Chapter 10
Windsor rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full height as he looked down at her. Standing with his heels together and his hands joined behind his back, he bore a striking resemblance to a high-ranking naval officer.
“I appreciate your efforts, Miss Somerset. I trust your subsequent lessons will be of a similar caliber.”
“Naturally, Lord Preston.”
“However,” he continued, “while this is a Northean language study, I would prefer if you explored a broader range of subjects. When Benjamin eventually interacts with citizens of the Kingdom of Northe, it is far more probable that the conversation will turn to economics rather than the specifications of warships, is it not? Dedicating an entire hour to naval weaponry seems a touch inefficient.”
In that moment, Jacqueline realized he had understood every syllable of her instruction. Her eyes widened in a flash of shock, but she quickly masked it with a radiant, charming smile, as if the awkwardness of the past hour had never occurred.
“You are quite right, Lord Preston. I shall take that into account.”
Windsor looked at her for a silent beat, his gaze fixed on her seemingly genuine expression. His business concluded, he turned to depart, but stopped short after only a few paces.
He glanced briefly at the wall behind him, and a sudden, sharp twitch disrupted the line of his brow.
“Benjamin is going to require an art tutor.”
Hearing his uncle’s blunt critique of his artistic abilities, the young boy’s face instantly crumpled into a dejected pout. Jacqueline instinctively moved to Benjamin’s defense.
“It only looks poor in comparison to my own work. For a boy his age, Benjamin actually shows quite a bit of promise.”
“You are referring to the pudding-shaped lump with a face and the dog with five legs? It would be wise to secure a professional painter before he becomes the butt of every joke at boarding school. I cannot say if the future Marquess of Preston will ever have a practical need for such a skill, but it is better to be over-prepared than humiliated, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well… I…”
Jacqueline found herself at a loss for words, her eyes darting around the room. The retort—That isn’t a dog, it’s a horse! And that isn’t a fifth leg, it’s a tail!—remained trapped behind her teeth, useless.
Benjamin, who had been staring at the floor, slowly lifted his head. He looked at the drawing with a puzzled expression, tilting his head to one side in confusion.
“I am glad I could be of assistance, Lord Preston,” Jacqueline managed, offering a stiff smile and a polite parting bow. Windsor exited the room without another word.
Once he was gone, she turned slowly toward Benjamin. When their eyes met, Jacqueline’s shoulders slumped in a gesture of total defeat.
“I’m so sorry, Benjamin. I simply couldn’t bring myself to admit to Lord Preston that the drawing was mine.”
“…It’s quite alright, Miss Somerset,” Benjamin replied with a somber nod, looking far more mature than his years. Despite his forgiveness, Jacqueline was gripped by a wave of self-reproach.
With a distracted wave and a quiet, “See you shortly,” she retreated from the room. She trudged down the hallway, her gait far too heavy and ungraceful for a lady of her station.
It wasn’t the first time her artistic vision had been misunderstood; back at boarding school, her peers and instructors had always met her sketches with immediate laughter.
Jacqueline liked to think of herself as a misunderstood genius. History was full of brilliant artists who lived tragic, unappreciated lives because they were simply ahead of their time.
She had been certain that the rise of Fauvism signaled her era had finally arrived, but it seemed the world still required a bit more time to catch up to her talent.
Her heavy footsteps echoed dejectedly down the corridor.
Betty set a silver tray down on the table. “Your tea is served, Miss Somerset.”
Jacqueline placed the leaves into the infuser and added the boiling water. Within moments, a rich, pleasantly sharp fragrance filled the air.
“Thank you, Betty.”
“You are very welcome, Miss Somerset,” the maid replied, her posture as rigid as ever as she withdrew. Even in her solitude, Jacqueline remained perfectly poised.
She poured the tea into a delicate floral cup, closed her eyes, and inhaled the steam. Taking a small sip, she felt the warm, bitter liquid coat her throat.
“Haa…”
The heavy sigh she had been suppressing finally escaped.
Across from her on the sofa, two pages of parchment caught her eye, resting beside a pair of spectacles. She reached out and gathered them both.
As she idly scanned the documents over her tea, William entered the parlor, his eyes scanning the furniture as if he were hunting for something lost.
“Now, where did I put… Ah, Miss Somerset. There you are. Was your lesson successful?”
“It was, William. Lord Preston expressed his satisfaction.”
“That is a relief.”
“Are these what you were searching for?” she asked, lightly shaking the papers. William’s eyes brightened, and he gave a small nod as he walked toward her.
With his silver mustache and pince-nez glasses, he was the quintessential image of a devoted butler.
“I must have set them down and forgotten. My memory is failing me lately—perhaps a sign that my retirement is overdue. I had hoped to see Master Benjamin take his place as Marquess, but I suppose that is merely the rambling wish of an old man.”
“You look more than healthy enough to see that day, if you ask me,” Jacqueline replied.
William gave a soft, warm chuckle, clearly touched by the sentiment.
