Chapter 22
For reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, Windsor felt that Jacqueline’s smile lacked the warmth of a true laugh as he took the handkerchief she offered. He wiped his hands, keeping his tone light and conversational.
“I was simply checking on Benjamin’s progress. Didn’t you suggest I take a more active interest in my nephew?”
Jacqueline’s features softened at his response. He still found her moods difficult to navigate; she was a woman of sudden tempers and equally swift calms. Her emotions reminded him of summer storms—arriving with a crash and vanishing just as quickly.
“What business did Viscount James Hammington have with the Marquess?”
Windsor, who had been about to step past her, froze. He turned his head slowly, his gaze sharpening as it locked onto hers.
“Are you acquainted with him?”
She let out a soft, troubled sigh, searching for the right words. When she finally spoke, her voice was tinged with a weary resignation.
“Did he happen to mention a mine? Perhaps he claimed to have inherited a plot of land rich with high-grade iron ore, and that he’s desperate for cash because his wife is gravely ill? Did he offer to sell it well below its value, provided the payment was in untraceable cash? And let me guess—he told you that he came to the honorable Lord Preston first, insisting that the deal remain a total secret?”
As the details spilled out, Windsor’s expression shifted. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing with a rigid, disciplined posture that owed more to his naval background than his noble title.
“That is precisely what he said. Nearly word for word.”
Jacqueline offered a grim, knowing smile.
“He is a swindler. Please, don’t ask how I’ve come by this knowledge; it wasn’t a lesson I ever wished to learn.”
Windsor’s brow twitched, his steel-gray eyes clouding with a dark intensity.
Jacqueline reached up to touch her throat, looking uneasy. The man had a disconcerting habit of extracting information through silence alone.
“The truth is, my father was one of his marks. We were fortunate that Uncle Walter—Lord Greenwood—realized the man was a fraud in time. We only lost the initial deposit, but it could have been a catastrophe. It was a small mercy in a miserable situation.”
“If he is a known criminal, why is he still walking free?”
Jacqueline looked down the long, empty hallway, as if she could still see the phantom trail of Hammington’s departure.
“James vanished for a time. But more importantly, my father refused to press charges.”
“The Earl of Somerset? Whatever for?”
Windsor looked genuinely baffled. Jacqueline met his eyes, her gaze lingering.
Their stares locked, a silent tension humming between them. Almost unconsciously, the corner of her mouth quirked upward.
Windsor Preston was a man of formidable will, despite his striking looks. He had claimed the Preston name but chose to live entirely on his own terms, distanced from the Marquess’s traditional shadow.
He must have endured trials she couldn’t even imagine. To be the “son of an opera singer, raised alone” suggested a past defined by struggle. Yet he had carved a path for himself through the navy and eventually ascended to his current title.
Behind that stoic mask was a man who had spent his life leaping over hurdles.
Her father, by contrast, was a product of the nursery—the eldest son of an Earl who had stepped into his inheritance as if by divine right. He had dabbled in various business trends simply because it was expected of his station; to not grow one’s fortune was seen as a mark of failure.
But the Earl had no head for business. In the game of high-stakes investment, there are always winners and losers, and the Earl of Somerset was perpetually among the latter.
Stripped of his title, he was a man of little substance, a realization that had eventually broken him. At the first sign of true adversity, he had crumbled, drowning in self-reproach. It was only the New World venture that had briefly restored his spirit, though that, too, had ended in ruin.
Lost in the memory of her father’s decline, Jacqueline’s expression hardened.
“Father couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d been made a fool by a common crook. He was terrified that the scandal would strip him of his dignity. He took the secret of the scam to his grave to protect his honor. I suspect he wasn’t the only victim to choose silence, which is why that man is still bold enough to show his face in society.”
Windsor gave a curt nod. While he couldn’t relate to the Earl’s logic, he understood that for many of the peerage, a tarnished reputation was a fate worse than bankruptcy.
“So, please, be on your guard, Lord Preston. Regardless of what James Hammington promises, do not take the bait. I doubt he is even a real Viscount.”
“I am a suspicious man by trade,” Windsor replied dryly.
