Chapter 33
“I was concerned Lord Preston might find himself bored, so I decided to keep you company.”
Jacqueline settled onto the long chaise lounge with an air of effortless confidence. A small, involuntary twitch pulled at Windsor’s lips, and a soft huff of air escaped him.
To any casual observer, it would have looked remarkably like a smile.
He crossed his arms, sinking back into the depths of his chair, while Jacqueline made herself comfortable, using her own arm as a pillow.
Heavy silence reclaimed the room. Yet, it wasn’t a true silence; the low rumble of distant thunder persisted, rain lashed against the windows, and Benjamin’s rhythmic, peaceful breathing filled the space between them.
To Windsor, however, the atmosphere felt profoundly still. Though he wasn’t particularly tired, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, as if trying to memorize this rare moment of tranquility.
The night wore on, mirrored by the relentless storm outside. Eventually, a second steady breath joined the quiet cadence of the room.
Windsor tuned out the world, focusing entirely on that single sound. Before long, his own breathing fell into sync with hers.
Despite the chaos of the elements outside, the peace within these walls remained unbroken.
A dull ache in his throat eventually pulled his consciousness back to the surface.
As he woke, Windsor’s eyes snapped open with a clarity that betrayed no hint of lingering sleep. Though the room was shrouded in the gloom of a deep night, he knew instinctively that it was six o’clock. It was a rigid internal clock forged during his years in the navy; regardless of when he retired, he was always awake at the hour of six.
Even with summer approaching, the morning was swallowed by shadows, thanks to the storm that had raged through the night.
The downpour had finally ceased, but the heavy, low-hanging clouds suggested the reprieve might be temporary. It looked as though it would be a gray day.
Do I have any pressing matters today?
As was his custom, Windsor began mentally cataloging his schedule the moment he was conscious. As the list took shape, his focus sharpened.
The asset manager was expected at ten. An hour later, a representative from a religious charity would arrive—no doubt seeking further donations. Then, in the afternoon…
Suddenly, the list of obligations vanished.
His thoughts were replaced entirely by the sight of Jacqueline’s face, softened by sleep.
The memories of the previous night flooded back.
So, she stayed after all.
Jacqueline was curled into a small, tight ball, her steady breathing occasionally interrupted by a faint, delicate snore. Windsor watched her with a sense of quiet curiosity, as if observing a specimen from a world entirely foreign to his own.
He could not fathom a fear of thunder. To him, being afraid of the dark or confiding in a stuffed bear were concepts that simply did not exist.
A ghost of a laugh escaped him as he remembered the sheer bravado with which she had invited herself in and claimed the chaise lounge.
In that moment, he felt the weight of a gaze. Turning his head slowly, he found himself looking into a pair of wide, bright eyes.
Benjamin was awake. He had clearly been watching his uncle for some time.
“Did you sleep well, Uncle?”
“Good morning.”
“Yes.”
Benjamin’s eyes glimmered with a shy warmth. He pressed his face briefly into Colin’s plush stomach before looking up again, his gaze fixed on Windsor as if trying to confirm that the smile he’d glimpsed was real.
Windsor had remained by his side throughout the entire storm. It was a disorienting sensation for the boy, who had always lived under the impression that he was a burden to his uncle.
Maybe… he doesn’t find me a nuisance? Is it possible he actually likes me?
Windsor rose from the sofa, and Benjamin tilted his head back to follow his movement.
For a moment, Windsor looked at the bear the boy held so protectively. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically low—perhaps to avoid disturbing Miss Somerset’s rest.
“It is time to rise.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Benjamin scrambled to sit up under the covers. The motion caused Jacqueline to stir, though she only responded by curling even tighter into herself.
Windsor spared her a fleeting glance before turning back to the boy. His expression was stern, yet lacked its usual chill.
“You’re likely exhausted after last night’s festivities. You may rest a while longer if you wish.”
“……Yes.”
Benjamin tilted his head in confusion. The offer felt less like a permission for him and more like a message intended for someone else.
Furthermore, Windsor was a man of strict routine. Being encouraged to sleep in was a complete departure from his uncle’s usual philosophy.
“Inform a maid to wake you in an hour.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Benjamin matched his uncle’s whispered tone. Windsor began to walk toward the door but paused.
