Chapter 32
Jacqueline froze mid-ascent on the grand staircase. Windsor, who had been preoccupied with the way his dressing gown was being pulled taut, looked up to find her standing two steps above him.
“What is it now?”
“Benjamin.”
“I have to go to Benjamin.”
Windsor’s brow knit in confusion at the sudden mention of his nephew. He looked utterly baffled, unable to comprehend why she felt the need to visit the boy at such an hour.
She remained as volatile and unpredictable as kernels in a hot pan.
Jacqueline hurried upward, quickly bypassing Windsor, but she was forced to stop when she felt the fabric of her own gown snag. Turning back to the Marquess, who remained rooted to his spot, she gestured for him to follow from her higher vantage point.
“I told you, I’m going to see Benjamin.”
It was clear she had no intention of making the trip alone. The moment Windsor took a step, she resumed her pace.
“He might be frightened.”
“Scared of a little thunder?” Windsor countered. “Benjamin is the heir to the Preston family.”
“My lord, as you are well aware, being the Preston heir provides no natural immunity to a fear of storms.”
“That isn’t my point. Benjamin has been tutored in the sciences—he understands that thunder is merely an acoustic effect of electrical discharge caused by atmospheric instability. If I recall, his sixth tutor covered that quite thoroughly.”
Jacqueline went rigid.
She halted and turned toward him with slow, deliberate movements. When she spoke, her voice had taken on a sharp, icy edge.
“Ah, I had momentarily forgotten. You are always so terribly precise about everything, Lord Preston.”
Windsor was at a loss; he couldn’t grasp why she was offended, nor had he expected this sudden shift in her mood. He could do nothing but weather the temperamental storm she radiated.
Jacqueline set off again, the gown she held once more pulling tight against him. She threw a sharp glare over her shoulder at Windsor.
Are you coming or not?
The silent reprimand hit its mark. As he moved to follow, Jacqueline added petulantly, “My lord, you truly lack an imagination. Does the thunder not sound like the roar of a beast to you? Do you not feel the dread that a bolt might strike your very head? Does it not make you want to confess every sin you’ve ever considered?”
“We aren’t lost at sea; we are inside Preston Manor. The statistical probability of lightning striking your head is negligible. This is a stone structure—sturdy and lightning-proof. There is quite literally no safer place to be.”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
Jacqueline let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. Realizing there was no use arguing with a man who lived entirely by logic and data, she muttered under her breath, “Even if I’m not at sea… I can still be afraid.”
“Are you referring to yourself, Miss Somerset?”
Jacqueline flinched as if the question had physically struck her. With an uncharacteristic lack of composure, she stammered out a justification.
“I didn’t mean me… I meant Colin. That bear we saw—he’s in Benjamin’s room. Colin is deathly afraid of thunder. I only wanted to ensure he was resting quietly.”
It was a transparent excuse, but Windsor chose not to challenge it. As Jacqueline led the way, still gripping his gown, she kept casting glances back at him—as if checking to see if the person she was tethered to was actually Windsor Preston.
“Do you never lie awake contemplating the Great Beyond, Lord Preston? The afterlife? Or perhaps some cringeworthy memory from years ago? Or… your future as a man of sudden wealth? Ah, never mind—you’re already obscenely rich.”
She muttered the last part to herself before finishing with a brisk, “Regardless, for Benjamin, this is the hour when the imagination takes flight.”
Windsor’s eyebrow shot up, his confusion deepening. “That seems highly inefficient. Bedtime is a scheduled period; utilizing that time for rest is far more productive than squandering it on baseless fantasies.”
“Oh, yes—of course. I forgot again how remarkably precise you are, Lord Preston.”
Jacqueline’s tone was sharp again, but she suddenly cut herself off, pressing a finger to her lips.
“Shh.”
They had reached Benjamin’s door without realizing it. Taking a soft breath, she carefully turned the handle.
As the door swung open on silent hinges, the shadows of the room were revealed. It was still; everything was in its place, and the boy lay motionless in his bed, seemingly lost in sleep.
“He’s asleep.”
Jacqueline’s whisper was faint against the sound of the rain, tinged with a note of relief. Windsor answered with his usual pragmatism, “He was likely exhausted.”
“Sleep well, Benjamin,” she murmured fondly, beginning to pull the door shut.
Flash.
Boom!
The world was momentarily bleached white. The blinding light vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the darkness even heavier than before.
Both Jacqueline and Windsor froze, their eyes locked on the bed. There, curled into a tight ball, was a small, trembling figure clutching a plush bear. The boy had buried his face into Colin’s midsection, his small frame jolting with every roll of thunder.
