Chapter 37
Samantha remained a constant in a changing world. She possessed a persistent innocence, a soul entirely shielded from the jagged edges of reality. She had flourished like a delicate bloom in the stagnant, protected air of a conservatory.
“Yes. You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still the same Jackie I’ve always been fond of.”
Samantha’s tone turned nostalgic, her voice drifting as if she were wandering through the corridors of her memory.
“Even years ago, when Elizabeth used to snicker and call me a ‘rolling cake’—everyone else was too terrified of her to even look at me. But you, Jackie, you always treated me with kindness, as if I were no different from anyone else.”
“Was I truly that way?”
“You were. That was the moment I realized how much I liked you.”
Samantha offered a tender smile. The warmth in her gaze was so palpable that Jacqueline felt as though she were pressing her face into the soft, plush fur of Colin’s belly.
The feeling was infectious; Jacqueline found herself smiling in return.
Mending a connection she had assumed was severed forever was a taxing endeavor, a mixture of soothing comfort and a lingering, sharp ache. Yet, it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as she had feared it might be.
Jacqueline raised her porcelain cup and took a slow, steadying breath.
From the second-floor study of the Preston estate, Roman looked out over the gardens spreading beneath Windsor’s silhouette. The vantage point was magnificent, dominated by the sprawling glass structure of the conservatory.
As Roman scanned the quiet grounds, his eyes sharpened. Movement had broken the stillness below.
It was Jacqueline and young Benjamin, both sporting wide-brimmed straw hats.
He wondered what they were up to.
A small frown creased his brow as he watched the pair huddled together under the shade of an almond tree, their hats nearly touching as they leaned in close.
Curiosity piqued, he tried to discern their activity, but the expansive brims of their headwear obscured everything. Just as he craned his neck for a better look—
“What is the status of James Hammington?”
The sharp inquiry snapped Roman back to attention. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he rubbed his forehead and turned to face his employer.
“He’s enlisted legal counsel. It seems he’s amassed such a fortune through his swindling that money is no object; he’s reportedly hired two of the most prestigious lawyers in the kingdom.”
Roman hesitated for a beat, his expression darkening as he lowered his voice.
“One of them is a royal appointee, hand-picked by His Majesty. A man named Parker O’Brien.”
“I see,” Windsor remarked, his voice devoid of emotion.
Roman began to speak again, “However…” but stopped when Windsor, currently pacing toward his mahogany desk, glanced back at him.
“Word is that the prosecution intends to call Miss Somerset to the stand.”
“Has she not already provided her formal statement to the investigators?”
“Apparently, they require her testimony in open court.”
Windsor, usually the picture of stoicism, felt his brow twitch. He gave a sharp nod, prompting Roman to elaborate.
“As you are aware, when physical evidence is thin, the weight of a witness becomes absolute. Nothing sways a judge or leaves a more lasting mark on the court than a victim recounting their experience in person. Most of the nobility would rather lose the gold than their dignity, but Miss Somerset is an exception. The prosecution clearly expects her to be a cooperative and formidable witness.”
“Testimony…” Windsor echoed the word in a low murmur.
Roman nodded, sensing the direction of the Marquess’s thoughts.
“But will she actually agree to it? Simply reporting Hammington has already triggered a deluge of press coverage—most of it quite venomous. The rumors circulating through the salons are equally unkind. To demand she stand before a court under such scrutiny seems… excessive.”
Windsor didn’t respond. He stared at the blank expanse of the wall, well aware of the character assassination she was currently enduring.
The gossip-mongers claimed she was fishing for a settlement or desperate for notoriety.
He remembered her saying that nobles often prized their reputation more than their purses—which was precisely why Lord Somerset had remained silent after being bled dry.
Yet Jacqueline had stepped forward, fully cognizant of the social firestorm that would follow.
A shadow crossed Windsor’s eyes. Perhaps he was the one who had pushed her into this corner. Then, he spoke.
“I will do it.”
“…Beg pardon? Do what, my lord?” Roman asked, sounding bewildered.
Windsor turned a cool gaze toward him.
“The testimony. Inform the prosecution that I shall take the stand. Have them provide the specific date and time.”
Roman’s jaw dropped. He blinked rapidly, his eyes widening as the weight of the statement sank in.
“You mean… you, the Marquess of Preston, intend to testify?”
Windsor remained silent. He was not a man who wasted breath repeating himself, nor did he ever second-guess a decision once voiced.
Driven by a sudden impulse, Roman stepped toward the desk and shot a quick glance out the window. He looked for Jacqueline, but she and Benjamin had already retreated from the garden.
“If you go through with this, you’ll be the one in the crosshairs, my lord. You weren’t even technically defrauded—it was only an attempt.”
The silence in the room grew heavy. Roman scratched his head, his frustration mounting.
“The entire world is watching you. If you appear in that courtroom, the press and the peerage will tear you apart. And His Majesty… he will not take this lightly.”
“It is of no consequence.”
