Chapter 22
It was nearly noon, and the sun was already scorching.
The garden at Linton Manor wasn’t densely planted, so there were only patches of shade here and there.
Before I knew it, I had wandered into the center of the garden.
The nanny’s son was there, shirtless, digging into the ground with powerful movements.
What was his name again?
“Lady Cecilia.”
Noticing my gaze, he turned around and beamed brightly.
The first time I saw him, I remember thinking he was quite attractive.
It might’ve been because he had a completely different air compared to Edgar, whose face was like a perfectly sculpted porcelain doll.
After seeing Ricardo’s intense presence over and over, the nanny’s son now struck me as warm and open—a kind-looking young man.
Ah. I caught myself thinking of Ricardo again. I silently scolded myself.
Still, it couldn’t be helped. He truly was someone strong and beautiful—even if I felt nothing romantic toward him, it was only natural to think of him the way one would admire a piece of art.
I knew I was just justifying myself.
But it was a reasonable justification—reasonable enough that I decided not to dig deeper.
“I’m building a fountain,” the young man said, mistaking my lingering gaze for interest.
“My mother mentioned that you’re sensitive to the heat, Lady Cecilia.”
He went on to explain the workings of the fountain with enthusiastic detail, even though I couldn’t remember his name.
“Is the work manageable?” I asked.
“Yes. Though I feel like it’s not nearly enough to repay your kindness.”
Kindness, he said.
“Your mother must be disappointed.”
The nanny had often grumbled that her brilliant son ended up as nothing more than a gardener.
A faint flush crept up the young man’s cheeks.
“My mother only worries about you, Lady Cecilia.”
I wondered if he, too, had hoped to become my knight.
The desire to rise in status is only natural. So when he followed his mother to Linton Manor, he must have hoped for something more.
But he wasn’t even the head gardener.
I had given that role to an older gardener recommended by Countess Rosette.
It wasn’t fair. I had brought the nanny and her son here because I needed allies—yet I hadn’t given them prominent roles.
Because deep down, I’d already assumed they wouldn’t take my side.
And perhaps I was partly right—and partly wrong.
Even though the world and body I lived in had changed, my soul remained the same. My self-loathing was still intact.
I suddenly felt a wave of melancholy.
“Lady Cecilia?”
The young man looked at me with concern.
“Countess of Linton.”
A low, smooth voice called out at the same time.
“Lord Ricardo?”
He appeared so silently that it startled me.
Justin stepped back as Ricardo approached.
He walked right up to me, meeting my eyes.
Because he was so tall, Ricardo had to bend slightly to make eye contact.
As his face came closer, I suddenly remembered the clumsy letter I’d sent him yesterday and bit down on my lip.
“Heatstroke,” he said. “You should return to the manor.”
He didn’t even glance at the nanny’s son. He just gently took my elbow.
“I’m not that weak,” I said.
“I know.”
“It’s just a walk. It’s not like I’ll collapse.”
“I know, Countess of Linton.”
Instead of leading me back to the manor, Ricardo brought me to a shady spot.
He brushed fallen leaves off the bench with his bare hand and gently pressed my shoulder to make me sit.
“Lord Ricardo,” I said sharply.
“If I was out of line, I apologize.”
He didn’t sit beside me.
Instead, he stood before me, blocking the sunlight with his own body.
“I…”
His hesitation was unusual. The words that followed shook me.
“I know what a face looks like when it’s filled with self-loathing.”
He pulled his hat down low, covering his eyes.
“I see it every time I look in the mirror.”
Ah.
“I shouldn’t compare myself to you, Countess,” he said quietly.
And yet, even now, I found myself wondering if that word—shouldn’t—was meant for me.
If I were to interpret it as how dare someone like you compare yourself to the heir of the Bastian Dukedom, I suppose I wouldn’t be wrong.
But something about Ricardo’s subdued voice—his quiet sadness, even though I couldn’t see his eyes—made me think that wasn’t what he meant at all.
“I got your letter,” he said.
I fussed with my dress skirt, even though it wasn’t wrinkled, trying to act nonchalant.
“Ricky wrote back first thing this morning,” he added. “It should arrive by evening.”
Ricardo spoke as if he and Ricky were two separate people.
“That was just a bill,” I said stubbornly, even though I’d known full well it was a letter when I sent it—and after I sent it, too.
“There’s no need to reply to a bill,” I added.
His lips curved slightly beneath the brim of his hat.
“Well, either way, Ricky already replied to that bill. So, it’s too late now.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the occasional breeze stirring through the garden.
“Edgar isn’t home.”
“Mm.”
I said it even though I knew perfectly well that Ricardo hadn’t come to see Edgar.
