Chapter 44
The Dowager Lady Chamberlain offered her final pleasantries and began her walk toward the banquet hall. As she departed, a maid passed Windsor, pausing briefly to offer a respectful bow.
Windsor remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the Dowager’s retreating form. He stood as if transfixed, caught in the grip of an inexplicable realization. It felt as though he had finally stumbled upon the very thing he had been hunting for—the elusive bluebird of happiness, found not in the wild, but right within his own walls.
He rubbed his stubbled chin, a dry rasp against his skin. In his mind’s eye, Jacqueline’s face appeared. She was smiling, that knowing, bright expression of hers suggesting she had anticipated this all along.
A low, breathless laugh escaped him. His voice, softened and vibrating against the fingers still tracing his jaw, was barely a whisper.
“Perhaps she was right after all.”
Mrs. Brown’s residence was not a grand estate by capital standards, yet it was undoubtedly the most imposing house in the district. Any household employing five servants was, by local definition, a place of significant wealth.
Constructed of sturdy red brick, the house lacked the polished sophistication of a city mansion, but it possessed a rustic, inviting charm unique to the countryside. Every corner bore the mark of a diligent owner—from the intricate, hand-knitted lace of the tablecloths and rugs to the wooden floorboards, buffed to a mirror shine by decades of care.
When the kitchen was active, the savory aroma of cooking drifted freely into the parlor. Occasionally, a stray sheep would even wander past the windows, peering curiously inside.
The Countess of Somerset loathed the place, finding the constant, pervasive scent of hay beneath her dignity. Jacqueline, however, found herself genuinely fond of Southfield. The rolling verdant plains, the sapphire sky that seemed to stretch into eternity, and the sight of sheep grazing in peaceful ignorance offered a profound sense of tranquility. In this place, the suffocating complexities of her life usually withered away.
Today, however, neither the vast horizon nor the pastoral scenery could soothe her. Her nerves were taut, pulled tight by the man sitting across from her.
Jacqueline shifted her gaze to her mother, who sat beside her, and asked in a tone noticeably sharper than her usual polite cadence, “Who exactly did you say this was?”
It was the man who answered, not her mother. He leaned forward with a practiced, professional smile and extended a small card.
“I am Parker O’Brien. An attorney.”
Jacqueline took the card. The name of the law firm printed there was one of the most prestigious in the kingdom. It was a firm she recognized—one she had a glancing, almost invisible connection to.
She stared at him, her expression carefully blank. She finally understood why her mother had lured her home with a deceptive letter. The reason was sitting right here, radiating an air of smug superiority.
Jacqueline was not her father, the late Baron Somerset. She was no longer a sheltered debutante or a fragile blossom to be manipulated by clever rhetoric. Life as a “penniless lady” had hardened her, teaching her the sharp edges of reality.
“What business does a lawyer have with us?” she asked, her voice like ice. “My father’s debts were settled long ago. Unless there are creditors I am unaware of? Have you come to present more promissory notes?”
“This has nothing to do with your father’s estate,” Parker replied.
He leaned back, making himself comfortable. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who knew he held every card in the deck.
“Jacqueline, mind your manners,” her mother interjected, her voice laced with disapproval. Jacqueline glanced at her, wondering why her mother was so quick to defend a stranger.
What could he possibly have told her?
“Then please, state your purpose,” Jacqueline said. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time to waste.”
“Very well. Let us be direct.”
Sensing her coldness, Parker’s demeanor shifted. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes turned predatory as he lowered his voice.
“What I am about to disclose is strictly confidential. Should any of this reach the public, you will be held personally responsible for the fallout.”
It was a blatant threat. Jacqueline pressed her lips thin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement. Her mother, however, chirped a quick, “Of course, we understand.”
Jacqueline frowned at her mother. The Countess was still a woman of the greenhouse; she didn’t realize how treacherous the world outside could be, nor how a simple promise could become a noose.
“I represent His Majesty the King,” Parker announced.
The King.
Jacqueline’s brow furrowed deeper. Why would the Crown have any interest in her? Then, a memory surfaced—a conversation she’d had with Walter just before she left for the Preston estate.
—The tension between the Palace and the Marquess over Master Benjamin’s guardianship is an open secret, Jackie. I’m afraid you’ll get swept up in the storm.
She remembered her reply: “There’s no reason for that to happen.”
Well, Uncle, she thought grimly, it seems your intuition was sharper than mine.
She pushed the thought aside and stared Parker down. He seemed slightly disappointed by her lack of shock, but he continued nonetheless, tapping his thumb against his lip.
“His Majesty is preparing a legal challenge against Lord Windsor Preston. He intends to contest the legal guardianship of Master Benjamin Preston.”
“And?”
