Chapter 27
The Earl of Saltrein cast a murderous look around the room, his eyes scanning the crowd for the source of the whispers. Those caught in his gaze quickly looked away, feigning sudden interest in anything else to mask their guilt.
Despite their attempts at nonchalance, the hostility in the air was thick enough to choke on. Viscount Jeffman reached out, firmly gripping the Earl’s arm.
“Let us retreat to the lounge for a moment. A cigar might do us both some good.”
“If I allow this brazen insult to go unpunished—”
“I also have urgent matters regarding the canal to go over with you,” the Viscount interrupted. “Our schedules have been impossible to align until now, so let us take advantage of the coincidence.”
Before the tension could boil over, a man stepped smoothly from the throng of guests. He wore a mask of easy congeniality as he moved to de-escalate the friction.
Uncle Walter?
Jacqueline’s eyes rounded in shock. Count Greenwood offered her a quick, subtle wink before shifting his focus to Saltrein.
“It has been quite some time, Lord Greenwood.”
“Indeed. And I have something of great importance to share.”
Walter dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. With a heavy air of reluctance, Saltrein allowed himself to be ushered away. Only then did the stifling pressure in the banquet hall begin to lift, returning to its former lively rhythm.
Benjamin sidled up to Jacqueline’s side. He pressed both hands over his mouth to muffle his voice, whispering with a tone that wavered between scolding and sheer delight. He had remained patient just as she had instructed, but he couldn’t resist a comment.
“You’ve traded a minor nuisance for a formidable enemy, Miss Somerset.”
“Is that so?”
Jacqueline cut her eyes to the side. She immediately collided with Windsor’s gaze; he had clearly been watching her the entire time.
He hiked an eyebrow, causing three distinct, rugged lines to crease his brow—a look that was unintentionally provocative.
“I simply couldn’t stand by and watch Lord Saltrein ruin your birthday celebration.”
Jacqueline offered the boy a radiant smile and took a graceful step back. Benjamin’s cheeks flushed a vivid crimson.
William broke the moment with a resonant, theatrical cough. “Ahem!” he bellowed, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.
“We shall now reveal the birthday gift bestowed by His Majesty the King!”
The crowd’s fickle attention snapped instantly toward the gift. Every face was alight with curiosity, eager to see what royal favor looked like in physical form.
As Jacqueline continued to retreat into the shadows of the room, Windsor leaned toward her and murmured under his breath,
“Lord Saltrein has not become a foe of the Preston house, Miss Somerset. He is now yours.”
“He carries significant weight in these circles,” she replied. “They may call him the ‘outlaw of banquets,’ but his influence is such that no host would dare omit him from a guest list.”
“Like a stray bit of grit in a fine cake?”
“Precisely.”
Jacqueline let out a soft, melodic laugh. Windsor was proving to be an apt pupil; he even remembered her more colorful metaphors.
“Had Lord Preston been the one to humiliate him, Saltrein would have swallowed his pride. But to be shamed before so many witnesses by a lady? His spite will be eternal. He will dedicate himself to sabotaging your every move. Do not be fooled by his reputation; his connections are vast.”
Windsor looked momentarily taken aback. It dawned on him then—Jacqueline had stepped in specifically so he wouldn’t have to, shielding him from the fallout.
As his gaze grew heavy with unspoken thoughts, she turned back to him with a playful tilt of her head.
“And what can a man like that truly do to me? I am a lady without a fortune or a name to protect. Is it not better that I carry his grudge instead of you?”
Windsor’s expression went blank for a heartbeat as he studied her.
Was it possible she had calculated the political ramifications of her outburst in a mere matter of seconds?
“Shh,” she whispered, turning away. “I am far too curious to see the King’s gift.”
Jacqueline watched the draped object with bright, expectant eyes. William, standing with his chest puffed out in pride, whipped away the white silk.
“The complete historical records of the Kingdom, bound in exquisite gold leaf!”
“Oh!”
A collective gasp of wonder rippled through the hall. Resting upon a plush black cloth was a set of volumes that shimmered brilliantly, their golden covers catching the light of the chandeliers.
The guests broke into a flurry of hushed praise.
“History books for a six-year-old? Truly an unprecedented gift!”
“A magnificent choice. I would have suggested the same. Once a child masters the great myths, history is the only logical progression.”
“But look at that craftsmanship—gold bindings! It must be a bespoke set from a master’s hand. It is clear how much His Majesty dotes on Master Benjamin.”
Despite the storm of compliments, Benjamin remained remarkably composed. He turned a calm, steady gaze toward the butler.
“Kindly relay my deepest gratitude to His Majesty.”
“Of course, Master. Next, we have the offering from the Duke of Butler, who sends his regrets that he could not attend.”
A cold, cynical smirk touched Windsor’s lips. Conventionally, such an educational and prestigious gift would come from a child’s parents or their primary guardian.
With Benjamin’s parents gone, that role fell to Windsor. By presenting this specific gift, the King was essentially usurping Windsor’s position—a deliberate, public snub.
Furthermore, by choosing a gold-leafed edition, the King ensured that if Windsor had bought a similar set, it would have looked like a cheap imitation. It was a move of calculated, royal pettiness.
