Chapter 48
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Evan, who had looked momentarily dazed as if he’d been struck from behind, soon regained his composure with a nod and a smile. He stood up a moment too late and took Windsor’s hand in a firm grip.
“Let us leave it at that, then. I expect I’ll be hearing from you again quite soon.”
His parting words were heavy with confidence, delivered with a deceptively gentle expression. Windsor, his brow twitching with a faint scowl, turned on his heel and strode out of the room without a syllable of reply.
Roman was already waiting by the door, as if he’d anticipated the exit. “Did the meeting go as planned?” he asked, but his gaze drifted past Windsor’s shoulder when he caught sight of the Duke’s stony face.
“Wait. Is that…?”
Recognizing the young man inside, Roman nearly moved to offer a greeting, but he thought better of it and hurried to keep pace with Windsor’s heavy, purposeful stride.
After being seen into the carriage by the butler, Windsor remained wrapped in a grim silence until the vehicle had cleared the main gates of the Chamberlain estate.
“I want a full report on Evan Knox. I need to know his reputation as a lawyer, and furthermore…”
“And…?”
Windsor turned his gaze toward the passing scenery outside the window and lapsed into silence. Roman waited for him to finish the thought, but the follow-up never came.
Looking slightly bewildered, Roman eventually murmured, “Understood, my lord.” The carriage rolled steadily down the long private drive, flanked by rows of towering palm trees.
The air was thick with the frantic thrumming of cicadas. The heat of the day signaled that the season had fully crossed into the heart of summer.
Though Windsor recognized the rhythmic, quiet footsteps approaching the corridor, he kept his head down, focused on his work as if trying to tune out the sound of her arrival.
A soft knock followed. He gave his permission, and the door creaked open. Only then did Windsor finally lift his eyes from the dense columns of figures on his desk.
Jacqueline entered the study, still dressed in her traveling clothes.
Windsor watched her intently. Usually, she would have greeted him with a warm, easy smile, but today she lingered by the entrance, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped him.
He waited, curious to see what mask she would wear or what explanation she would offer.
After a tense silence, Jacqueline finally forced herself to move. Her steps felt heavy as she crossed the room toward his desk, her gaze never leaving her own feet.
Her fingers bunched in the fabric of her skirts—a nervous tic she wasn’t even aware of.
Memory flickered back to the last time they had stood in this room together, right before her departure for Southfield. She had been a frantic mess then, her mind unraveled by the news of her mother’s supposed brush with death.
Windsor had been the one to steady her. His voice had been calm and level—never warm, exactly, but never cruel.
His unshakable poise had been her anchor. He had seen to every detail, arranging the fastest locomotive and a first-class carriage, even ordering William to ensure she made it to the station safely.
Without his intervention, she never would have reached Southfield in time. Tightening her grip on her dress, she finally forced her chin up.
“I have returned, Lord Preston.”
I’m back.
The moment the words left her mouth, Jacqueline felt a wave of relief wash over her.
But what was the source of it? Was it the escape from her mother’s presence? The comfort of being back at Preston Manor? Or was it something else entirely?
Her gaze wavered as she looked at him, then instantly froze. The piercing chill in Windsor’s eyes as he stared her down sent a jolt of shock through her.
“Lord Preston?” she whispered, her voice laced with confusion.
A long, suffocating pause followed before Windsor finally spoke.
“How is your mother’s health?”
At the question, Jacqueline’s eyes dropped again. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his stare.
Windsor had shown genuine concern for her mother’s well-being. In return, her mother had slandered him and demanded that Jacqueline choose a side.
The memory burned with a bitter sense of shame. It sickened her that he had been subjected to such baseless insults—and that the architect of that humiliation was her own flesh and blood.
Still staring at the floor, she replied in a hollow tone, “She is well… thank you for asking.”
Because she was looking down, she missed the flash of icy sarcasm that crossed his slate-gray eyes. He kept his voice deceptively light as he pressed further.
“I am glad to hear it. Did anything out of the ordinary occur during your visit?”
The question cut straight to the heart of her secret. Jacqueline’s grip on her dress tightened until the worn fabric groaned under the strain.
So many “unusual” things had happened. There was so much she wanted to vent, so much she wanted to explain.
But she couldn’t utter a word of it to Windsor. To tell him the truth would be to betray her mother.
She could not turn against the Prestons or Benjamin—but she couldn’t bring herself to ruin her mother, either.
If Jacqueline turned her back on her now, the woman might truly break. She might even follow through on her threat to end her own life.
I am a coward, she thought.
Disgusted by her own weakness, a pained smile touched her lips. Then, remembering Windsor was still waiting for an answer, she looked up. She forced her face into a pleasant mask, though the corners of her mouth trembled with the effort.
