Chapter 31
Benjamin understood the reason soon enough. He remembered that until Jacqueline’s arrival, he had been exactly the same.
No matter how many cicada shells lay scattered about, he was never permitted to touch them. Such a thing was deemed beneath the dignity of a noble child.
“Thank you, Miss Somerset.”
Benjamin offered her a deep, sincere bow. Jacqueline tilted her head, a brief look of confusion crossing her features before it melted into a warm smile.
Leaning down toward him, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“It is a very good thing that a single shell was enough to keep the ship safe, don’t you think?”
Though that hadn’t been the source of his gratitude, Benjamin simply nodded. He adored Jacqueline and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her.
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
At that moment, Oakley shuffled toward them, his expression tight with unease.
Benjamin’s small hands curled into tight fists. His face hardened with a silent vow: If he snubs Miss Somerset one more time, I won’t let it slide.
I’ll punch his jaw right off!
Unaware of the violent thoughts brewing in the boy’s mind, Oakley hesitated for a long beat before asking gruffly,
“Hey… is your governess actually any good?”
“She is Miss Somerset,” Benjamin replied, squaring his shoulders. He looked immensely proud, as if he possessed something far more valuable than a mere insect casing.
A practical-minded little girl approached them next, her cheeks bulging with a piece of candy.
“I’m Olivia. But you can call me Ollie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ollie. I’m Benjamin.”
“Can I come back to play another time?”
“Certainly, Ollie,” Benjamin said with a solemn nod.
At his words, the other children nearby began to clamor. “Me too! I want to come visit, too!”
Olivia stepped closer to Benjamin, finally reaching her true point of interest. She dropped her voice to a low murmur.
“Next time, can we go hunting for cicada shells together?”
“Of course, Ollie. Miss Somerset and I go on expeditions all the time. You would be most welcome to join us as our companion.”
“I want to be your companion too, Benjamin!”
“Let me in!”
The children swarmed him in an instant. Though clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention, Benjamin wore a shy, triumphant grin.
Jacqueline watched the scene unfold, a look of genuine joy dancing in her eyes.
“The children were practically begging their parents for a return trip to Preston Manor as they were leaving. Are you quite sure nothing out of the ordinary occurred?”
Windsor’s inquiry was casual, but Jacqueline—feeling like a thief who had nearly tripped over her own feet—flinched and looked away.
“Oh, it was nothing so dramatic. I simply helped Benjamin make a few friends.”
She set her teacup down with practiced grace. A soft, ceramic clink punctuated the silence between them.
A faint, melodic laugh escaped her lips.
“Perhaps that simple cicada shell will be what protects Benjamin one day, when he eventually becomes the Marquess of Preston.”
At the mention of the shells, Windsor’s brow knit together. He raised his whiskey glass to his lips, watching her intently over the rim.
Talking to Jacqueline always felt like watching corn kernels in a hot pan.
Pop. Pop.
For some reason, he could almost hear the sound of them bursting like tiny fireworks.
“Olivia is the granddaughter of the Dowager Lady Chamberlain,” Windsor noted. “Do not forget that the Dowager was once known as the queen of society. Her influence rivals that of the royal court itself. She will be an excellent connection for Benjamin.”
“A cicada shell, of all things,” he added.
Windsor arched an eyebrow, the movement carving three deep lines across his forehead. Jacqueline found herself staring blankly at him.
Even the lines on his face possessed a certain magnetism. It was especially true at night, when his polished, rigid exterior seemed to fray, revealing a darker, more unrefined nature beneath.
It made it difficult for her to look away. Their eyes met and held; neither of them moved to break the contact. The heavy silence only seemed to pull the knot of their gaze tighter.
The shadows around them rippled. The single oil lamp on the table failed to fully illuminate their features, leaving much to the imagination.
Deep shadows carved out the hollows of Windsor’s face. His long lashes cast dark fans beneath his eyes, and the sharp silhouette of his nose stretched across his cheek.
The previously relaxed mood vanished in a heartbeat. It happened like this sometimes—moments when Windsor, who had been perfectly pleasant, suddenly felt like a complete stranger.
Jacqueline held her breath without realizing it. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightgown, bunching the silk in her palms.
The silence grew sharp; the darkness felt oppressive.
A strange shiver raced down her spine, prickling her skin. Windsor’s stare felt physical, as if she were a butterfly pinned to a board, unable to flutter away.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She feared that if she continued to look at him, she might simply turn to ash—that her very soul might be swallowed by the void.
She was trembling. Just as Jacqueline began to turn her head away, her expression clouded with fear—
“Evan Knox.”
He spoke the name of her former fiancé. Her eyes widened, and she was drawn back to him against her better judgment.
“What about Mr. Knox?”
Windsor hesitated. He hadn’t intended to say the name; it had simply slipped out before he could catch it.
Looking into her wide, emerald eyes, he drifted into a brief, dark reverie. He pictured Evan Knox’s careless, easy face.