While Windsor nursed his quiet fury, William unveiled several more gifts. Each time, Benjamin offered his thanks with a level of poise that made him seem far older than his six years.
“And finally,” William announced, “the gift prepared by Lord Preston.”
The wandering eyes of the nobility returned to the table. The final draped object seemed to radiate a certain gravity under the lights.
Without further delay, William pulled back the cloth in a single, fluid motion.
The room fell into a stunned silence. Every eye was glued to the glass display case.
“What on earth is that…?” someone whispered.
Benjamin’s eyes stretched wide as he took in the sight. Inside the case sat a breathtakingly detailed model of a warship.
It was the flagship of the Black Fleet.
The replica was so finely detailed it looked like a living vessel shrunk down by magic. Tiny, hand-painted sailors were stationed across the deck.
The detail was staggering—a miniature sailor saluted from the bow, while another stood in the crow’s nest, peering through a tiny telescope.
“Thank you, Uncle!”
For the first time that evening, Benjamin’s face broke into a genuine, dazzling smile. His eyes danced with pure, unadulterated joy.
Windsor stood frozen for a moment. He had never seen the boy look so truly happy.
—I wanted to see Benjamin smile.
Jacqueline’s words from earlier rang in his ears. He turned his head slowly toward her. She was already watching the boy with a fond expression, but sensing Windsor’s gaze, she looked up.
Their eyes locked. She gave him a small, knowing smile.
See? I told you he would love it.
Her eyes were bright with a sense of quiet victory. Before Windsor could find his voice, the other children in the room—who had been standing stiffly by their parents—broke ranks and rushed toward the table.
“Look at that! It’s incredible!”
“It’s a Black Fleet ship! I’ve seen the toys in the windows!”
“No, look at the flag—that’s the Admiral’s flagship!”
“Father, I want one! Please, can I have one?”
“Justin! Get back here this instant!”
The hall dissolved into a chaotic, joyful mess. Parents scrambled to reign in their overexcited children, looking flustered and apologetic.
Benjamin was still looking up at Windsor with hero-worship in his eyes. Windsor could only manage a low, gruff, “It’s nothing.”
Realizing the other children were closing in on his prize, Benjamin’s face went pale. He lunged forward, terrified someone might mar the masterpiece.
He threw his arms around the glass case, physically shielding it. Forgetting all the lessons on dignity and restraint, he snapped protectively,
“This is mine! My Uncle gave it to me for my birthday! No one is allowed to touch it!”
“We just want to look!”
“Move! I can’t see!”
The adults fell silent as they watched the children squabble. Even those who had privately mocked Windsor’s choice now looked uneasy.
The King’s gift had been grand, expensive, and socially perfect—the “correct” gift for a future Marquess. No one could dispute its value.
But the gift Benjamin actually cherished was Windsor’s. The boy who had given polite, robotic thanks for the gold-leafed books had practically tackled the model ship in excitement.
In the subtle battle of influence, Windsor had won by a landslide.
The guests were privately stunned. The cold, distant Lord Preston apparently understood his nephew’s heart better than anyone had imagined.
The prevailing rumor—that Windsor intended to usurp the boy’s inheritance—began to crack.
“The struggle for custody between the King and Lord Preston is becoming quite the spectacle.”
“I assumed Lord Preston took the guardianship out of obligation, but they seem remarkably close.”
“Doesn’t it? He clearly knows the boy well.”
“He must. No one could have picked a more perfect gift otherwise.”
The room buzzed with lowered voices, debating the merits of the upcoming trial. The crowd seemed split, the King’s traditionalists clashing with those now swayed by Windsor’s display of affection.
Sensing her work was done, Jacqueline began to quietly retreat toward the exit.
“There you are, Miss Somerset. I’ve been searching for you.”
A warm, familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Jacqueline turned, her eyes widening in recognition.
Windsor, who had been approaching her, stopped and narrowed his eyes at someone behind her.
“Mr. Evan Knox?”
A pleasant-looking young man stood there, smiling broadly. With his soft brown hair and gentle eyes, he had the earnest, friendly look of a well-bred spaniel.
Had he been a dog, he would have been wagging his tail. His delight at seeing her was written plainly across his face.
“I hope you’ve been well! I sent so many letters but never heard back. I was so worried. I even went to your family estate, but the house had already been sold.”
Jacqueline felt a sharp, bitter pang in her chest. She remembered the Earl of Knox’s final, freezing command that his son was never to speak to her again.
She saw no reason to bring that up.
She didn’t blame the Earl; if her own son were engaged to a woman whose family had fallen into ruin, she might have made the same cold calculation.
Forcing a polite, social smile, she stood tall, hoping she didn’t look as desperate as her circumstances suggested.
“There is no sense in clinging to a relationship that has reached its end, Evan. It is better for everyone this way.”
The young man looked as though she had struck him. Jacqueline felt a flicker of guilt at the wounded expression on his face.
As she bit her lip, Evan quickly tried to mask his hurt with a forced cheerfulness. He leaned in slightly, his voice hurried.
“I don’t know if my letters reached you, but you must know—breaking our engagement wasn’t my idea.”
Windsor’s eyes sharpened. The realization of exactly who Evan Knox was settled over him, and he began to slowly, coldly, look the young man up and down.
