Chapter 43
Moving with a deliberate grace, Elizabeth stepped forward to join Windsor’s side. She plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray and remarked with practiced ease,
“I’ve known Jacqueline for years. We were actually at boarding school together.”
Windsor, who had been watching the dancers with an absent expression, shifted his focus toward her. Elizabeth took a slow sip of her drink before finally meeting his gaze.
A brief wave of lightheadedness washed over her. She couldn’t be certain if it was the alcohol or the sheer presence of the man standing before her.
Under the brilliant glow of the chandelier, he looked strikingly severe, his features carved with an almost icy discipline. To mask her sudden flutter of nerves, Elizabeth lowered her eyelids, adopting an air of haughty indifference.
“So, you are an acquaintance of Miss Somerset.”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking…”
Elizabeth let the sentence hang, her voice trailing off.
They had been rivals more than friends, but there was no reason to admit such a thing here. She turned her attention back to the ballroom floor, where the vibrant silks of the dancers’ gowns swirled into a dizzying kaleidoscope of color.
“Is Jacqueline proving capable in her position?” she asked.
“She is an exceptional governess, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Is she truly? How unexpected. During our school days, she was quite the handful for the faculty. She has a tendency to cause the most absurd scenes without the slightest warning. Oh—my apologies. If you weren’t aware of her reputation, I fear I’ve overstepped.”
Elizabeth scrunched her nose in a charming display of feigned regret. Windsor merely watched her, his expression unreadable.
As his silence stretched on, a faint heat began to rise in Elizabeth’s cheeks. Up close, the Marquess of Preston was even more devastatingly handsome than the rumors suggested. The light caught the gold in his hair, making it shimmer, while his steel-gray eyes remained solemn and piercing.
With his heavy brow and a jawline that spoke of raw masculinity, complemented by a high, arrogant bridge of his nose, it was easy to see why he was a fixture of the society papers despite his reclusive nature. He possessed an innate gravity—an aura of command that felt impossible to challenge.
It wasn’t a quality one could study or mimic; it was a sovereign authority one was born with. This was a man who did not exist to serve others, but to lead them—a man far more accustomed to issuing decrees than following them.
Realizing this, Elizabeth straightened her posture. she was determined not to let him see how much he affected her. At the very least, she wouldn’t show her hand until he made the first move.
“Miss Somerset is the thirteenth governess we have employed for Benjamin,” Windsor said suddenly.
“Thirteenth? Goodness.”
Surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, Elizabeth turned to him, her brows arching in elegant curiosity. His deep voice resonated through the music of the ballroom, carrying a weight that felt like a deliberate melody of its own.
“And of those thirteen, she is the most proficient. More importantly, she is the only one my nephew has truly grown fond of.”
“…I see. It’s heartening to hear that Benjamin and Jacqueline have found common ground.”
The smile Elizabeth offered was tight, her lips barely moving. Windsor’s keen eyes noted the tension immediately.
“Did you know her nickname at school? ‘Mood Swings’—they called her ‘Mood Swings Jacqueline.’ She was terribly temperamental; she’d be in a rage one moment, laughing the next, and sulking shortly after. It is a relief to hear that the same Jacqueline is now a paragon of professional stability.”
Mood Swings.
A ghost of a smile touched Windsor’s eyes. It was a fitting description, though he suspected Jacqueline would be loath to admit it.
“Lord Greenwood also spoke very highly of Miss Somerset’s capabilities,” Windsor added.
“My father recommended her?”
This time, Elizabeth couldn’t hide the twist of her mouth. Her irritation was becoming plain. Windsor studied her for a long moment before speaking with quiet, devastating certainty.
“You are not Miss Somerset’s friend at all.”
The accusation hit its mark. Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. Windsor looked away, his interest returning to the indifferent motion of the dancers.
With a small, defeated sigh, Elizabeth nodded.
“I confess. Jacqueline and I are hardly confidantes. We have a long history, but longevity does not always breed affection.”
“I understand,” Windsor replied, his tone flat. He didn’t even bother to look at her.
Elizabeth felt a surge of anxiety as she realized she was losing his attention. Desperate to regain the focus he had just withdrawn, she asked impulsively,
“Why aren’t you dancing, Lord Preston?”
Windsor merely arched an eyebrow. It was a tedious, predictable question. He hid his boredom behind a mask of silence.
Elizabeth studied his profile. When he still refused to look at her, she added with a touch of petulance, “Surely you’ve heard the whispers in town? If you want to put those rumors to rest, wouldn’t a turn on the dance floor tonight be the wisest course of action?”