“There is no reason to throw yourself to the sharks,” Roman argued. He paused, his eyes narrowing as a realization struck him. “Wait… could it be…”
He leaned in slightly. “Are you doing this to protect Miss Somerset?”
Windsor’s expression hardened at the suggestion. A cold, brittle silence stretched between them. Roman quickly corrected his posture, snapping his hands behind his back.
When Windsor finally spoke, his voice was a flat, clinical monotone.
“I am merely interested in testing the caliber of the King’s preferred lawyer. Delivering a crushing blow in court would serve as an excellent opening move against His Majesty’s influence.”
“…I see. Of course,” Roman replied, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe a word of it. He knew a flimsy excuse when he heard one, but he was wise enough to keep that observation to himself.
Under Roman’s lingering, skeptical gaze, Windsor changed the subject.
“What is the progress on our search for independent counsel?”
“Ah—you mean a lawyer with enough talent to matter, but who isn’t already in the King’s pocket?”
Seeing the tension leave Windsor’s shoulders, Roman relaxed as well. He ignored the way Windsor’s sharp eyes seemed to prick at him.
With a dramatic, weary sigh, Roman continued, “It’s a tall order. The gifted ones are all desperate for royal favor, and those the King hasn’t touched are usually incompetent. I’m beginning to wonder if such a person even exists in this kingdom.”
“Hmm.”
Windsor acknowledged the difficulty. The King’s reach was vast, his influence a suffocating shroud over the legal profession.
The royal net was woven with a fine mesh. All the significant fish were already caught; only the smallest, most insignificant fry could slip through the holes.
“So, we are looking for guppies.”
“Pardon?”
Roman tilted his head, utterly lost. He wondered briefly if the Marquess was simply expressing a sudden craving for seafood.
Knock, knock.
The sudden sound broke the tension. Roman moved quickly to the door. When he pulled it open, he found Jacqueline standing in the corridor, her eyebrows arched in surprise.
“I thought I had timed this for after your working hours, but I see you’re still occupied. It isn’t pressing—I can return later.”
Roman offered a small, respectful smile. He was quietly impressed; she had learned Windsor’s rigid schedule remarkably fast.
“Please, come in,” Windsor’s voice called out from the depths of the room.
Roman stepped back to allow her passage. “Our business is concluded for now.”
“Thank you.”
With a graceful nod, Jacqueline entered. The door clicked shut behind her.
Finding herself alone with Windsor, she approached the desk with a more relaxed gait.
“To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s a bit early for our tea lesson, isn’t it?”
“Lord Preston’s grasp of tea etiquette has become quite flawless. I find I have nothing left to criticize, which is rather disappointing. I’m here for a different reason today.”
Windsor’s brow twitched at her playful remark, but he remained composed.
“Go on.”
“I was wondering if I might have permission to go out this coming Sunday?”
Windsor studied her face. When he didn’t immediately respond, Jacqueline felt the need to justify the request.
“I’ve made a commitment that I really must honor.”
“A meeting with a friend, I presume?” Windsor asked, thinking of the Humble girl who had visited the day before.
“Yes… something like that,” Jacqueline replied, her gaze shifting awkwardly away from his.
Windsor watched her for a beat longer before giving a slow, regal nod.
“Very well.”
“I appreciate your understanding, Lord Preston. I won’t stay out late.”
Windsor offered no parting words, merely turning his attention back to his papers. Taking her cue, Jacqueline curtseyed and made a swift exit.
He stared at the door for a moment after she left, then checked his pocket watch. It was time for William’s daily briefing on the estate’s affairs.
He pressed the bell on his desk, and shortly after, the sound of the butler’s approaching footsteps echoed in the hall.
Jacqueline stood before the shop, looking up at the sign before checking her reflection in the glass one last time. She saw a polished young woman in a proper hat, clutching a parasol and wearing pristine gloves.
Her attire was perhaps a season or two behind the current trend, but she carried it well.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the entrance. A clerk moved quickly to hold the door for her.
“Are you meeting someone, Miss?”
Before she could scan the room, a figure rose from a nearby table. It was Evan Knox, a bright, welcoming smile on his face.
He had clearly been watching the door with singular focus, recognizing her the instant she crossed the threshold.
“I’ve found him.”
“Right this way, then.”
Jacqueline followed the clerk to the table. Evan greeted her with a warm, slightly frantic energy, his hands fidgeting with his tie.
“Miss Somerset, you look as radiant as a summer morning.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Knox.”
She offered a practiced smile as she took the seat opposite him. There was something strangely refreshing about the empty pleasantries of high society, likely because she had been deprived of them for so long.
It was certainly a far cry from the blunt, clipped sentences she received from the Marquess of Preston.
Once they had ordered their coffee, Evan leaned in, his sky-blue eyes shining with an earnest, happy glow.
He looked so genuinely thrilled that Jacqueline feared he might burst. She maintained a polite, bittersweet smile, already pained by the thought of how quickly that joy would vanish when she told him the truth.