“Is the manor hosting an event? Is this a guest list?” she asked, handing him the pages. It was a roster of noble names, each marked with a status of ‘Attending’ or ‘Declined.’
William’s expression turned slightly hesitant as he nodded.
“Indeed. A banquet to celebrate Master Benjamin’s birthday. We have lived quietly on the estate for years, so this will be the first major event in quite some time. As you likely know, the Marquess is not one for social spectacles.”
He murmured the last part so softly it was almost a whisper, then cleared his throat with a sharp “Hem-hem,” as if he had overstepped his bounds.
Resuming his professional mask, he added briskly, “The celebration is only two weeks away, yet several guests have been slow to confirm. I shall have to send follow-up inquiries. Please, enjoy your rest, Miss Somerset.”
“Thank you for your hard work, William. Oh—one more thing.”
William, who had already turned toward the door, paused and looked back.
“Are these glasses yours as well?”
“No, those belong to the Marquess. He was reviewing the guest list earlier. If you wouldn’t mind—”
“I’ll take them to him. I’ve finished my tea anyway. But…”
Jacqueline held the spectacles up to her face. Closing one eye, she peered through the lens at the butler. His figure remained perfectly sharp, without a hint of distortion.
“There’s no prescription in these lenses.”
“That is correct. His Lordship possesses excellent vision. They are merely for the sake of appearance.”
For appearance?
Jacqueline arched an eyebrow, inspecting the elegant silver frames. “He is already so imposing—how much more of an impression does he need to make?”
“Hahaha!”
William laughed heartily, as if she had told a particularly clever joke, though Jacqueline had been entirely sincere.
“I shall leave them in your hands, then,” William said with a faint smile before exiting.
“A banquet…”
Jacqueline turned her gaze toward the window. The word felt like a relic from a distant past.
Despite her family’s fall from grace, she was the daughter of a countess and had been a fixture at such events before her time at boarding school. In better years, the Somerset estate had even hosted grand parties specifically for her.
She remembered those evenings: choosing her favorite gown, the flurry of maids styling her hair, everyone working in unison to ensure she would be the center of attention.
Of course, the results weren’t always perfect. There were times her hair was scorched by a curling iron or her rouge was applied too heavily.
But it had been a happy time. A small, involuntary smile touched her lips at the memory.
“A birthday party for Benjamin? I wonder what I could give him.”
She pondered what a “penniless lady” could possibly offer a young master who lacked for nothing.
The soft afternoon light warmed her face as she recalled the names on the list. Many were girls she had known at school or daughters of families she had once socialized with.
“It has been three years. How am I supposed to face them?”
A quiet, breathy murmur escaped her. These were people she had effectively ghosted since her exit from high society. A few had reached out with letters, but she had never replied—she had been too busy drowning in her own survival to maintain those ties.
Now, a vast chasm lay between them. They were still the glittering jewels of the ton, while she was a woman working for her bread. An invisible, yet unbreakable, barrier now stood between her world and theirs.
“It’s going to be terribly awkward.”
Jacqueline stood up, though her eyes remained fixed on the view outside. Fretting wouldn’t change the reality of the situation.
“I’ll return these to Lord Preston, then see if Benjamin wants to take a walk. He’s likely tucked away with a book again.”
As she crossed the hall toward the grand staircase, several servants entered carrying massive armfuls of flowers. Jacqueline moved to the side to stay out of their way as Madam Ritz barked out orders. The housekeeper noticed her and gave a curt nod before returning to her duties.
“Place the arrangement Max is holding in the foyer, and take the rest to the ballroom. I need to see the colors together before I decide on the final composition.”
She was clearly auditioning the floral arrangements. In these moments of preparation, Madam Ritz’s obsession with perfection was on full display.
“You certainly have your hands full,” Jacqueline remarked as she began to ascend the stairs. The spiral staircase overlooked the grand hall, a perfect stage for a dramatic entrance. For a fleeting second, she imagined Benjamin walking down those red-carpeted steps with the poise of a true heir.
Then, she stopped dead.
Her expression went cold. A sharp look of suspicion entered her eyes as she watched Madam Ritz’s hands.
“Ensure the displays aren’t cluttered,” the housekeeper commanded. “We must uphold the dignity of the Preston name.”
“Yes, Madam Ritz.”
The maids began to unwrap the floral bundles. Noticing Jacqueline’s unblinking stare, Madam Ritz looked up, her brow furrowed in a silent question.
“Is there a problem, Miss Somerset?”
Her voice was sharp, a warning that she had no patience for distractions with the banquet looming.
Jacqueline’s gaze dropped to the flowers scattered across the floor. Amidst the sea of pink roses, she spotted the bright blue of cornflowers.
“Are you intending to use those flowers for the hall?”
“That is the intention, yes.”
Madam Ritz’s tone sharpened further, the crease between her eyes deepening.
“Then you had better find some different flowers.”
