Chapter 54
In that fleeting second, Windsor felt the shift in the atmosphere—the arrival of a tempest. The once-still waters of his composure began to churn, waves swelling and casting a cold spray against his skin.
“What exactly have I done to offend you so?” Jacqueline demanded, her voice rising. “Why? Why are you looking at me with such contempt? Tell me, what is my crime?”
What have I done wrong, she had asked.
Windsor turned the phrase over in his mind before letting out a sharp, derisive laugh. It was almost comedic. Jacqueline, the very person who had played him false, was now the one bristling with indignation, demanding an account of her failings.
She truly saw nothing wrong with her behavior. Even after shattering the trust he had placed in her, she remained blissfully, infuriatingly oblivious to her transgression.
A profound chill settled over Windsor, hardening his resolve. He would not be swept away by her emotional storm; instead, he would meet it like a fortress.
“You have done nothing wrong, Miss Somerset.”
Jacqueline’s eyes stretched wide. Initially, it was the sheer frost in his voice that startled her—a tone so frigid it seemed to numb her very marrow. A violent shudder traced the length of her spine.
Then, the weight of his words finally registered. He claimed she was innocent of any wrongdoing, yet his delivery suggested she had committed an unforgivable sin.
The sharp edge of her defiance vanished instantly. Her heart hadn’t softened; she was simply paralyzed by a sudden, overwhelming confusion.
“Then… why have you become like this? Why has your treatment of me changed?”
“Changed? I wouldn’t say that. I am merely maintaining the appropriate distance. How much intimacy can one truly expect between an employer and his staff?”
Employer and employee.
Windsor had drawn a line in the sand—a cold, clinical boundary that allowed for no bypass or bridge. Jacqueline’s gaze faltered, her eyes shimmering with sudden instability.
For a moment, Windsor’s own mask slipped, revealing a flicker of distress. Her tears, pooling in those emerald depths, caught the light even in the shadows of the room.
The heavy droplets clung to her lashes, refusing to fall. It was as if she believed that to weep was to surrender, and so she held back the tide through sheer, trembling force of will.
She balled her hands into fists, her breath hitching as she fought for control.
Windsor’s leg muscles twitched. He had to plant his feet firmly to keep himself from crossing the distance between them.
A soft click of his tongue escaped him. This wasn’t the conversation he had intended to have. Yet, in the same breath, he recognized the cruel satisfaction he took in choosing words specifically designed to draw blood.
He wanted her to hurt just as he had—Ah.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. He wasn’t actually furious at her for the betrayal itself. He was simply wounded.
He was in pain because she had deceived him, and that pain was magnified tenfold by her utter lack of remorse. He had lashed out because he wanted her to experience the same hollow ache that was currently consuming him.
Fearing what other venom might spill from his lips if he remained, Windsor turned on his heel and retreated as if pursued by a phantom.
He was nearly at the kitchen threshold when a voice reached him—a sound as fragile as a dying breeze. It was thin, trembling, and utterly broken.
“Even you, Lord Preston… please, not you. I am already so… so very alone….”
Windsor flinched.
His shoulders locked. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around—to see if she had finally broken, or if she was still standing there, solitary and crumbling.
But what would seeing her change?
Restraining the impulse, he squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white. He ground his teeth together and forced a long, slow breath through his lungs.
Windsor did not look back. Keeping his gaze fixed on the path ahead, he stepped out into the hallway, where the darkness seemed to stretch into infinity.
The glow from the lamp Jacqueline held cast his shadow long and jagged against the floor, a restless silhouette that swayed with every step.
For a heartbeat, Windsor felt like a tragic figure from a myth, marching into the maw of some great beast—walking toward a void from which there was no path home.
Then, the sheer absurdity of the melodrama struck him. He let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. He was losing his mind.
If Benjamin Preston were ever asked to name the most uncomfortable moment of his young life, he would name this very afternoon without a second thought. The boy shifted his gaze nervously, clutching a glass of lemonade as if it were a shield.
He took a cautious sip, only to be interrupted by a dry, neutral voice.
“Benjamin.”
“Yes, Uncle?”
The boy sat up straight immediately. Mindful of his status as the future Marquess of Preston, he lifted his chin and met the man’s eyes with practiced poise.
“Are you not supposed to be in the middle of your morning studies?”
“Well, usually, yes, but…”
Benjamin’s voice trailed off as he cast a pleading look toward Jacqueline. She took a graceful sip of her tea before offering a calm explanation.
“I should mention, Benjamin, that we concluded our session twenty minutes early because we progressed through the material so efficiently. Of course, that means your violin practice this afternoon will be extended by the same amount of time.”
“I see…”
Benjamin’s eyes continued to dart between the two adults. He looked back at Windsor.
“We were doing arithmetic this morning, Uncle. We had a review quiz, and since I got every single answer right, the tutor let us finish early.”
A tiny spark of pride lit the boy’s face. Windsor gave a curt, formal nod.
