Chapter 56
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It had been an inevitability that she would be called as a witness for the crown. As the person who first blew the whistle on James Hammington’s schemes, Jacqueline was fully prepared to recount every sordid detail of his fraud.
She knew this path would invite scathing remarks about her conduct as a lady of quality, but her mind was made up. She had traded the pristine reputation of House Somerset for the chance at retribution, bracing herself to weather whatever storms the press might conjur.
“But… why?”
Her dazed vision slowly pulled into focus. The face staring back from the newsprint wasn’t hers—it was Windsor’s. The vitriol of the journalists wasn’t aimed at her; every sharp word was directed squarely at him.
Her heart gave a violent, panicked thud. Gasping for air, she snatched the paper and bolted to her feet.
“I can’t sit here—I have to see Lord Preston this instant!”
Jacqueline flew toward Windsor’s study. She took the stairs to the second floor in a desperate sprint and hammered on the heavy oak door before she could even catch her breath.
Knock, knock, knock.
Silence greeted her. Jacqueline’s brow furrowed with growing agitation.
“It is I—Somerset.”
Knock, knock, knock.
She rapped again, her impatience mounting, but the silence persisted. Assuming he was simply choosing to ignore her, Jacqueline threw the door open without invitation.
“Lord Preston.”
She stopped short, her mouth hanging open as she scanned the room. The study was deserted.
Only then did the time of day register; it was the hour for tea. Windsor had pointedly avoided sharing the ritual with her for several days now. Since she usually occupied the drawing room, he was likely taking his tea in the morning room instead.
Jacqueline bit her lip hard. He was still keeping his distance, maintaining that signature facade of icy composure.
And yet, he had stepped into the witness box in her place. He had acted as a shield, absorbing the blow of public scandal that should have fallen on her.
“I truly cannot fathom what is in his head…”
As she whispered the words and turned to depart, Jacqueline suddenly jerked to a stop. Something had caught her eye—or perhaps her foot. Confused, she looked down.
There was a subtle discord in the room that she couldn’t immediately identify.
Then, her gaze drifted to the wastebasket. Something sat within it that felt entirely out of place.
She moved closer, reaching in to retrieve a square of pale pink fabric.
It was a fine piece of work, decorated with a trendy floral embroidery that spoke of luxury. Though it was clearly new, it had been crumpled into a ball and shoved unceremoniously into the trash.
“A lady’s handkerchief? Why would this be here…?”
Jacqueline turned the silk over to check the reverse side, and the words died in her throat. Her eyes locked onto a monogram stitched in deep pink thread.
A small, breathless sound escaped her. The initials weren’t Windsor Preston’s, nor were they Benjamin’s. They certainly didn’t belong to Betty or Ritz.
Was it too bold to assume that “J.S.” stood for Jacqueline Somerset?
She shook her head slowly, trying to dismiss the thought. She couldn’t imagine there was another woman with those same initials in the life of such a cold, detached man.
After all, Windsor Preston was notorious for his refusal to dance with the debutantes at any ball.
Memory flickered: she had once lent him a handkerchief so he could wipe paint from his hands. He had never returned it.
Could this be his attempt to replace it?
“But if it is… why throw it away?”
Her voice trailed off again. She couldn’t reconcile the idea of a gift meant for her ending up in the rubbish.
A bitter shadow crossed her features. Whatever the reason, she suspected it was linked to the wall of ice Windsor had built between them recently.
Jacqueline’s face fell into a look of weary resignation, feeling as though she were the one being discarded along with the silk.
At that exact moment—
The door creaked open. Jacqueline spun around, her eyes widening as Windsor walked into the room.
Windsor stopped in his tracks, looking just as startled to find her there. He stood in the doorway, his expression guarded and indifferent.
“Is there something you require?”
At the sound of his frigid, detached tone, Jacqueline instinctively tucked the handkerchief out of sight. She slid the fabric up her sleeve and held out the newspaper instead.
Windsor made no move to take it. He gave the headlines a cursory glance—as if he already knew exactly what they said—and looked back at her.
Jacqueline took a quiet, steadying breath, her eyes searching his with a tremor of uncertainty.
Why had he faced the reporters for her? Was it a gesture of protection? If that were the case…
She forced the question past her lips.
“Did Lord Preston take my place as the witness for the prosecution…?”
Windsor cut her off before she could finish. Without sparing her a glance, he walked toward his desk and began staring at a stack of documents.
Tap. Tap.
His finger drummed against the wood. He was acutely aware of Jacqueline watching his hand.