“…Don’t be… scared, Colin. I’m right here…”
His voice was thin and wet with unshed tears, barely reaching the doorway.
Windsor’s expression went blank. He stared at Benjamin as if he were looking at a completely foreign, incomprehensible entity.
Jacqueline quietly pulled the door shut. While Windsor watched her in confusion, she reached out and knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Raising her voice to ensure she was heard over the downpour, she called out, “Benjamin, it’s me. May I come in if you’re awake?”
“…Yes, Miss Somerset.”
The reply was steady, but the effort it took to feign that composure was obvious.
Jacqueline waited for a count of three before entering. Benjamin was sitting bolt upright, his expression a mask of rigid calm.
The sky let out another violent roar. At the monstrous sound, the boy’s shoulders gave a small, involuntary twitch. Yet he bit his lip, refusing to show his fear, and kept his eyes fixed forward. Jacqueline approached the bedside and whispered softly, “Colin is frightened by the thunder. I came to see if he was alright.”
“Um… he’ll be fine, because I’m here with him,” Benjamin replied, his small hand tightening around Colin’s paw. Even in the gloom, it was clear his fist was shaking.
“You know, Colin is a bit more of a coward than he looks. So…” Jacqueline trailed off, glancing over her shoulder. The boy’s eyes followed her movement.
Only then did Benjamin realize there was someone else standing in the shadows.
“Lord Preston has agreed to stay with you until the morning.”
“…Uncle…?”
The boy’s eyes went wide with shock—and Windsor looked just as stunned. A faint scowl touched the Marquess’s face as he looked at Jacqueline.
“Isn’t that right, Lord Preston?”
“You cannot possibly suggest I stay because of thunder. As I stated, thunder is merely—”
“For the love of heaven, just be quiet.”
Jacqueline’s voice was low and her face wore a smile, but her eyes were cold and unyielding.
Windsor couldn’t predict her next move, but he knew one thing for certain: if he refused now, a storm far worse than the one outside would break over his head. This was his final warning.
Slowly, Windsor nodded. He turned his attention to his nephew. The young heir met his gaze and squared his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m not afraid of the storm at all, Miss Somerset. I would have been perfectly fine alone.”
It was exactly as Windsor expected—the boy had learned his lessons; he didn’t fear simple weather. Windsor began calmly, “If my presence is truly unnecessary—”
“But Colin is very scared,” Benjamin interrupted quickly, terrified that Windsor might actually leave. “So having Uncle here would really help him feel safe.”
Jacqueline, holding the oil lamp near her face, shot Windsor a look that made her displeasure perfectly clear.
Windsor conceded, walking over to sit in the chair by the bed. As if she hadn’t just been glaring at him, Jacqueline spoke to Benjamin in a melodic, soothing tone.
“Now that Lord Preston is here, Colin won’t be afraid. Sleep peacefully, Benjamin. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
Benjamin settled back under the covers with a rustle of linens. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head toward Windsor. After a few failed attempts to drift off, his eyes fluttered open again.
“Uncle?”
“Yes.”
Only after confirming that Windsor’s dark silhouette was still there did the boy let out a breath of relief. He called out Windsor’s name several more times over the next few minutes, offering no actual request.
Windsor didn’t quite understand the behavior—though perhaps it served a purpose similar to why Jacqueline had thrust the lamp so close to his face.
She had been right. His nephew was terrified.
Had the boy forgotten everything the sixth tutor had taught him?
Windsor turned the thought over in his mind but found no logical solution. Eventually, the boy’s breathing leveled out into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Jacqueline, who had been standing watch, allowed a small smile to touch her lips. She reached out and gently tucked the blanket up to the boy’s chin.
Colin, please look after him for me, she thought.
She straightened her back and turned to Windsor. “Goodnight, Lord Preston.”
“I suppose it will be, thanks to you. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
“When Benjamin eventually becomes the Marquess of Preston, the memory of tonight will be a shield for him.”
Windsor’s eyes drifted back to the bed. In the dim light, he could see the pale outline of the sleeping boy.
The memory of tonight would protect the future Marquess?
Jacqueline, having planted that thought, turned and left the room without a second glance, seemingly indifferent to the confusion she left in her wake.
Windsor’s eyes followed her shadow. As she stepped into the corridor, she hesitated. The sky continued to howl, and the dark hallway looked like a cavernous throat waiting to swallow her.
In that light, Jacqueline looked like a girl walking into the mouth of a beast—or perhaps a princess who had only just escaped one.
“Hmm…”
She spun around softly. The door clicked shut. Windsor watched as she began to tiptoe back toward him, his eyebrow arching in silent question.
