Chapter 34
Margaret lowered her head and fiddled with her teacup.
The cup was chipped. Even so, Baron Artois had achieved his dream of owning a home within the capital, albeit in its outskirts.
That alone should have earned him more respect than some old nobles who had inherited their titles for three generations and still lost everything.
And yet, he treated the daughter he had outside of wedlock like she was invisible.
“There shouldn’t be secrets between friends,” Margaret said, her voice soft and strained.
“If I’d really wanted to, I could’ve kept it from you. I even swore I’d never invite you to this house.”
She extended her arms slightly, gesturing toward the dimly lit room, even in broad daylight.
“I attended the dinner party as Lord Ricardo’s partner.”
Ricardo?
The name caught me off guard. My brows drew together.
“He’s surprisingly… meddlesome. It’s like he’s trying to form some kind of club for illegitimate children. He even has a list of people like me.”
I wasn’t unfamiliar with Ricardo’s softer, more vulnerable side—hidden beneath his arrogant mask.
“Of course, it wasn’t just out of kindness to me.”
Margaret continued, still staring into her teacup.
“There was a bit of talk after you sent out those dinner invitations. People were saying the simple-minded Countess of Linton was stirring up trouble again.”
Edgar had heard those rumors. And yet he never once asked if I needed help—not even in passing.
If it hadn’t been for Penelope, I might have sunk under the weight of it all, just as they had expected.
And even Penelope’s presence was thanks to Ricardo’s favor.
“Lord Ricardo said he’d make sure I got into the dinner party—and asked me to help Cecilia quietly, from behind the scenes.”
When I had been floundering in that elegant trap, Margaret had entered like a storm, drawing everyone’s attention away from me and toward herself.
With her deliberately improper behavior, she became the perfect distraction. The crowd forgot about me and went after her instead.
“Of course, when the real trouble started, I was useless. It was a relief that Countess Allegro was there.”
Margaret set her teacup down on the table.
She clutched a handful of her skirt tightly, as if to steady herself.
“I meant it, you know. When I said I wanted to be your friend.”
I could clearly remember the garden full of fireflies that night.
Margaret had smiled with confidence and held her hand out to me.
“The Cecilia I met in person… she shone all on her own. Even when Count Linton left his seat without shame, you didn’t flinch. I admired that more than I can say.”
Her voice trembled, just like her lips did.
“Were you disappointed?”
I wasn’t.
I had never placed expectations on Margaret—so there was nothing to be disappointed about.
But I was… confused.
If she had just kept everything hidden, I might have continued using her, and let her use me in turn.
Surely what Margaret wanted was social mobility through marriage. And by simply attending gatherings with me, I could fulfill my side of that deal.
And what I gained from her? Access. A crack in the wall of society. Because there’s truth in the saying: A wife is always the last to know.
Margaret, with her low status and poor background, was unlikely to be treated carefully. People spoke freely around her.
And anything not meant for my ears would likely find its way to me through her.
“So why did you decide to come clean?”
I stared at my teacup like she had done earlier, feigning interest to mask my unsettled thoughts.
“You never outright lied to me.”
Margaret had even told me early on that she wasn’t the daughter of the baroness.
“Before I came here, I was planning to bring you to Josephine’s boat party.”
“You’ve changed your mind. That’s okay. I understand.”
Margaret remained composed. She even looked a little relieved. The subtle shake in her hands was gone, her fingers now calm and open.
“Not completely,” I said. “So tell me—why now? What made you decide to tell me the truth all of a sudden?”
She took a deep breath before speaking.
“Lord Ricardo told me that Cecilia absolutely hates lies.”
Again, Ricardo’s influence.
“He said… if you really want to be friends with someone, you have to start by being honest.”
What did he even know about me that gave him the right to offer such advice?
Beasts recognize their own.
His voice echoed in my head.
Yes—we were alike in many ways.
But I wasn’t talking about Cecilia and Ricardo.
I was talking about me and Ricardo. We were misfit creations, products no one had asked for.
And no—I didn’t mean that because he was a bastard child.
Margaret was born into misfortune too. Yet I felt no kinship with her.
She was a victim—plain and simple. Her father had done something he never should have, and Margaret had been swept up in the consequences.
I knew nothing about her mother, but I doubted she had ever seen Margaret as a curse or a burden.
Margaret had been loved. Maybe that love had been taken from her—but I could still see its traces in her, like scars from a burn that had long healed.
That sensitivity… the way she carried herself… I could recognize it right away.
But me?
“Cecilia, Cecilia!”
A sudden voice broke through, and warm hands wrapped around my shoulders.
“Cecilia, wake up! Oh my goodness…”
It seemed I had blacked out for a moment. When the spinning in my head stopped and the world settled back into focus, I realized I was leaning against Margaret’s shoulder.
“You’re okay. You didn’t faint.”
Margaret, sensing I had come back to myself, reached out and gently took my hand.
“I’m sorry… I must’ve stressed you out. I didn’t mean to. I was being selfish, wasn’t I? I upset you just to ease my own conscience.”
