Chapter 46
Wrapped in the heavy folds of a thick shawl, the Countess of Somerset was just emerging from the drawing room. She came to a halt in the doorway, her gaze fixed coldly upon Jacqueline.
“Mother.”
Jacqueline’s brow gave a faint, involuntary twitch. Ignoring the greeting, the Countess pulled her shawl tighter, her expression hardening into a mask of severity.
“The moment you set foot in the capital, you are to seek out Mr. O’Brien. You will follow his instructions to the letter. Do you understand, Jackie? This is our chance at a comeback. With that money, we can reclaim our place in the city. No one will ever dare whisper that the Somerset name has fallen again.”
“I cannot lie for the sake of profit, Mother. To give false testimony would bring ruin to so many people.”
“Ruin?”
The Countess’s voice sliced through the air like a sharpened awl. She turned a piercing, venomous glare on her daughter, her teeth grinding in frustration.
Jacqueline’s eyes widened, startled by the sudden, volatile shift in her mother’s temperament.
“Mother…”
“Sister,” Mrs. Brown interjected softly, her voice a gentle plea for restraint. But the Countess was beyond listening. Her pale-blue eyes burned with a frantic, localized fury.
“Are you suggesting that some strangers matter more than I do? Can you not see how miserable I am, Jackie? Look at me! I am rotting away in this wretched countryside. After everything I sacrificed to raise you, how can you be so cruel?”
Biting her lip, the Countess’s rage suddenly vanished, replaced by a hauntingly soft gaze. She began to speak in a tender whisper, as if she were coaxing a frightened child.
The transition was so instantaneous it was chilling.
“Jacqueline, you know you are my entire world. You know you are the only one I can lean on. If it weren’t for you, I would have ended my life years ago.”
“I know, Mama.”
The Countess stepped forward and pulled her daughter into an embrace. As Jacqueline held her back, the feel of the sharp, fragile bones beneath her mother’s skin made her heart ache with pity.
Yet, at that same moment, a cold draft seemed to whistle through Jacqueline’s own soul. It felt as though a great, unblinking eye had bored a hole through her, leaving her hollow and exposed.
Whoosh.
The internal wind gusted more violently, leaving a trail of desolation in its wake.
Jacqueline was trapped in a suffocating vice of pity and resentment. She felt a profound sorrow for her mother, but beneath it lay the crushing weight of an unwanted burden.
And every time she acknowledged that weight, she was overwhelmed by guilt.
How could a daughter find her own mother exhausting? The thought felt like a sin. I am all she has left.
“Yes, my darling girl. I know you’ll do the right thing and accept His Majesty’s proposal for my sake. We shall return to society together. It isn’t too late; we will find you a husband there—a true gentleman who can provide for us both. Surely there is a nobleman who would be honored to take us in. We can have our old life back.”
“…Mama.”
Jacqueline’s response was hollow. She knew that any protest would simply go unheard.
Her mother’s eyes took on a hazy, distant quality. Staring into a future she had already constructed in her mind, she reached up with bony hands to cup Jacqueline’s face.
“My sweet Jackie. You have never once let me down.”
She offered a smile of such genuine tenderness that it mirrored the woman she had been before her spirit broke.
That was the reason Jacqueline could never bring herself to be firm. She remembered the mother who had been her sanctuary—the woman who read her bedtime stories and was always the first to check on her during a summer storm.
She is only like this because she is ill, Jacqueline told herself. One day, the kindness will return. She had to believe that; it was the only way to endure the present.
“The train will be departing soon. I have to go, Mama. I’ll write to you.”
“Very well. But remember: do not forget to find Mr. Parker O’Brien.”
Jacqueline didn’t answer. She simply opened the door and stepped out into the air. She was no longer a sheltered debutante; she understood all too well that even a casual promise could become a shackle.
A luggage cart stood waiting. As soon as the door creaked open, the hunched driver tightened his grip on the reins.
Just as Jacqueline began to move toward the carriage, her mother’s sharp voice pursued her.
“You wouldn’t dare betray me for people you’ve only just met, would you, Jackie? You won’t let my life end in this gutter!”
“That is quite enough, Sister!” Mrs. Brown finally snapped, her patience exhausted. “Why must you burden the girl’s heart just as she’s leaving for work?”
Jacqueline climbed into the seat beside the driver and offered a small, weary wave to the two women. Her heart felt as heavy as lead.
“Do not fail me, Jackie.”
The Countess delivered the final warning with a frigid expression. Jacqueline turned to the driver and murmured, “Let’s go.”
As the carriage lurched forward, she felt her mother’s gaze burning into her back, as persistent and suffocating as a hand around her throat.
It was only when the red-brick house finally vanished from view that Jacqueline allowed herself a long, shuddering sigh of relief.
She truly loved her mother. She wanted to give her the world.
Her mother had lost everything in a single night, and the trauma had fractured her mind. Jacqueline wanted nothing more than to see her truly happy again.