“You really shouldn’t do that, Lord Preston. It makes you look quite frivolous.”
Her past scolding rang in his ears. With a touch of adolescent spite, Windsor tapped the desk a few more times.
Finally, he looked up to meet her gaze. Jacqueline found herself holding her breath.
The heat in her chest turned to ice. The hope in her eyes died, replaced by a dull sense of defeat. The piercing coldness in his stare shattered any lingering illusions.
“It was not done for your sake, Miss Somerset. I was merely fulfilling a requirement of my position. Unless…”
Windsor’s expression remained a blank mask as he spoke the next words with agonizing slowness. Jacqueline felt the very air in the room grow heavy, pressing down on her.
“Are we truly on such intimate terms that you would think otherwise?”
She couldn’t understand his anger, nor could she explain why she felt so suddenly, violently incensed herself.
He had a way of reaching inside her and stirring her emotions into a chaotic mess.
Shaking off the hurt, Jacqueline balled her hands into fists. Though her fingers trembled, she met his gaze with fierce defiance.
“No, certainly not. That is precisely why I came here in such a state of shock.”
Her voice was like shards of glass. She slammed the newspaper onto his desk, glared at him one last time, and turned to leave.
She had nearly reached the door when he spoke again.
“A candidate for the governess position is arriving for an interview tomorrow.”
Jacqueline froze. She turned her head slowly, her movements stiff and mechanical, like a rusted machine forced into motion.
She looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
“What did you say?”
“As of this moment, your services as Benjamin’s governess are terminated. I expect you to be off the premises by tomorrow at the latest.”
Windsor didn’t blink. He watched as her eyebrows twitched, then drew together in a deep, pained furrow.
Her features twisted; her eyes shimmered with a sudden tremor, and her lips moved soundlessly for several seconds before she could find her voice.
Windsor memorized the sight—the raw, bleeding emotions written across her face.
She was blindsided, devastated, and furious.
“Why? On what grounds am I being dismissed?”
Her voice was a thin, wavering thread, vibrating with the intensity of a high note on a violin.
Windsor watched her eyelashes flutter rapidly. He expected a tear to fall, but none did.
Instead, her eyes hardened into blue blades, sharp and accusing. Her entire frame shook with what he assumed was pure resentment.
A sharp, mocking sound escaped Windsor’s throat.
Anger? Who had the right to be angry here?
Resentment? Between the two of them, who was the aggrieved party?
“Are you truly going to pretend you don’t know why?”
Suddenly, she snapped.
“Yes! I truly do not! Why am I being cast out? What is my transgression? What have I done to offend you so greatly?!”
Her scream echoed through the study like a sudden gale.
When the echoes died away, the silence that followed was suffocatingly thick.
In the stillness, the only sound was her ragged, heavy breathing as she fought to contain her rage. Then, Windsor’s voice sliced through the air like a scalpel.
“You went behind my back to meet with the King’s counsel in Southfield, did you not?”
Jacqueline’s eyes went wide. The color drained from her face as the shock of his words hit her like a physical blow.
She stood frozen, unable to find a single word of defense. Finally, her lips parted, and a broken whisper emerged.
“How… how could you possibly know…?”
Windsor scoffed again. Her stunned reaction was all the confession he needed. It was the final, irrefutable proof of her betrayal.
His expression turned to stone, while her face crumpled as if she were on the verge of a breakdown.
Jacqueline bit her lip until it bled. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her shoulders heaving with the effort of standing her ground.
She looked up at him, her eyes burning with a deep sense of hurt.
“You… you had me followed? From the very start… you never placed an ounce of trust in me, did you, Lord Preston?”
Windsor’s brow twitched at the look of betrayal in her eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it.
He had reasons, but explanations were meaningless now. The fact remained that she had deceived him.
Watching her eyes well with tears, Windsor ground his teeth. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and delivered the final blow in a voice devoid of warmth.
“Is that not cause enough for your dismissal?”
Jacqueline’s head bowed slowly. Her proud posture collapsed; her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had settled upon them.
She looked like a soldier who had surrendered after losing everything.
In that moment, Windsor felt the dark satisfaction of a general who had finally quelled a rebellion. The storm was breaking, and he was left standing on the deck of his ship, ready to hoist the flag of victory.
The turbulent seas would finally be still.
Jacqueline remained motionless for a long, agonizing minute.
She had no defense left to offer.
Windsor watched her with a cold, mocking detachment. And though his own face looked strangely haggard for a man who had just won a war, he was far too consumed by his own bitterness to notice.