It was a transparent, indirect plea for an invitation.
Windsor fought back a cynical smile, maintaining his mask of indifference. Suddenly, he remembered Jacqueline’s words—the way she had sighed with weary resignation after he’d teased her.
“We just need a little more time, Lord Preston. Don’t give up so easily. If not tonight, then perhaps at the next ball.”
A soft, genuine huff of laughter escaped him. He recalled how she looked when she said it—as if she had already surrendered to the inevitable, even if she didn’t realize it herself.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. The moment his expression softened, the cold atmosphere surrounding him dissolved. He had been a distant, untouchable masterpiece; now, he seemed like a man one might actually reach.
“I have yet to encounter anyone I wish to dance with,” he said.
“Someone you… wish to dance with?” Elizabeth repeated blankly, missing the sting of the rejection.
Windsor took a final sip of champagne and set his glass on a nearby table.
“I believe it is time for me to depart. I hope the rest of your evening is pleasant, Miss Greenwood.”
With a polite, formal bow, Windsor made his way out of the ballroom. It was only after he had vanished from sight that Elizabeth finally exhaled.
“Miss Liz, may I have the honor of this dance?”
Her fiancé, who had been hovering nearby, finally approached. Elizabeth shook her head instinctively, pressing a hand to her temple.
“I find I’m quite exhausted. I think I shall retire for the evening.”
“…As you wish.”
The man scratched his nose awkwardly and retreated. Elizabeth’s eyes wandered back to the doors.
Across the room, Windsor was exchanging parting words with Baron Haines. The host looked genuinely thrilled that the Marquess had graced his event at all.
“Safe travels, Lord Preston. I shall call on you soon—perhaps we can enjoy a drink and a proper conversation.”
“I look forward to it.”
Declining an escort from the staff, Windsor began to walk down the quiet corridor alone—until he came to a sudden halt.
An elderly woman was approaching from the other end. Her silver hair was pinned back with regal precision, and she moved with an undeniable air of refinement. Windsor gave a respectful nod and stepped to one side to give her the path.
The woman, whose face was lined with kind, intelligent wrinkles, stopped directly in front of him and smiled.
“Lord Preston, I believe?”
Windsor’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t recognize her. Just as a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, the maid following the woman spoke up.
“This is the Dowager Lady Chamberlain, My Lord.”
“A pleasure, My Lady.”
Windsor bowed deeply. The Dowager offered her hand with practiced grace, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, Windsor pressed his lips to it.
He remembered Jacqueline’s briefing: this woman had once ruled the social scene and still held the strings of high society. No noble connection was truly secure without her blessing.
“I understand my granddaughter is quite taken with your nephew?” the Dowager said with surprising warmth.
The name Olivia immediate clicked into place. Windsor recalled hearing that the girl had spent a wonderful afternoon at the Preston estate. There had been some talk of cicada shells, though Jacqueline and Benjamin had been suspiciously tight-lipped about the details.
“It seems Benjamin has found a very good friend,” Windsor replied neutrally.
“He must have cast a spell on her. Olivia won’t stop pestering me about when she can return to your estate. She’s staying with me at the moment—ostensibly to keep me company, though I suspect her parents simply wanted to foist their little rebel onto me for a while.”
“Miss Somerset informs me that Olivia is a bright and well-mannered young lady. Please tell her she is welcome at the estate whenever she wishes. I shall look forward to her next visit. Now, I shall leave you to enjoy the festivities.”
Windsor gave a small nod and prepared to move on, but her next words stopped him in his tracks.
“You are searching for a solicitor, are you not?”
The Dowager’s voice was soft but clear. Windsor looked up slowly. Their eyes met, and she gave him a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Windsor remained stoic, but the Dowager’s expression didn’t waver.
“I should like to recommend a very capable lawyer to you, as a token of my gratitude for your kindness toward Olivia. I wonder if such a gesture would be welcome?”
“A lawyer?”
“A brilliant one, I assure you.” The Dowager paused, her smile widening with a hint of mischief. “And more importantly, one who is entirely beyond the reach of His Majesty’s influence.”
For a moment, Jacqueline’s voice seemed to drift through his mind, carrying a note of quiet amusement. Perhaps that cicada shell will one day protect Benjamin when he is Marquess.
Windsor stood there, momentarily stunned into silence, his usual composure failing him.
“Heh heh.”
The Dowager let out a soft chuckle. “This is hardly the venue for such a discussion,” she added. “If you find yourself interested, come and see me. My doors are as open to you as yours are to Olivia. Now, I must be going—I am already quite behind schedule.”
