Chapter 5
“I have a vague idea of what you’re thinking, Lord Preston, but please don’t misunderstand. It isn’t that I’m frightened—it’s simply that Colin has a localized dislike of being alone after dark.”
Windsor offered no verbal response. The furrow between his brows seemed to deepen, though in the flickering glow of the oil lamp, it was difficult to tell if the shadows were playing tricks on her eyes.
Jacqueline let out a soft breath and resumed her natural, airy tone.
“I found myself unable to sleep, so I came down for a cup of tea. Is there something I can help you with, Lord Preston?”
Windsor’s attention drifted toward the kettle resting atop the stove. A thin, wispy trail of steam was already beginning to dance from its spout.
“Oh, the water is ready.”
Noting the direction of his gaze, Jacqueline moved to pour the boiling water into the teapot. After neatly arranging the tea caddy, strainer, and a single cup onto a silver tray, she turned back to him.
“Now then, my lord—what can I do for you? This isn’t my kitchen, and I’m still finding my way around, but I shall certainly try my best to assist.”
His throat tightened at her easy hospitality. He found it impossible to admit that he had trailed her into the kitchen out of sheer suspicion.
“Why did you not summon a maid?” he asked, answering her offer with a question of his own.
Jacqueline’s eyes widened slightly, her brow knitting in a gentle, questioning curve. Even in the dim light, the nuances of her face were perfectly legible to him. He watched her closely, searching for a crack in her composure.
“The new governess felt it would be poor form to wake a servant at such an ungodly hour for something so insignificant. Besides, I have become quite practiced at looking after myself lately.”
It was a delicate way of acknowledging her fall from grace—that she no longer lived a life where servants anticipated her every whim. Yet, there was no hint of shame in her voice or her posture.
Windsor thought of the gossip that trailed her like a shadow. She was most famously known as the “penniless lady.” He had envisioned a fragile hothouse flower, but he was beginning to suspect she was more akin to a wild weed—stubbornly resilient in the face of harsh weather.
“So, Lord Preston, what brings you here?”
Windsor moved forward, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He brushed past Jacqueline to reach for a crystal glass, filling it with water from the tap. After a long, cooling drink, he set the glass down and turned to her.
“There is no need to wait on me, Miss Somerset. I, too, am well-acquainted with doing things for myself.”
It was a transparent lie; a full decanter of water sat on his nightstand, placed there by a maid only hours ago.
“I see.”
Jacqueline, however, took him at his word. Unlike the man standing before her, she was not naturally inclined toward suspicion. She nodded, accepting his explanation without a second thought.
It stood to reason, she supposed. He was not like other high-born men. As the illegitimate son of Bentley Preston, he had been raised by his mother, an opera singer, and had likely spent much of his life without the luxuries of a title.
The irony was not lost on her. Jacqueline, who had been pampered since birth, was now forced into self-reliance, while Windsor, who had carved his own path, was now surrounded by the very servants he didn’t seem to need. They were opposites in every sense—two poles of a magnet, differing in temperament, history, and status.
Then, without warning, she stepped forward.
She tucked Colin firmly into Windsor’s arms.
His gaze dropped. He stared down at the plush bear pressed against his chest with a look of utter bewilderment, as if he were holding a strange, unidentified specimen. When he looked back up at Jacqueline, his eyes met hers in the shadows. She gave him a small, encouraging smile.
“Would you mind carrying Colin back to my room? I have to manage the tray, and I’m afraid I’ve run out of hands.”
Windsor remained motionless. Jacqueline arched an eyebrow, her expression a silent prompt: Well? Are you going to help or not?
He remained silent, his mouth set in a hard line as if he were trying to calculate exactly how he had lost control of the situation.
“I’m certain Lord Preston wouldn’t dream of ignoring a lady in need of assistance.”
“A lady in distress, is it?”
He slowly reached out. Jacqueline’s expression softened; she had expected him to yield. But his hands bypassed the teddy bear entirely.
“Huh?”
Instead of the toy, he took the tray. With the practiced grace of a man who knew his own strength, he balanced the tea set in one hand and began to walk.
“I will carry this.”
“A word of caution—the teapot is quite full, so the balance is a bit… oh, you’re doing quite well.”
Jacqueline followed in his wake as he walked with a steady, unwavering gait, not spilling a single drop. She clutched Colin to her chest, suddenly remembering his history. He had served in the navy; maintaining one’s footing on a stable floor was likely child’s play for a man used to the rolling deck of a ship.