“No. Nothing… nothing happened at all. It seems my mother’s condition wasn’t as dire as we feared. I appreciate your kindness, Lord Preston.”
In an instant, Windsor’s expression soured. His features hardened into a mask of cold certainty; he knew, without a doubt, that she was lying to his face.
The realization brought a sharp pang of disappointment. And disappointment required expectation—which meant he had actually expected something better from her.
Did I truly believe she would be different? What was I thinking?
Perhaps he had been foolish enough to hope for the truth. Despite her meeting with the royal lawyer, he had harbored a faint hope that she would trust him enough to confess.
How incredibly naive.
Windsor mentally scoffed at his own lapse in judgment. He looked at Jacqueline with eyes stripped of all warmth. She stood tall before him, yet she offered nothing but a hollow, practiced smile.
What had he expected? That she would be the exception to the rule? It was absurd.
A sharp, mocking breath escaped him. “Miss Somerset,” he said, his voice stiff.
“Yes, Lord Preston?”
She nodded, waiting for him to continue, but he remained silent.
In that moment, he knew what he should do. He should dismiss her immediately. Jacqueline Somerset should be cast out of Preston Manor.
He was not a man who tolerated deceit, nor was he foolish enough to keep a potential threat under his roof. And yet…
Where would she go? What became of a noblewoman with no family and no fortune?
The image of Evan Knox flashed in his mind—the man who had so boldly claimed she would be his fiancée once more.
It is no concern of mine. She can seek shelter wherever she pleases.
But even as his logic dictated the path, his voice failed him. It felt as though an invisible hand was tightening around his throat.
“Lord Preston?”
Jacqueline’s eyes filled with uncertainty at his prolonged silence. The dark, brooding shadow in his green eyes seemed to be shifting.
When she looked at him now, her gaze was the same as it had always been.
Damn it.
Windsor squeezed his hand into a fist, then looked down at his desk. He picked up his discarded pen, his voice emerging low and strained.
“You may go.”
“…Yes, my lord.”
Though clearly confused, Jacqueline gave a small nod and turned to leave. She was too emotionally drained by her own internal conflict to parse his strange behavior.
Click.
Only when the door had latched shut did Windsor look up. He stared at the wood as if the door itself were the source of his agitation.
“I suppose I must tolerate this until a replacement can be found. Benjamin’s studies cannot be interrupted again.”
The excuse felt flimsy even to him.
Irritated, Windsor clicked his tongue and yanked at his tie to loosen it. The suffocating sensation in his chest refused to fade.
He knew he should remove the problem, yet he couldn’t bring himself to strike. He couldn’t punish the betrayal. It was entirely unlike him.
“Miss Somerset!”
“Oh, Benjamin.”
As she reached the ground floor, Jacqueline’s face softened into a real smile for the boy waiting for her with wide, expectant eyes.
Sensing something was off, Benjamin asked softly, “Are you alright?”
It was a question far too heavy for a child his age. Jacqueline brightened her expression, shaking her head.
“Of course! I’m perfectly fine. Tell me, how have you been these last two days?”
They began to walk toward the drawing room, their strides falling into a natural, easy rhythm.
Relieved by her tone, the boy began to chatter excitedly.
“Olivia came by again! She arrived without any warning, and William and I were both so surprised. This morning, the Countess sent over an apology note and a gift—a set of paints with fifty-two different colors!”
They sat on the sofa, Benjamin’s legs swinging rhythmically in the air.
“Paints?”
“Yes! Olivia and I wanted to go out and find cicada shells, but since you weren’t here, the nanny wouldn’t let us slip away. We had to stay inside and paint instead. Olivia loved it so much that her mother sent the gift as a thank-you.”
“Painting? I hope you didn’t decide to use the study walls again?”
“No!” Benjamin replied, looking scandalized. “We used real canvases.”
He gave her a look that suggested a proper gentleman would never dream of ruining wallpaper.
Jacqueline rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a bit sheepish. There were moments when the roles of student and teacher seemed to flip entirely.
“Ahem. I see.”
“Olivia painted a picture of her cat, Maggie. She’s a white cat with long fur and a silver bell on her collar.”
Benjamin tactfully decided not to mention how Olivia had doubled over with laughter after seeing Jacqueline’s previous artistic attempts. He had learned that sometimes it was kinder to keep certain things to himself.
He cared for Jacqueline and didn’t want to add to the sadness he saw lingering in her eyes.
He made a conscious effort to sound even more cheerful.
“She claimed that since Maggie is already white, she didn’t actually have to paint her—so while I was working, she just ate all the biscuits by herself!”
“Did she really? How greedy. Well, I shall have to see this masterpiece for myself later.”
“You must, Miss Somerset! Olivia was very impressed when she saw Uncle’s work. It seems everyone thinks Uncle is a wonderful artist.”