A man could parade around with his mistress in plain sight and still not be judged too harshly. But for a woman, it was different.
That part wasn’t so different from the world I came from.
My father, who carried on a long, drawn-out affair with a woman who wasn’t my mother, had been criticized—yes—but he also received his fair share of sympathy.
My sister, whom I met only once, had to endure endless whispers and gossip.
Even as Edgar openly met with Elodie, he demanded that I keep my distance from Ricardo.
Whenever he saw me near Ricardo, he reacted with obvious tension.
I hadn’t committed adultery like them, but that didn’t mean people wouldn’t see it that way.
“I should go.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“No.”
I stepped away from his outstretched hand.
I couldn’t afford to believe that the title of Countess of Linton would last forever.
Hadn’t I already watched men like Edgar up close?
They were like moths—forever chasing the next dazzling light they mistook for their soulmate.
Divorce wasn’t part of my plan. I would be the one asking for the divorce, not the one cast aside.
“If you’re not here to see Edgar, I’d prefer if you left.”
Ricardo lowered the hand he had reached out.
“Countess of Linton.”
“Yes. That’s right. I am the Countess of Linton. A married woman, in name if nothing else. When a woman meets a man who isn’t family, she has to be careful.”
“Does a husband who openly keeps a mistress still count as a husband?”
“In the eyes of society, yes.”
More accurately—in the eyes of its prejudice.
But when enough people believe something, it becomes truth.
I wasn’t born a revolutionary.
If I couldn’t stay invisible, I had to be the victim. A dignified, blameless victim—exactly the kind the world expected.
“Ricky will be waiting for a reply, Countess.”
Ricardo called out behind me as I walked away.
My steps faltered.
“Did you know there’s a mailbox next to the fountain in the town square?”
I didn’t.
“Ricky’s not a noble or anything special. He’s nobody. So he has no reason to receive letters on a silver tray.”
I didn’t answer, only quickened my pace.
But Ricardo had done something more than speak—he had opened a path. A private way to exchange letters without interference.
He was offering to become a quiet shadow for me.
Why?
I was furious—his sacrifice felt too undeserved.
I wasn’t worth that kind of loyalty.
I had no way to repay him for it.
This was different from the nanny or her son. They wanted something from me. Even Sarah was the same.
People with motives were easier to deal with.
If they wanted something I could offer, I knew how to handle that.
But Ricardo…
“Ha…”
I didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was because he was too much like me.
An empty man.
And I—just as empty—had nothing to offer him, no matter what he hoped for.
“My lady! My lady!”
As I neared the manor, Sarah’s voice rang out loud and urgent.
“Countess Rosette has arrived!”
I quickly composed my face, hiding the confusion I was surely wearing.
Wearing a blank expression had become as natural to me as breathing.
“She brought a gift too!”
“A gift?”
“Yes! She said life had been so busy that she forgot your birthday, so she brought a bouquet made with your birth flower.”
Sarah looked at me like she expected me to say I told you so—Countess Rosette is a good person, isn’t she?
“Find a proper vase and arrange them nicely.”
I passed her and headed to the drawing room.
Countess Rosette was already seated like she owned the place, sipping her tea with perfect ease.
“Oh, Cecilia.”
She smiled softly when she saw me.
She pulled a handkerchief from the pouch on her belt and walked over.
“You’re sweating in this heat. What if you collapse again?”
Such a loving stepmother.
“You’ve always been so sensitive to the heat. You used to make me worry sick.”
As if. I held back a snort.
“Please, have a seat, madam.”
Now that the banquet was over, her reason for coming was obvious.
She was here to shake Cecilia’s composure—to remind her that all the success she’d claimed yesterday meant nothing.
To gently inform her that she was still just a powerless woman wearing the name Countess of Linton.
“You didn’t even send word you were coming.”
I gestured for a maid to bring my tea as well.
Countess Rosette’s brow twitched with irritation.
It must have bothered her to see Cecilia commanding others with such ease.
“Do we really need to make appointments to see each other?”
She quickly masked her annoyance with a smile.
“We always have.”
“I suppose since you’re married now, I was trying to be respectful—and it seems that was misunderstood.”
Her eyes slowly scanned me from head to toe.
After rushing back from my encounter with Ricardo, my hair was a mess, and dirt clung to the hem of my skirt.
“The banquet was only the beginning, Cecilia. From now on, you’ll be attending more social events than you can count.”
Her tone was warm and motherly, but her words pressed down like a weight.
“I know you’ll do just fine, but… people—well, you may not realize it yet, but people love to talk. Sometimes, they believe things they’ve never even seen.”
“What kinds of things?”
She wasn’t going to leave until I played along.
Ignoring the growl of my stomach, I forced myself to ask.