Jacqueline blinked, surprised by his bluntness. He continued in a level voice.
“Do you have any idea how many people approach me daily with ‘guaranteed’ partnerships or once-in-a-lifetime investments?”
Jacqueline remained silent, merely watching him. She could only imagine the vultures circling; wealth always drew a crowd. The constant stream of carriages at his gate and the mountains of correspondence delivered by couriers told the story well enough.
“Only this morning, a man promised me a ten-fold return on my principal within a year.” Windsor raised an eyebrow, a faint crease appearing on his forehead. It was a look that was inadvertently, intensely magnetic. “I may not be a lifelong businessman, but I am not so dim-witted as to believe such fantasies.”
Jacqueline watched him, saying nothing.
“Hammington claimed he had just arrived in the city, coming straight from the station to my door to discuss an urgent matter,” Windsor noted. “Yet his boots were immaculate. There wasn’t a trace of the mud one would inevitably pick up on the roads of Hamsworth.”
Jacqueline’s mouth hung open slightly, caught off guard by his observation.
“Well… I suppose…” she started, trying to find a counter-argument. “Could he not have cleaned them before his appointment? He was meeting the Marquess, after all. Or perhaps he took a private carriage and never touched the ground.”
“A possibility, certainly. However, the train from the Hamsworth quarry only runs to the capital three days a week. Today is not one of them.”
Jacqueline looked at him with newfound respect. Because he was a newcomer to the social elite, she had assumed he was as vulnerable to predators as her father had been. She had feared he would be easy prey for the city’s wolves.
She had clearly underestimated him. He was not a man who could be easily led astray. Her expression softened into a smile.
“That is a relief. It seems I won’t be looking for a new job tomorrow because the Preston estate collapsed overnight.”
She made a playful quip and began to walk away, but stopped suddenly as a thought occurred to her.
“If you are so naturally suspicious… tell me, did you have me investigated as well?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Windsor didn’t answer immediately; instead, he pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat. He clicked the lid open, checked the time, and spoke in a clipped, professional tone.
“Duty calls. I’ve already burned nine minutes in this hallway, and I have a stack of urgent correspondence to address. If you’ll excuse me.”
He turned and headed up the stairs with a haste that bordered on a retreat. Jacqueline watched him go, her suspicion only deepening.
“Interesting.”
“There you are, Miss Jacqueline.”
Madam Ritz’s voice echoed from across the hall, breaking her train of thought. Jacqueline instantly shed her inquisitive look, replacing it with the poised, gentle smile of a perfect lady.
“Yes, Madam Ritz? How can I help you?”
The housekeeper didn’t answer immediately. She took a slow, heavy breath, looking as though she were weighing a very difficult decision.
With no mistress in the house, the burden of the Preston estate’s social standing fell entirely on Madam Ritz. The pressure of hosting their first major event in the capital—Benjamin’s birthday—was weighing on her heavily. A single slip could provide months of gossip for the TON.
She had spent the morning battling her own pride against the needs of the family. The stress had robbed her of sleep and left her with a nervous stomach. Finally, she had decided that her master’s reputation was more important than her own ego.
“The celebration is only two days away,” Madam Ritz said solemnly.
“Is it so soon? The days are certainly passing quickly,” Jacqueline replied, still unsure where the conversation was heading.
Madam Ritz took another steadying breath. “If it isn’t an imposition… would you mind reviewing the final arrangements with me, Miss Jacqueline?”
Jacqueline’s eyes widened. She knew exactly how much it must have cost the proud housekeeper to ask for her assistance.
“I would be delighted to help in any way I can,” Jacqueline said warmly. She was not the type to gloat or turn away someone in need.
Relief flooded Madam Ritz’s face, bringing back a hint of color. Jacqueline smiled and gestured for her to lead the way.
“Shall we?”
“Miss Jacqueline, the ballroom is in the other direction,” Madam Ritz noted as Jacqueline started toward the front of the house.
Jacqueline paused and looked back over her shoulder.
“I know. But I want to walk the path of a guest entering from the front door. It’s the only way to see what they will see.”
Madam Ritz nodded slowly, a look of genuine appreciation crossing her face as she followed the young woman’s lead.