What was he even trying to say? That Evan was a naive child? Or that he was too thick-headed to recognize when he wasn’t wanted?
Pushing aside the bitter thoughts of the man, Windsor slowly shook his head.
“It is nothing.”
Jacqueline studied him with a look of confusion for a moment before returning to her tea. She took a small sip, using the gesture to mask the fact that her mouth had gone dry.
Slowly, the suffocating tension began to bleed out of the room. The stiffness left her shoulders.
She lowered her gaze. This ball had mended old ties and forged new ones—some beneficial, others perhaps less so.
She couldn’t guess what chaos these rekindled connections might bring. Life, after all, was famously unpredictable.
No one could have predicted I would become a penniless lady overnight, either.
Suddenly—
Plop. Thud.
Startled from her thoughts, Jacqueline looked up as a new sound reached her. Rain had begun to drum against the windowpane.
The light, scattered tapping quickly swelled into a rhythmic, heavy downpour.
“Thank goodness the rain waited until the ball was over,” she murmured, the sound of the storm reminding her of music. “We very nearly ruined Benjamin’s birthday.”
Windsor gave her a dismissive look.
“Was it not Miss Somerset who kept the ball from ruin?”
“I was referring to your piano performance.”
“Ah…”
Jacqueline finally realized his meaning. She bowed her head, her lashes casting soft shadows against her skin.
A small smile touched her mouth.
“I am truly relieved we didn’t ruin his day.”
She stood up, picking up the oil lamp and looking down at Windsor.
“I believe I shall retire for the evening. And you, Lord Preston?”
“I shall do the same.”
Windsor rose slowly. A strange, vague sense of reluctance tugged at him, though he couldn’t quite name what he was hesitant to leave behind.
They walked out of the drawing room together, moving side by side down the long corridor.
The hallway seemed to stretch into infinity, the lamp in her hand barely pushing back the darkness more than a foot in front of them.
Though Jacqueline didn’t rush, Windsor adjusted his stride to match hers perfectly.
It was a brusque sort of kindness.
Observing him, Jacqueline realized that kindness wore many faces. Some people were like the warmth of a summer afternoon—steady and bright. Others were like the early spring sun—gentle, yet underscored by a lingering chill.
Windsor was undoubtedly the latter. Just as she felt the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile—
Flash!
The world turned white for a split second. Jacqueline’s eyes snapped wide. The brilliance vanished as quickly as it had arrived, a sudden birth followed by an immediate death.
The hallway was plunged back into a deep, heavy blackness. She bit back a scream, pressing a trembling hand to her heart.
Windsor, who was a step ahead, stopped and turned. He looked at her without expression, his silent gaze asking why she had frozen.
“It’s nothing.”
Jacqueline lifted her chin and forced herself to take another step. At that exact moment—
Boom! CRACK!
A roar of thunder shook the very foundations of the house, as if trying to shatter their eardrums. She couldn’t help the high-pitched cry that escaped her.
“Kyaa—!”
Windsor’s hand was over her mouth in an instant.
With shaking hands, Jacqueline lifted the oil lamp toward his face. Windsor, his brows slightly furrowed, leaned back just enough to avoid the flame.
But she was persistent, shoving the light closer. Windsor finally pulled his hand away from her lips.
The sensation of her skin lingered on his palm—a soft, warm impression, like the touch of something delicate and sweet.
Feeling a surge of uncharacteristic fluster, Windsor spoke even more sharply than usual to mask it.
“This is hardly the hour for screaming.”
“…Hah.”
Hearing his familiar, grounding voice, Jacqueline finally let out a breath of relief. However, she refused to move the lamp away from him.
“Lord Preston?”
“I will see you to your door.”
“I… thank you.”
Jacqueline nodded awkwardly. The moment Windsor turned to lead the way, another roar of thunder split the air.
Boom! Crash!
Lightning flickered, illuminating the world in a strobe of white before dragging them back into the dark.
Shaking as if caught in a chill, Jacqueline lunged forward, pressing herself against his side. The rain was falling so hard now it sounded as if the sky had been torn open.
Windsor looked down at the hand clutching his robe. Even in the gloom, her pale fingers were stark against the dark fabric—desperate and white-knuckled.
He looked at Jacqueline. She was staring straight ahead, her shoulders rigid and her face set in a look of grim determination, as if she were preparing for battle.
And yet, despite her brave face, the hand on his sleeve was trembling. With a quiet, almost imperceptible chuckle, he began to walk.
Terrified of being left behind, Jacqueline scrambled to keep pace. Every few steps, she would look at him with deep suspicion and shine the lamp directly into his eyes.
“Lord Preston?”
She called his name every time, as though she feared he might have been replaced by a ghost in the darkness.
“What is it now?”
“Nothing.”
Each time she checked, she would sigh with relief only after hearing his voice.
Windsor found her behavior somewhere between amusing and pitiful. He wondered how a woman like her could be so frightened by simple thunder.
But at that very moment—
