Chapter 30
Children of the nobility were well-versed in the hierarchies of their world—and they were remarkably shrewd for their age. They possessed an innate sense of who stood above them and who sat below, and they were masters at wielding their status as a weapon.
Consequently, their governesses had long since abandoned the pretense of actual education. They viewed their responsibilities as fulfilled if they simply trailed behind their charges like mindless shadows.
Yet now, those same unruly children sat in eerie, absolute silence. The governesses could only blink in stunned disbelief, staring at the scene as if it were an illusion.
They couldn’t help but wonder what sort of sorcery Jacqueline Somerset, the new tutor, had used to tame them.
Windsor was drained. He pressed his fingers firmly against his temples, tilting his head as he leaned his chin on the back of his hand. His eyes remained tightly shut.
The aristocrats he had endured throughout the evening were, in his estimation, far more juvenile than his six-year-old nephew. They reminded him of children flaunting their playthings, boasting incessantly of their wealth and their vessels.
Yet, for all their posturing, none possessed the courage to offer a genuine invitation. Instead, they circled one another warily, waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Navigating such a crowd was exhausting for a man like Windsor, who prized efficiency and momentum above all else. He had little patience for the dance of hidden agendas, a preference likely forged during his military service, where clarity and direct orders were the standard.
“To do this every single day… in a way, they are truly impressive,” he muttered, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through his words.
He stood, having stared into the shadows long enough, and prepared to retire for the night. Just then, a soft sound caught his ear. Faint footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor, growing louder as they approached before beginning to fade once more.
Windsor recognized the rhythm instantly. The gait was heavier than Benjamin’s, yet carried a grace that no maid possessed.
He watched the darkness for a heartbeat before turning toward the stairs. A soft clatter drifted up from the kitchen, and he followed the noise to its source. As he expected, a pale, flickering silhouette moved within the room.
“Didn’t we agree that such chores were the domain of the staff?”
“Ah—!”
Startled, Jacqueline let out a sharp gasp. Windsor moved swiftly, pressing his palm over her mouth to stifle the cry before it could ring through the house.
She swallowed her scream, her wide eyes reflecting her shock.
“Mmph—m’lord?”
Her warm breath brushed against his skin, sending a strange, prickling sensation down his spine. His fingers curled instinctively. With a faint, almost imperceptible scowl, Windsor pulled his hand away with practiced indifference. Even so, his palm felt as though it still held the warmth of her breath.
He clenched his fist to banish the lingering sensation while Jacqueline, finally catching her breath, offered a soft explanation.
“I didn’t want to disturb anyone. The staff worked so hard cleaning up after the festivities; they must be exhausted.”
“Is that so?”
“Is there something you need, Lord Preston? I could bring you some water.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. Accustomed to his presence, Jacqueline set the kettle on the stove and reached for a teacup.
“If my memory serves, your impeccable schedule dictates that you should have been in bed thirty minutes ago.”
“Thirty-seven minutes, to be precise.”
Jacqueline paused, a teacup mid-air. She couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at a response so quintessentially Windsor.
“I found I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, reaching for another cup. “Seeing so many familiar faces after all this time left me a bit pensive. Would you care for some tea, Lord Preston?”
Familiar faces.
Windsor thought back to the guests and the hushed rumors they had traded regarding Jacqueline. Only a few years prior, she would have been the center of that world—perfectly at home in a circle that he found so draining. Where he had to exert effort to navigate the social minefield, she moved through it as naturally as breathing. For a moment, the distance between them felt vast.
Rather than answering, Windsor pushed off the wall and moved to the cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a crystal tumbler.
“I am quite capable of seeing to myself.”
“Oh, of course. My apologies.”
Despite her words, Jacqueline continued her work—opening the tea tin to catch the scent, measuring the leaves with care, and pouring the boiling water with a steady hand.
“Are you alone tonight?”
“Pardon?”
She stopped and looked at him, confused. Windsor gestured toward her empty hands.
“I was referring to the teddy bear. You mentioned you were uneasy being alone in the dark.”
A bright, genuine laugh escaped her. As her smile seemed to chase the shadows from the room, Windsor’s eyes narrowed slightly. He often wondered how she could laugh with such unreserved joy—as if she committed her entire soul to the moment, much like he committed his entire being to a campaign.
“I’m not alone tonight, as it happens. I’ve found a new companion.”
He gave her a skeptical look, but Jacqueline simply lifted her tray, her expression one of playful resolve.