Once they reached her room, he set the tray on the table and turned back to her with an impassive expression. The moonlight through the window caught the gold of his hair. In the deep shadows of the room, he looked far more rugged and masculine than he did by day—a look that seemed to suit his true nature far better than the trappings of a Marquess.
“Thank you for your help, Lord Preston.”
Jacqueline offered a small curtsy. In her arms, Colin’s head bobbed as if the bear were bowing as well. Windsor gave the toy one last unreadable look before turning toward the door.
“In the future, call for a maid.”
“I shall keep that in mind.”
“Good night, Miss Somerset.”
Jacqueline blinked in genuine surprise. She hadn’t expected a man of such few words to offer a parting pleasantry. A soft smile, bright as the moon, touched her face. Just before the door clicked shut, she called out to him.
“Good night to you too, Lord Preston.”
Click.
The door settled into its frame. She wasn’t entirely sure if he had heard her, but she suspected he had. She thought she had seen the slightest inclination of his head before the light vanished.
With a weary sigh, Jacqueline leaned down and pressed her face into the soft fur of Colin’s head.
“He’s just like Benjamin, isn’t he? That prickly sort of kindness that can’t quite say no. Don’t you agree, Colin?”
Her voice was muffled, swallowed by the plush fabric of the bear.
Jacqueline was a master of the social graces; she knew exactly how to project the image of a refined lady. It was her greatest talent.
Dressed in a crisp morning gown with her hair woven into a sophisticated coil, she looked every bit the perfect aristocrat as she walked with an elegant, upright posture. She had already confirmed that Windsor’s carriage had left the estate. For the time being, the house was hers.
“Good morning, Benjamin.”
At her cheerful greeting, the young boy looked up from his book and rose. He was perfectly groomed, looking like a porcelain doll in his fine clothes. Jacqueline assumed Madam Ritz had seen to his dressing. She walked into the room with purposeful strides.
“Good morning, Miss Somerset,” he replied. His manners were impeccable.
Jacqueline smiled warmly at him. “Yes, a very good morning.”
Behind her, Betty entered and placed a heavy bundle onto the table. The maid was professional enough not to pry into what the governess planned to do with the supplies; she knew her place.
“Thank you, Betty. That will be all. Benjamin, our lesson today will focus on the evolution of modern art. A proper appreciation of the arts is a cornerstone of a noble education.”
Jacqueline nodded to the maid, though her words were carefully pitched for Betty’s benefit. She could practically see the girl’s ears twitching with curiosity. The maid curtsied and withdrew, though Jacqueline knew exactly where she was going. It was a servant’s job to report the new governess’s every move to the housekeeper.
Click.
The door closed, but the sound of retreating footsteps didn’t follow. Jacqueline knew Betty was lingering in the hallway, likely hoping to overhear more details for her report to Madam Ritz.
Jacqueline moved with the efficiency of an artist. She began squeezing vibrant pigments onto a palette and swirling her brush in water, all while maintaining a steady stream of lecture.
“Historically, the art world has been split between Realism and Impressionism. The Realists sought to capture life exactly as it was, without embellishment. They were so devoted to the truth that one famous artist even painted a funeral—a subject once considered quite scandalous. It caused quite a stir in polite society.”
Benjamin watched her in silence. He likely knew the history already, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, his dark eyes followed her hands, tracking her movements with growing interest.
“Then came the Impressionists. They weren’t interested in static reality, but in the fleeting nature of a moment—how light changes everything. A cathedral looks one way at dawn and entirely another at twilight. They traded precise lines for bold color and light.”
Finally, the sound of soft footsteps echoed down the hall and faded away. A knowing smirk played on Jacqueline’s lips.
“As I said, these two schools have dominated the landscape for a long time. They were the pillars of the art world.”
She gripped her palette and brush, stepping toward the wall with sudden, decisive energy. Benjamin’s indifferent expression shattered, his eyes widening in shock.
Jacqueline’s voice rang out, full of life.
“And then, Fauvism arrived. The old, suffocating traditions were swept away by something new and wild. In Fauvist art, the most vital rule is—”
Benjamin was speechless. His mouth hung open, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
“—to never fear the power of color. To express your own soul without apology. It is about creating a world that belongs solely to the artist.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jacqueline dragged a brush soaked in vivid red across the expensive, ivory-toned wallpaper. Her stroke was bold and fast.
Benjamin didn’t even blink. He sat as still as a statue, and if not for the frantic fluttering of his lashes, one might have thought he had turned to stone.
“Tell me, Benjamin,” she said, turning to him with a spark in her eye. “What do you see when you look at this?”
The boy snapped out of his trance at the sound of his name, his mind racing to find an answer for his extraordinary new teacher.
