Chapter 47
Windsor’s brow twitched with a faint ripple of annoyance, as if the echoes of a lecture were still ringing in his ears. Across from him, the woman set down her teacup, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth as she caught his expression.
“It occurs to me now—you composed an entire manual for the sake of the one you were leaving behind. That is why you remained at your desk, forcing yourself to write despite the agony in your bones.”
“A notebook?” Windsor asked.
The Dowager Lady Chamberlain looked into her tea with a wistful gaze. “Indeed. A notebook.”
She sighed softly. “The world once crowned me the queen of society, yet in truth, I was helpless. I relied entirely on Gregory to manage every detail of our lives, great and small. He must have been far more terrified of leaving me alone than he was of death itself.”
Her voice was thin, a delicate tapestry of longing and lingering bitterness.
“He left behind exhaustive instructions. Everything was there: how to navigate the banks, how to oversee the estate, even a directory of exactly who to summon if a problem arose. Because of his foresight, I have reached this age without ever having to beg for assistance—not once since the day he passed.”
Windsor hesitated, searching for a tactful response, before settling on a blunt observation. “Lord Chamberlain must have cared for you deeply.”
“Oh, he loved me beyond measure. But I was blind to it then,” she admitted. “I only truly grasped the depth of his devotion after he was gone. That is why I felt such resentment. If he intended to leave me, why couldn’t he have been more expressive while he was still with me? Instead, he stirred a fire in my heart that ensures I could never look at another man. Don’t you think that’s rather cruel?”
She cast him a playful, almost mischievous look. The skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled into deep, elegant folds as she held his gaze.
“Tell me, my lord—is there someone you love?”
“…No. There is no one.”
The denial left Windsor’s lips before he could process the question. Only after the words hung in the air did he feel a strange, hollow prickle of unease.
Suddenly, Jacqueline’s face flickered in his mind’s eye. Feeling that familiar, suffocating pressure against his throat, he ruthlessly shoved the image away.
“Is that so? Well, if you ever do find her, I urge you to tell her. Do not keep it locked away, or she will wither in silence just as I did. To my eyes, you seem every bit as guarded with your heart as Gregory was.”
“I shall take your advice to heart.”
Windsor felt his brow furrow again. He had come here simply to secure legal counsel, yet somehow he had walked into an unsolicited lesson on romance.
He raised his cup, catching the scent of the steam. “A marvelous bouquet—Noirot tea, I believe?”
After noting the vintage, he took a measured sip and nodded in approval before setting the porcelain back on its saucer.
The Dowager Lady watched him, her eyes shining with a private amusement.
“The gossips claimed Lord Preston was a stranger to the refinements of the nobility. Clearly, that was nothing more than idle slander. Your conduct is faultless.”
Windsor’s eyebrows rose. She had just voiced the very prejudice that most aristocrats only dared to whisper behind his back.
“Oh, forgive me if I’ve overstepped, Lord Preston. At my age, the filter between my thoughts and my tongue has grown rather thin. I assure you, I was far more discreet in my youth. Ho ho ho.”
“Think nothing of it. It is of no concern,” Windsor replied.
He suppressed a dry smile and reached up to adjust his cravat.
What had once felt like a stifling, pointless labyrinth of etiquette had become second nature to him. He lowered his gaze, privately acknowledging that this transformation was the result of Jacqueline’s persistent nagging.
The phantom constriction returned to his throat. He resisted the urge to yank at his collar, choosing instead to toy aimlessly with his teacup.
“Now then.”
The Dowager Lady clapped her hands, her eyes suddenly bright with the sharp focus of a young girl. Windsor straightened, returning her attention.
“Shall we move to the matter at hand? You require a solicitor, do you not? My sources inform me that His Majesty is orchestrating a legal battle to seize custody of young Benjamin. I have been aware of his intentions for some time.”
“That is correct,” Windsor confirmed.
The Dowager Lady smiled broadly. “Excellent. As it happens, I am acquainted with a brilliant legal mind—one who remains entirely beyond the King’s reach. And if my timing is correct… he should be arriving any moment.”
Knock, knock.
Just as she glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall, a firm rap sounded at the door.
“He is here. Enter.”
The parlor door swung open. Behind the butler stood a young man in impeccable attire. He moved with a refined, effortless grace, crossing the room to press a polite kiss to the Dowager Lady’s hand.
“It has been too long, Dowager Lady Chamberlain. You remain as radiant as ever.”
“Flattery is wasted on a woman of my years, Evan.”
“I speak only the truth. You may not have the bloom of a girl of twenty, but your beauty possesses a dignity and wisdom that rivals the goddesses themselves.”
“You always did have a silver tongue. Come, let me introduce you. This is Lord Preston. My lord, this gentleman was the top scholar of his class at the Royal University’s School of Law and has an impressive record in practice.”