“If you’re worried about drinking in solitude, perhaps I could offer my company?”
Windsor’s brow twitched. Worried?
He had never known fear—not in the heat of naval skirmishes nor under the hail of gunfire on land. His mind was a machine of strategy, not a vessel for terror. Perhaps his courage stemmed from the fact that he had nothing left to lose.
“Shall we move to the parlor?”
She didn’t wait for his consent. Picking up the lamp, she led the way. Windsor followed in her wake, bottle and glass in hand. He clicked his tongue softly, realizing how easily he had been swept up in her rhythm. It was a rare experience for a man who lived by his own iron will and made every decision for himself.
In the parlor, Jacqueline stepped aside so he could open the door. She settled onto the sofa, placed the lamp on the low table, and expertly poured the tea.
“You did a wonderful job this evening,” she said, letting out a long sigh after her first sip.
Windsor merely arched an eyebrow as he tasted his whiskey.
“You were flawless from start to finish.”
“Flawless? You didn’t see me dine, so your assessment is based on incomplete data.”
“Nonsense! Your Lordship’s memory is legendary. I’m sure you didn’t miss a thing.” Jacqueline teased him with a mock-serious look before her tone softened. “Besides, I didn’t hear a single word of criticism—at least not regarding your etiquette. I’d call that a triumph.”
“Not entirely wrong,” Windsor echoed quietly.
Jacqueline’s shoulders relaxed as she sipped her tea. They both knew that even the King wouldn’t escape the wagging tongues of the ton. Gossip was the currency of the bored, regardless of rank. By that standard, the night had been a resounding success.
“I suppose I owe that to our capable governess.”
“I certainly won’t argue with that,” Jacqueline said, sitting up a little straighter with a proud smile.
A faint chuckle escaped Windsor. Jacqueline’s eyes widened in surprise, but the smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. In that moment, Windsor realized the dull ache in his head had vanished. He wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the company, but his mood had shifted entirely.
Recalling the earlier commotion, he looked at her. “The children were quite spirited on their way out. What exactly happened on the second floor?”
“Ah…”
Jacqueline took a slow sip of tea, her mind drifting back to the scene. She pictured the children who had followed her like a line of ducklings, their eyes bright and alert despite the late hour. Not one of them seemed tired.
In the final moments before they departed, they had all been huddled together, counting their hard-earned candies with bated breath. The winner was Justin, a boy currently missing his front tooth.
—“I won! I’m the winner!” he had shouted.
—“No way! Look at all of those!”
—“That’s amazing.”
The others looked on with a mix of envy and disappointment. Justin marched up to Jacqueline and held out his hands expectantly.
—“Now, where is the prize?”
—“Right here.”
Jacqueline stepped away for a moment. Benjamin watched her with a wary expression, his eyes widening as she returned with a small box of red velvet.
—“This is one of Benjamin’s most prized treasures.”
—“A treasure…?” Justin asked, his voice full of awe.
The sight of the velvet box alone was enough to draw the other children in like a magnet.
—“What is it? Let us see!”
—“Open it! Hurry up!”
Justin took a deep breath and lifted the lid with the gravity of a king. Benjamin looked at Jacqueline. “Miss Somerset,” he whispered.
—“Oh, I’m sorry, Benjamin. I gave it away without asking. I promise I’ll find you another one just like it tomorrow.”
Benjamin gave a small, quiet nod, though that hadn’t been his concern. Meanwhile, Justin stared into the box, completely frozen.
—“What… what is this?”
—“Move! Let me see!” Oakley shoved his way to the front, staring at the contents before looking at Jacqueline in confusion.
She tilted her head, looking quite pleased with herself. “Well? Isn’t it magnificent?”
She leaned in closer, glancing toward the group of governesses and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’d better keep it hidden. If the adults see it, they’ll surely take it for themselves.”
—“Whoa!”
Justin began to bounce with excitement, his eyes gleaming. The other children watched him with pure jealousy.
—“It’s a cicada shell!”
—“Shh! Don’t let them hear you!”
—“Oh, right!”
—“It’s so cool. I want one.”
One little girl reached out toward the box, but Justin snapped the lid shut and hugged it to his chest.
—“It’s mine!”
He marched away like a conquering hero. Benjamin watched him go, tilting his head in genuine confusion. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would be so ecstatic over a cicada shell. After all, their own gardens were surely full of them.
—“Ah…”
