardo’s origins. His background was no secret—it had long been gossip.

No one mentioned the time when he had to humiliate himself, visiting noble houses and collecting signatures just to prove himself worthy of inheriting the duchy. Countess Damier simply stated that his knighthood was long overdue.

“Don’t you agree, Countess Rosette?”

Countess Rosette had yet to offer any congratulations, and Countess Damier, in a voice free of malice, pulled her into the conversation.

“Of course, it is something to celebrate. I only hesitated because His Majesty has not yet officially granted the sword, and I was being cautious.”

In other words: We don’t know for sure that you’ll even be a knight.

The Queen’s smile froze like a painting.

“Are you suggesting, then, that I’ve spoken out of turn? That I’ve announced His Majesty’s intentions without permission?”

I knew she wasn’t truly angry.

She was using the moment to corner Countess Rosette.

If Rosette had come here hoping to win the Queen’s favor, that hope had just shattered.

The Queen was sharp. When I told her I wanted to divorce Edgar because of his theft, I’m certain she already took Rosette into consideration.

A stepmother who had a child of her own—how good could her relationship with her stepdaughter possibly be?

I had said I was suspicious of the dowry, and that alone had been enough for the Queen.

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

Countess Rosette, caught off guard by the Queen’s rebuke, looked around for help—but everyone here was her enemy.

“Countess Rosette isn’t wrong, Your Majesty.”

Then Ricardo stepped in, his voice calm and smooth, like someone offering a gentle rescue.

“Sir Ricardo, are you defending Countess Rosette in my presence?”

The Queen slammed her hand down on the armrest, pretending to be furious. Ricardo raised his handsome face and, in just two long strides, knelt at her feet.

“Step-parent or not, she’s the woman who raised Lady Cecilia.”

I gave a short, humorless laugh. Ricardo was openly courting me. Because Countess Rosette was technically my mother, he was saying he could overlook her blunder—for my sake.

“So I should show mercy… for Cecilia’s sake?”

“Because Your Majesty treasures Lady Cecilia, I do too. That’s the only reason I ask for leniency.”

It was a performance—an impromptu play. But the Queen and Ricardo worked together like they’d rehearsed every line.

“You do realize that Cecilia is still a member of the Linton family, don’t you?”

Now we were reaching the climax. Ricardo delivered his next line clearly, with power.

“As Your Majesty’s loyal knight, I can no longer stand by and watch Lady Cecilia suffer.”

“And?”

“And—”

Ricardo lifted his head and smiled at me. His beautiful face glowed with something like fanatic devotion.

“I would like to make a formal accusation.”

If I had even half the acting talent of the Queen, I would have pretended to stumble back in shock and collapse on the spot.

But I was never good at acting—or lying. And Ricardo, seeing no reaction on my face, closed the performance himself.

“I accuse Count Edgar Linton of adultery—and of stealing Lady Cecilia’s dowry.”

If this were a real play, critics would have torn it apart for ending at the peak of its drama without a real conclusion.

But this wasn’t theater. This was the Queen’s drawing room.

And the Queen and Ricardo weren’t actors—they were strategists.

They knew exactly when to end the scene.

It was Countess Rosette who ended up playing the role of the one who fainted from shock.

Her teacup fell with a loud crash as she collapsed to the floor.

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