But that happiness required her to betray Windsor and Benjamin. Jacqueline had seen firsthand how tirelessly Windsor worked to shield his young nephew.
He was obsessive about Benjamin’s education—perhaps even to a fault—but there was no questioning his devotion.
Furthermore, Windsor had shouldered the burden of the Preston name in grim, lonely silence. Uncomfortable with the hollow graces of the ton, he never danced and avoided the social circuit entirely.
He was well aware of the scandals and rumors that grew like rolling snowballs, yet he bore them with stoic patience.
Everything he did was to ensure Benjamin inherited an untarnished legacy and a proud name.
Had she not taken the position as Benjamin’s governess, Jacqueline might have accepted O’Brien’s terms without a second thought.
But she had lived with them. She knew the depth of Windsor’s loyalty and the reverence Benjamin held for his uncle.
But I cannot destroy Mother either.
Having already survived one catastrophe, another loss would surely shatter her completely. She would feel utterly betrayed by the one person she still trusted.
The Countess was currently hanging by a thread; this would be the blow that severed it. Jacqueline would be the one to push her into the abyss.
She felt as though she had been bound and locked in a windowless room. She couldn’t move, and the darkness ahead was absolute.
One wrong step, and she feared she would fall into a void from which there was no return.
The choice was a special kind of cruelty—a demand to sacrifice one family for another.
Jacqueline slowly turned her head to look out at the passing landscape. The vast, rolling plains and hills were dotted with sheep grazing peacefully in the sun.
But the serenity of the countryside offered no comfort. Her eyes remained dark and troubled, her spirit more weighed down than ever.
Windsor stepped down from his carriage and began to methodically fasten the buttons of his jacket. Roman stood behind him, a silent shadow.
As they passed through the gates of the manor, the butler, who had been waiting at the entrance, offered a deep, respectful bow.
“Welcome, Lord Preston. The Dowager Lady Chamberlain is expecting you. If you would follow me to the drawing room.”
Windsor gave a short nod and followed at a steady pace. The Chamberlain estate was a sprawling monument to wealth, every bit as grand as the Preston ancestral home.
As they moved through the corridors, Roman’s eyes darted about. When he noted the staggering array of priceless paintings and gold-leafed ornaments, he gave a small, disapproving shake of his head.
He could never quite wrap his mind around the habits of the aristocracy—spending a king’s ransom on canvases and porcelain that served no practical purpose.
“This way, Lord Preston.”
“I’ll wait here,” Roman said, coming to a halt and straightening his posture before the drawing room doors.
The butler opened the door with one hand and glanced back at the aide. “I shall escort you to the lounge, Mr. Miller. If you please.”
“Right. Very well.”
Roman rubbed the back of his neck and watched Windsor disappear into the room before following the servant. Even the waiting rooms in a place like this must be fancy, he mused.
“Good afternoon, Dowager Lady Chamberlain.”
Inside the drawing room, Windsor’s attention turned to the elderly woman seated in an ornate chair. He walked directly toward her.
“Ah, Lord Preston. Please, do come in.”
She offered her hand with the casual grace of one born to command. Windsor bowed and pressed a brief, polite kiss to the back of her hand—it was soft and unlined, the hand of a woman who had never known a day of physical labor. He then took the seat opposite her.
The Dowager Lady Chamberlain watched him with a look of maternal benevolence. Every tilt of her head and flutter of her fan spoke of a lifetime of refined elegance.
“I hope your journey was not too taxing? The estate is tucked away quite a bit, isn’t it?”
“It was perfectly fine.”
At his blunt, economical response, she suddenly let out a bright peal of laughter.
Windsor lifted an eyebrow. Had he said something humorous? He mentally reviewed his words but found nothing that warranted amusement.
“How refreshing,” she said, smiling. “It has been a very long time since someone has dared to be so dour in my presence.”
“My apologies if I have been disrespectful.”
“Oh, not at all. My late husband, Gregory—he’s been gone ten years now—was very much like you. For the first time in a long while, I find myself quite missing him.”
The Dowager Lady appeared truly delighted, her face glowing with genuine cheer.
Most people who stood before her never let their smiles slip—though those smiles were usually the brittle, flattering masks required by high society.
After all, she had once been the undisputed Queen of the Social Circle. Everyone wanted her favor; everyone wanted to use her influence.
“I see,” Windsor replied, nodding noncommittally. Fortunately, like most of her rank, she seemed more than happy to carry the conversation herself.
The Dowager Lady began to pour tea into a delicate china cup.
“He was an incredibly silent man. Clumsy, too—he hadn’t the slightest idea how a woman’s heart worked. I spent many years quite vexed with him. It was only much later… much too late, really… that I understood how he truly felt. Here, drink.”
“Thank you.”
Windsor accepted the cup. It seemed her penchant for storytelling was only just beginning.
“Before he passed, he would lock himself away in his study for days at a time. He was a workaholic, through and through. I used to tease him, ‘If you intend to work until your very last breath, why did you bother marrying me instead of your ledger?’ I used to resent him for being so solitary in those final days.”
