Chapter 21

Was it because Cecilia was looking him straight in the eye and speaking so directly that she seemed unfamiliar?

Edgar sighed repeatedly.

At times, he even looked at her as though she were a creature incapable of reason.

Cecilia must have faced that gaze countless times.

Even as she begged for love, pleaded, and implored, Edgar likely looked at her with those same eyes.

But I’m not Cecilia. I can return that gaze just as coldly.

The one who refuses to communicate isn’t me—it’s him.

A man worse than a beast, proudly committing adultery and expecting his wife to accept it.

How could he be so much like my father?

If Cecilia had had a child, that child would have grown up just like me.

No—perhaps I shouldn’t say that with certainty.

I was foolish enough to expose my father’s affair, becoming a sinner in my mother’s eyes. Cecilia’s child might not have done the same.

While I failed to save my mother, Cecilia’s child might have been a beacon of hope for her.

“I’m going to bed now.”

I’d said everything I needed to. I glanced at the wall clock out of the corner of my eye.

I had spent about thirty minutes in this room.

With that much time passed, the nanny wouldn’t be able to accuse me of not trying my best.

Whether Elodie stayed in the mansion or went out with Edgar, I had decided—I wouldn’t tolerate any more of the nanny’s reproach.

Being robbed of sleep was already more than enough.

“You’re just going to walk away like that?”

Edgar asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Yes. As you already know, I’m not in the best of health.”

In truth, Cecilia had been far more resilient than the world believed.

Even after drinking poison and nearly dying, she could function in daily life without much difficulty—that alone was proof.

“Elodie, if the mansion is uncomfortable, you can return home. And of course, Edgar may go with you.”

“Madam, I—”

“I’m extremely tired right now. If it weren’t for the nanny, I wouldn’t have spared a single moment to speak with Miss Elodie.”

“Cecilia, don’t cross the line.”

Edgar warned.

“I believe I’ve been more than generous to your mistress.”

Elodie’s quiet sobs resumed where they had left off.

“El, you don’t have to listen to that nonsense. You know her mental state isn’t exactly sound.”

Perhaps it was true that Cecilia’s mind hadn’t always been stable. But at this moment, I was clearer than I had ever been.

“It was like that before.”

“Cecilia—”

“I’ve recovered, Edgar. You could say I’ve completely cured myself of the disease that was you.”

“Madam! Please stop insulting Edgar! I’ll leave. I’ll disappear from your sight, so please don’t hurt Edgar any further!”

Elodie rushed out dramatically, like a tragic heroine from a romance novel.

I scoffed silently.

I didn’t particularly dislike Elodie, but I had to admire how effectively she redirected Edgar’s anger entirely onto me.

“El!”

Like a male lead from a novel, Edgar reached toward her, then turned back and pointed a finger at me.

“Don’t you ever treat El like that again. This is your final warning.”

I covered my mouth with a yawn.

“And don’t ever put me and Miss Elodie in the same room again. Though, I wouldn’t call this my final warning.”

Edgar looked at me in disbelief once more before running out after Elodie.

When I returned to my room, the nanny looked like she had a thousand questions to ask.

I dismissed her with the excuse that I was too tired.

Even Sarah, who knocked on my door to bring a late-night snack, was sent away.

It was obvious she was just looking for gossip about what had happened with Elodie.

It had been a long, exhausting day.

I thought I’d fall asleep the moment I lay down, but instead, my mind grew more alert.

Despite all the chaos earlier, my thoughts didn’t drift toward Edgar or Elodie.

Instead, I thought of Ricardo.

Today, he had helped me in an incredibly risky way.

He had volunteered himself as the scapegoat, behaving rudely on purpose.

By tomorrow, people would see me as the Countess of Linton who had hosted a successful dinner party.

But Ricardo…

He would be branded as an arrogant bastard child, putting himself at risk—for me.

“Why did you do it?”

I asked the empty room.

“Was it because you felt sorry for me?”

If so, then Ricky’s circumstances weren’t much better than mine.

Actually, in some ways, they were. He would eventually become Duke Bastian. Meanwhile, the best I could hope for was to keep the title of Countess of Linton.

So maybe it really was out of pity.

If that’s the case, then I want nothing to do with it.

Even in my original world, I was particular about kindness—especially when it came wrapped in pity.

Most of the kindness shown to me had always come with sympathy I never asked for. That’s why I distanced myself from people.

And for that, I was called proud, as if I had no right to be.

But they were wrong. I don’t have pride—not the kind they thought.