He moved to the chaise lounge, slipped off his robe, and draped it gently over Jacqueline’s sleeping form. He stood there for a heartbeat, watching her in silence.
Almost tentatively, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. Only then did he truly turn to leave.
Benjamin’s breath hitched. His eyes were wide with shock at the scene he had just witnessed, and he clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp.
Miss Somerset really is a fairy—I knew it!
Windsor reached the door but looked back one last time.
“Benjamin.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
The boy nodded vigorously, trying to look as though he hadn’t seen a thing.
“Thunder is nothing more than an atmospheric electrical discharge caused by instability.”
Windsor started to tell him there was no reason to be afraid, but he caught himself. Benjamin simply nodded.
“……Yes, I know. Mr. Robinson covered that in our science lessons.”
“Good. That is enough.”
With that, Windsor stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Only then did Benjamin release a long, shaky breath and burrow back into the warmth of the blankets. He couldn’t quite process what he had seen.
But Jacqueline was still there, her breathing steady and peaceful, and Colin was soft against his cheek. Before long, sleep claimed him again.
The luxury of a morning lie-in felt better than the finest chocolate.
Benjamin’s eyes went wide when he saw Jacqueline standing there in an apron. She was busy giving orders to Betty, who had followed her in.
“We’ll be using that wall for our canvas today, Betty. Please move the chair to the other side.”
“……Certainly, Miss.”
Betty’s professional mask slipped for just a second, but she recovered quickly and moved the furniture out of the way.
Jacqueline approached the pristine, ivory-colored wall and began squeezing paint onto her palette, a small, satisfied huff escaping her lips.
Benjamin was right at her heels, his eyes dancing with excitement. Life was never boring when Jacqueline was around; it was why he adored his fairy-like tutor so much.
“Today, I shall reclaim my reputation,” Jacqueline announced with a look of mock-solemnity. She turned to her pupil.
“We are moving away from Fauvism and returning to Realism. This style is about capturing the world exactly as it appears—focusing on the fine details of expressions, the texture of skin, and the vitality of movement.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
Benjamin nodded with earnest enthusiasm. Jacqueline gave a sharp nod of approval and turned back to the blank expanse.
“We shall paint the great myths of the continent here.”
“The myths?”
“Are you familiar with the old legends?”
Benjamin nodded, looking as though the answer were self-evident.
“I am. For my birthday last year, Uncle gave me the complete collection of continental mythology.”
“Oh. Right… of course he did.”
Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed slightly in a momentary pique of annoyance, and she gave a small shrug. Stepping toward the wall, she pointed.
“I will handle the birth of the gods. You, Benjamin, shall paint the war among the gods right here beside me.”
“……Yes, Miss Somerset.”
Though he suspected his task was significantly more difficult, Benjamin didn’t complain. He would have eaten a piece of dry, day-old cake if Jacqueline had asked him to.
“Very well. Let us begin.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset!”
The two of them set to work with profound focus. Even as she painted, Jacqueline continued her lecture, never forgetting her role as his teacher.
“There is a reason why ‘Myths of the Continent’ is the standard gift for five-year-olds. These stories are woven into the fabric of our lives. You see them in the grand murals of cathedrals and the carvings of ancient ruins, but even the simplest home will have a trinket or two inspired by these tales.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
Benjamin’s response was distracted; he was entirely absorbed in his work. Unlike the birth of the gods, the celestial war required an exhausting amount of detail: twisted expressions of rage, tensed muscles, and an array of ancient weaponry. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the illustrations from his book.
“The gods of our myths are remarkably human,” Jacqueline continued. “They love, they envy, and they betray. This humanity is why artists have found them so fascinating for centuries.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
“As you’ve seen, these myths remain a cornerstone of art. Even thousands of years later, they continue to inspire new works. To understand the myths is to truly see the art around you.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
“Hmm… Benjamin, are you actually listening to me?”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
Jacqueline glanced at him, her brow furrowing. His answers had become curiously flat.
Thinking he might be overwhelmed, she softened her voice.
“There is no need to rush, Benjamin. You are quite gifted for your age. It is simply that I am exceptionally talented, so you mustn’t feel discouraged by the comparison…”
“So, the five-legged dog wasn’t Benjamin’s work after all.”
A cool, dry voice drifted from the doorway behind them.