“A pleasure, Lord Preston. I am Evan Knox. We meet again.”
Evan offered his hand with a confident, easy air.
Windsor remained motionless, his gaze cold and searching as he studied the smiling man. When Evan realized the handshake would not be returned, he simply raised a curious eyebrow and lowered his hand without losing his composure.
Windsor turned back to the Dowager Lady. “I was under the impression you were bringing me a lawyer. To my knowledge, Mr. Knox is currently a publisher.”
“Quite right,” she replied smoothly. She looked at Evan. “Shall I explain the situation, or would you prefer to?”
Evan maintained his pleasant smile. “As the Dowager Lady said, I am a graduate of the Royal University and I did practice law for a time. However, due to a fundamental disagreement in principles with my father, I chose to pivot toward publishing.”
“There is no one better suited to your needs,” the Dowager Lady added. “Evan is a master of the law, yet he is completely independent of the crown. His father, on the other hand, is a pillar of His Majesty’s legal circle. You know him, surely—Count Brandon Knox, the proprietor of the Cloud Law Firm.”
“…Hah.”
A short, cynical laugh escaped Windsor. He looked at the young man again. Evan’s smile was bright and untroubled, as if he lived in a world where the sun never set.
A heavy silence descended upon the parlor. After several attempts to bridge the gap with small talk failed, Evan shrugged slightly and settled back into his chair.
Evan Knox.
Windsor couldn’t stop staring at him. Every time he looked at the man, he saw Jacqueline Somerset—and the memory that these two had once been promised to one another.
He felt the knot of his tie tightening again. He wanted to loosen it, but he refused to show even a hint of disarray in front of Evan Knox, who looked so perfectly composed.
Instead, Windsor rubbed his temples before meeting Evan’s eyes again. Evan greeted his gaze with a practiced, diplomat’s smile.
The man was flawless—a product of generations of refinement. He didn’t need to boast; his nobility was woven into his very posture.
Windsor looked at him and saw the exact future he wanted for Benjamin.
The thought made him scowl.
“Lord Preston,” Evan began again, his tone warm and disarming, as if trying to soothe a wary animal. “I realize this is a sensitive topic, but I need the full picture. I cannot build a defense without the truth. His Majesty’s council will be formidable. More than that…”
Evan’s smile turned slightly grim. “They will be ruthless. They will use every trick in the book.”
“Why do you want this case?” Windsor asked, his voice low and deliberate. He watched Evan closely, searching for the catch. “You know as well as I do that this trial is a social death sentence. Everyone else has fled from it.”
He leaned in slightly. “We are hardly friends, Mr. Knox. Why risk so much for me?”
It was a challenge, bordering on a dismissal. But Evan didn’t flinch. He answered with an airy, almost casual tone.
“Call it a late-blooming act of defiance against my father. And, if I’m being honest, I feel a debt of gratitude toward you.”
“Gratitude?” Windsor’s eyes narrowed. He could think of no reason why this man should be thankful to him. In truth, Windsor found him insufferable.
Evan nodded, his smile widening. “Indeed. You are Miss Somerset’s employer, are you not?”
Windsor’s expression shifted. He leaned back, his voice dropping into a dangerous, languid drawl. “And what concern is that of yours, Mr. Knox?”
“Oh? You really don’t know?”
Evan laughed softly, a boyish flush creeping into his cheeks as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. To Windsor, the sight was irritatingly sincere.
“Miss Somerset is my fiancée.”
“Your former fiancée,” Windsor corrected sharply.
The ice in Windsor’s voice was unmistakable. Evan conceded the point with a small, rueful nod.
But his confidence didn’t waver. His face took on a look of quiet, certain resolve. “For now, perhaps. But I am working quite hard to make the ‘former’ part obsolete. Regardless, I am grateful to you for providing her with such a respectable position and looking after her.”
Windsor felt a surge of silent contempt. Looking at Evan’s well-meaning eyes, he realized the man didn’t even view him as a threat.
He ground his teeth. To Evan, Windsor Preston wasn’t even a rival worth considering.
It was a bitter reminder of his place in this world—Windsor Preston, the bastard son of the late Marquess.
A half-blood noble.
He had earned his rank. He had bled for his commission as a major. He was a man of substance and achievement.
Yet here, none of that mattered. In these rooms, a drop of the right blood outweighed a gallon of sweat.
As the son of an opera singer, he would never truly be their peer. No matter how perfectly he mimicked their manners or mastered their tea ceremonies, the foundation was missing.
“That is why I want to help you,” Evan continued. “I’m certain Jacqueline would want me to support you in this.”
“Not yet.”
Windsor’s blunt interruption made Evan’s brows jump. Windsor stood up and offered a hand, his movements stiff.
“I will be in touch once I have confirmed your professional capabilities.”