The truth is, I reject pity because I don’t deserve it.

I’ve ruined at least two people’s lives.

And I bear a heavy burden for one of their deaths.

My mother died because of me. The police ruled it a suicide, but I know better.

If not for me, she would still be alive.

Sleep seemed impossible, so I got up and sat in front of the vanity.

Cecilia’s room didn’t even have a proper desk.

They said the lady of the house had a separate study, but still—shouldn’t she have had at least a small table in her room?

On sleepless nights like this, Cecilia must have written in her journal.

She probably crouched over the little vanity, trying to make space for her diary.

I thought about doing the same—writing like Cecilia might have—but I quickly gave up.

I didn’t want to look back on the past.

Cecilia’s body had been strong, but the soul now living inside it—my soul—wasn’t nearly as resilient.

Instead, I pulled out some stationery.

—To Mr. Ricardo Bastian.

I paused, then replaced it with a fresh sheet.

—To Pepe’s friend.

Still not right. I grabbed a new page.

—To Ricky.

It felt awkward, but somehow… it fit.

I wasn’t used to this pen. I had to adjust my grip several times as I filled the page.

There wasn’t anything important in the letter. I mentioned the cost of the dress he ruined, described how furious Penelope had been, and ended by saying he could send compensation to her—not me.

After folding the letter and sealing it in an envelope, something hit me.

While writing, I hadn’t thought about Cecilia. I hadn’t tried to act like her.

I hadn’t even mentioned Edgar or Elodie, or the gossip from the dinner party.

I hesitated—should I have thanked him for helping me today?

But the envelope was already sealed.

So I decided not to.

This wasn’t a letter to Ricardo Bastian—it was a letter to Ricky.

Even though the contents were simple, the heavy feeling in my chest eased just a little.

I placed the letter on a silver tray so it could be sent in the morning, and went back to bed.

The moment I closed my eyes, I fell into a deep, sweet sleep.

Late the next morning, I was jolted awake by Sarah’s excited shouting.

“My lady! My lady, look at this!”

She came in holding a silver tray piled with envelopes.

“Invitations, all for you!”

Her eyes sparkled as she listed the names written on each envelope—Finione, Elias, Ruben, Federica—ladies who all apparently wanted to spend time with me.

“Can you believe it? Even the Marchioness Federica sent one!”

I only knew that a countess outranked a baroness but was still below a duchess.

A marchioness? That was new to me.

“A marchioness?”

Thankfully, Sarah picked up on my confusion and jumped in to explain.

“Her Majesty the Queen might’ve already heard about you, my lady! I’m sure she knows your name by now.

The Marchioness and the Queen talk about everything.

I even heard that in private, the Marchioness still calls Her Majesty ‘Little Martha’!”

Her explanation was all over the place, but eventually, I figured it out—Marchioness Federica was the Queen’s grandmother.

Suddenly, I remembered Josephine.

She had said we’d meet again soon—maybe this was what she meant?

“Any other letters?”

The one I sent last night would’ve only just been delivered this morning. There’s no way Ricky could have replied yet.

Not that I wrote anything that needed a reply. He might’ve just read it and tossed it aside.

“Other letters? Oh—there’s one from Countess Rosette!”

Sarah handed me an envelope I hadn’t expected.

Without thinking, I tore it open and skimmed it.

“You’ll write back to the Marchioness first, right? I’ve already set everything up in the study.”

“Set what up?”

What more could I need just to write a letter?

“This is when it really hits me that you’ve lost your memory, my lady. You need the best stationery, high-quality ink, and of course, the Linton family seal for a letter like that!”

Only then did I glance over the other letters.

Each envelope had a unique seal.

Suddenly, I thought of the letter I sent to Ricky last night and felt deeply embarrassed.

He was the future Duke of Bastian. He probably had a servant like Sarah who sorted his mail.

A letter with no seal might have been filtered out before it even reached him.

“I guess… I should’ve used the seal.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. I think I’ll go for a walk. And get something to eat.”

“What about the replies?”

Sarah clutched her chest like she couldn’t believe me.

I just shrugged.

“Later.”

“But my lady! The Marchioness was the first to reach out—it’s such a kind gesture!”

Was it really kindness?

From what I saw at the dinner party, the nobles loved gossip.

If the Marchioness invited me out of curiosity, would that make me paranoid for thinking so?

Either way, fresh air was what I needed most.

A walk would help me shake off the awkward, clumsy letter I sent to Ricky.