“You have a natural aptitude for numbers. Well done.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
A faint blush crept into Benjamin’s cheeks. As he watched Windsor, his expression turned curious.
His uncle hadn’t acknowledged Jacqueline’s presence even once. Benjamin began to wonder if his uncle had lost the ability to see her—and then a wild thought struck him.
Gasp! Perhaps Miss Somerset was actually a magical fairy and had cast a spell of invisibility!
Just then—
“Benjamin.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset?”
The boy turned to her. She was also pointedly avoiding Windsor’s direction, though Benjamin was fairly certain his uncle wasn’t a fairy.
“It appears Lord Preston is preparing to depart. Since he is a man of such meticulous habits, would you mind checking if he has everything? Ask him if he has his gloves, his handkerchief, and his walking stick.”
“Um…”
Benjamin’s eyes began to roll again.
A metaphorical frost seemed to have settled over the room, yet when the boy looked out the window, the garden was drenched in golden, warm sunlight.
Is she a Winter Fairy? he wondered.
Benjamin nodded to himself and looked up at his uncle, only to freeze. Windsor’s face wore a most peculiar expression.
The boy knew that look well. It was the exact same face he had made during the final question of his math quiz today.
It was the look of someone staring at a problem they knew they should be able to solve, yet the answer remained stubbornly out of reach. It was a mix of confusion, irritation, and a sense of being treated unfairly.
It was strange to see it on Windsor—the brilliant uncle who was supposed to know everything.
“Uncle, are you leaving? You haven’t forgotten anything, have you?”
“…I shall return later.”
Windsor offered no direct answer, only a brief parting word. He never looked at Jacqueline, and she remained just as steadfast in her refusal to acknowledge him.
The moment the door closed behind his uncle, Benjamin’s shoulders slumped. He felt as drained as if he’d just finished a long journey. He slid back in his chair until his feet dangled, kicking aimlessly.
He peeked at Jacqueline over the rim of his lemonade. The icy composure she had held moments ago had melted into a deep, heavy gloom.
Benjamin’s eyes widened. Now she looked exactly the way he had felt yesterday morning.
Getting out of bed had been a struggle yesterday; it was one of those days where the blankets felt like they were holding him back. He’d been so grumpy about having to leave his warm spot—and so jealous of his bear, Colin, who got to stay in bed—that he’d snapped at the maid.
“I can do it myself, Ritz! Stop bothering me—I’m not a baby!”
“…Of course, young master. My apologies,” she had replied.
He hadn’t really meant to be mean. The words had just tumbled out, leaving him feeling guilty and confused. But his pride had kept him from saying sorry, so he’d just sat there fuming, struggling with a stubborn shirt button.
Jacqueline looked just like that now. After a moment of hesitation, Benjamin spoke up.
“Miss Somerset?”
“Yes? What is it, Benjamin?”
She turned to him with an immediate smile. She always had a smile for him, but Benjamin was old enough to know that a smile didn’t always mean someone was happy.
“Are you alright?”
“…Oh.”
Jacqueline’s eyes softened with a mix of embarrassment and regret for worrying the child.
“I wasn’t being very mature, was I? I’m afraid… I think I’ve made Lord Preston quite cross with me.”
Benjamin nodded with the gravity of a seasoned diplomat.
Only last week, he’d had a falling out with Oakley and Justin because they’d made fun of Jacqueline’s sketches. It was his first real fight, and it had felt terrible—but the bad feelings hadn’t lasted. They’d made up while hunting for cicada shells in the trees.
Drawing on that wisdom, Benjamin spoke softly.
“Uncle gets… a bit quiet sometimes, but he never really loses his temper. Even when he’s correcting me, he’s always very calm and explains things clearly.”
“And…?” Jacqueline prompted gently.
Benjamin took a final, fortifying gulp of lemonade and nodded firmly.
“And so, I don’t think he’s truly angry with you, Miss Somerset.”
“You really think so?”
She looked down, her uncertainty plain. Benjamin didn’t waver. “I do.”
Then, a flicker of concern crossed his face, and he added tentatively,
“Maybe we should ask him to go look for cicada shells with us when he gets home?”
“Pardon?”
“If we all go hunting for shells together, everyone will feel better. That’s how I made up with my friends.”
Jacqueline couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s earnestness. He had a way of offering comfort that bypassed all her adult defenses.
In those moments, she felt a profound wave of affection for him. She often wondered if she was the one looking after Benjamin, or if it was actually the other way around.
Yet, a pang of self-loathing hit her. She hated that she couldn’t give him her undivided loyalty—that her tragic, lingering tie to her mother still pulled at her heart like a wretched anchor.
“That is wonderful advice, Benjamin. When Lord Preston returns, I’ll find out when he’s free.”
“Excellent,” Benjamin said, looking relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted. Then, he paused, giving her a searching look.
“But…”
Jacqueline tilted her head. “But what, Benjamin?”