Her voice was thick with guilt.
“Please don’t.”
I lifted my head from her shoulder.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Margaret.”
She truly hadn’t.
It was just that there was a gaping hole inside me, so wide that even kindness would fall through like pebbles down a well.
I couldn’t recognize affection, even when it was staring me in the face. I knew what the word warmth meant—but I had never felt it.
Kindness I couldn’t return was better not received at all.
I had been the turning point in my father’s otherwise smooth life. I was the one guilty of killing my mother.
Someone like me didn’t deserve kindness.
“Come to the boat party with me.”
I chose to ignore Margaret’s honest confession.
Penelope was already the limit of what I could handle.
Penelope, with her noble status, never crossed any lines—our relationship could remain comfortably superficial.
All she wanted from me was to play the role of a gracious lady.
But Margaret… Margaret wanted a real friend. And in this hollow, broken chest of mine, there was no space for sincerity.
“I should go before the rest of your family returns. Let’s pretend I was never here.”
The brightness drained quickly from Margaret’s face.
“Cecilia?”
“I’ll send you an invitation. Flaunt it in front of Baron Artois. Josephine is someone even Edgar can’t speak carelessly about. He’ll panic and probably have a new dress made for you.”
I stood, and Margaret rose with me.
“Wait, hold on—Cecilia, I don’t understand.”
Margaret reached out, trying to stop me.
“Margaret, we already became friends at the dinner party. We shook hands, remember?”
I had every intention of burying her truth right here.
A false friendship—that was all I had to offer her.
Neither of us had been our real selves at that dinner party. So, I would accept the bond we’d forged under that pretense, and pretend it was enough.
“Cecilia…”
Now her voice was tight with frustration.
I couldn’t face her. I turned and rushed up the narrow basement stairs.
“Sir Juan!”
I called, and Sir Juan immediately opened the carriage door.
“Let’s go.”
“Madam, Lady Margaret is coming behind you,” he whispered, hesitating to close the door.
“Go.”
I glared at him through clenched teeth.
With a reluctant nod, he shut the door, and the carriage began to roll away.
I sat in silence, jolted by the bumpy road, forcing myself to think of nothing—just counting in my head to stay steady.
Out of the wolf’s den, into the tiger’s.
I had fled Margaret only to be told that Lady Rosette was now at the estate.
Sarah had refused to attend me and instead offered to serve tea to Lady Rosette in the drawing room.
I had not allowed Sarah into the Artois house. She waited in the carriage.
She’d seen me leave with Margaret, so she was likely itching to report everything to Lady Rosette.
“There’s no shortage of maids at the Linton estate. Yet here you are, doing all the work.”
“She’s your mother, Madam. Of course, the closest maid to you should be the one to serve her.”
“Call for Martha.”
“Martha’s known Lady Rosette far longer than you have. She knows her preferences inside and out. There’s no need for you to step in.”
“But Martha dislikes the Countess of Rosette. She’ll make her uncomfortable.”
Sarah pressed on stubbornly.
“She won’t. Right, Martha?”
Martha, who had been standing silently nearby, nodded.
Sarah lost her justification. If Martha had refused, claiming it was for my sake, she would have stormed into the drawing room with her usual over-the-top sense of loyalty.
“Martha, go to the drawing room. Sarah, you’re coming with me.”
Pouting, Sarah followed me upstairs.
Her hands were rough as she untied the fastenings of my dress.
I pretended not to notice and quietly changed. Then I touched up my makeup.
Among the rows of lipsticks on my vanity, I chose a bold shade and applied it slowly.
“This room’s a mess. I want it spotless before Lady Rosette leaves.”
“You want me to clean it?”
I paused mid-motion and met Sarah’s eyes through the mirror.
“You’re my closest maid, aren’t you? My room holds valuable items. Who else could I possibly trust?”
She didn’t look convinced.
Even I knew there wasn’t much in my room worth stealing.
At most, the most extravagant pieces were the vanity and daybed Edgar had purchased—far too bulky for a maid to pocket.
“This vanity holds my late mother-in-law’s necklace.”
It was a stretch, but I brought up the former Countess Linton’s heirloom.
“You know it’s more valuable in meaning than price. Can you imagine how Edgar would react if it went missing?”
“…Yes. I’ll take care of it, Madam.”
I looked at her briefly—at the way she bent to Edgar’s authority rather than mine—then turned away.
I finished applying my lipstick and headed downstairs.
“Big Sister!”
I hadn’t even stepped fully into the drawing room when Isla’s cheerful voice rang out.
She wore a vibrant, frilly dress.
“Lady Josephine is throwing a boat party, right? I’m going too, aren’t I?”
I sat down on the sofa and waited.
Only when the maid poured the tea and I had taken a sip—wetting my lips—did I speak.
“Big Sister!”
Isla couldn’t hold back and called out again.
“It’s Countess Allegro, Isla.”
I corrected her quietly after drinking.
The smile that had been painted on Lady Rosette’s face—posing so perfectly next to Isla—froze instantly.