“We would like you, Miss Somerset, to act as a witness for the Crown.”
“A witness? You mean you want me to testify that Lord Preston is unfit to keep the boy?”
“You are as perceptive as they say,” Parker said, smiling with genuine satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together, a gesture that reminded Jacqueline of a preening mantis. She leaned back instinctively, feeling as though she might be swallowed whole if she wasn’t careful.
“It is quite simple,” he continued. “You only need to state that Windsor Preston is an unsuitable guardian. Tell the court he was cold, perhaps even coercive, and that he completely neglected the child’s upbringing.”
A small, sharp smile touched Jacqueline’s lips. Parker, misinterpreting it as agreement, smiled back, leaning in to catch her answer.
“The Lord Preston I observed was meticulously involved in Benjamin’s education,” Jacqueline said clearly. “He personally reviewed every lesson the boy was assigned. He was never coercive. He is a man of few words, perhaps, but his devotion to his nephew is beyond question. And Benjamin looks up to him with absolute trust. Their bond is, in fact, quite exemplary.”
Parker’s smile vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. He sat back, glaring at her for a moment before smoothing his expression into one of feigned pity.
“I think you’ve misunderstood the situation, Miss Somerset.”
“On the contrary, Mr. O’Brien, I understand perfectly. You are asking me to commit perjury for the King’s benefit.”
“Perjury?” Parker repeated the word, then gave a slow, mocking nod.
“Jacqueline, really!” her mother hissed, appalled by her daughter’s bluntness.
Parker leaned forward again, his eyes gleaming with the certainty that he was about to break her. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
“One hundred million gold.”
The room went still.
“If you provide the testimony we need, you will be compensated with one hundred million gold.”
The Countess let out a sharp, audible gasp. Jacqueline’s expression, however, remained frozen. If anything, her gaze grew even more frigid.
“So,” she said, her voice cutting through the air. “You are asking me to put a price on my integrity. And that price is one hundred million.”
“Hmm.” Parker arched an eyebrow. He gave a short, condescending laugh. “You have a spine, I’ll give you that. Fine. Three hundred million gold. That is my absolute ceiling. I cannot offer a single coin more.”
Jacqueline let out a soft, melodic laugh. Parker, thinking he had finally bought her, began to laugh with her.
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll just sign the agreement here—”
Jacqueline shook her head firmly. The laughter died instantly. A heavy, suffocating silence filled the parlor.
She looked the lawyer straight in the eye. “I refuse.”
Parker narrowed his eyes, searching her face. He assumed this was a tactic, a desperate gamble for a higher payout. He smirked, the lines on his face shifting in a way that was entirely devoid of charm. It was the look of a man who viewed a fallen noble as nothing more than a beggar with a title.
“Greed is a dangerous thing, Miss Somerset,” he sneered. “Trying to restore your family’s fortune in a single stroke is overly ambitious. As I said, three hundred million is my limit. Anything more would require the King’s personal authorization…”
“It is you who have failed to understand me, Mr. O’Brien,” Jacqueline interrupted sharply.
Parker snapped his mouth shut.
“It doesn’t matter what you offer. My answer will not change. Lord Preston is a fine guardian, and I will not say otherwise.”
“Jacqueline!” her mother shrieked. The Countess was trembling, her face flushed with a mixture of rage and desperation. “How can you be so selfish?”
“Mother, I cannot lie under oath for money. Lord Preston and Benjamin are—”
“You want me to rot in this miserable village forever!” her mother cried, her voice rising to a frantic pitch. She shook with fury.
Jacqueline reached out, trying to steady her. “Mother, please, calm down…”
“Calm down? How can I be calm? What is a bit of testimony compared to my life? Can you not do this one thing for your own mother?”
Jacqueline went silent.
The image of Windsor’s stoic, distant face flashed in her mind. He was not a warm man, no. But he loved that boy in his own quiet, fierce way. He fought for him.
She thought of Benjamin—how he stood so stiffly in his uncle’s presence, his face a mask of solemnity. It wasn’t fear that made him act that way; it was the desperate desire of a child who loved his uncle and didn’t want to fail him.
To side with the King would be to betray them both. And she couldn’t do it. She was already far too involved in their lives to turn back now.
Jacqueline turned her attention back to the lawyer. Her voice was steady and cool.
“Why is the King suddenly so interested in Benjamin’s welfare?”
“It isn’t sudden,” Parker replied. “Since the passing of the boy’s father, His Majesty has simply been waiting to exercise his natural rights.”
“Natural rights? After ignoring him for two years?”
“Lord Preston may be the boy’s uncle, but do not forget his status as an illegitimate son. The blood tie is thin at best. His Majesty, however, is Master Benjamin’s maternal grandfather. The connection is undeniable.”
