Chapter 57
Windsor knew he should give the order. He needed to find his voice, to shout for this traitor to vacate the room at once.
Yet his lips remained clamped shut, as stubborn as a sealed shell. A wave of unbearable bitterness coated his tongue.
In the heavy silence, Jacqueline slowly raised her head. When their eyes met, her lips curved into a fragile, aching smile—the kind that looked as though it might dissolve into a sob at any second.
Windsor Preston. Pull yourself together.
He issued a silent, sharp reprimand to his own conscience, reminding himself that her every word was likely a snare designed to enchant and deceive him.
His expression hardened further, but Jacqueline’s smile only grew more heartrending. Windsor tightened his fists, fighting to anchor his wavering resolve.
He could not permit himself to be led astray by her machinations any longer. He drew breath to finally dismiss her, but—
“This will be a long explanation. If you don’t mind, may I sit while I speak?”
Jacqueline had struck first. Windsor’s brow furrowed into a deep scowl, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her, searching for the trap hidden beneath her request.
He should have told her to leave. He should have commanded her to return to her quarters and pack her trunks.
And yet, the words died in his throat.
With a heavy, uncharacteristic weakness, she moved toward a chair and collapsed into it, as if her strength had simply vanished.
Windsor decided, then, to grant her one final moment of leniency.
He made a silent vow that he would not be swayed by her falsehoods. He would listen to whatever desperate excuse she had managed to cobble together, and then he would meet her justifications with the mockery they deserved.
It was neither a logical nor a rational choice, but Windsor no longer had the mental fortitude to care for such things.
He took the seat opposite her. Again, she offered that faint, trembling smile—one so brittle it seemed destined to shatter.
After a long, hesitant pause, Jacqueline finally began. When she spoke, her voice was parched and rasping.
“I’m not sure where the beginning is… but I suppose it starts with my mother.”
Windsor was a man built on a foundation of suspicion. He was not one to believe easily; he required evidence to be weighed and truths to be verified before he would offer so much as a nod of agreement.
He possessed a sharp instinct for dishonesty—he had, after all, seen through James Hammington’s polished lies in an instant.
But looking at Jacqueline now, he found his instincts failing him.
His cold, calculating reason screamed that this was a performance. She had met with the royal lawyer in secret; surely, this was a fabricated tale meant to claw her way out of trouble.
Yet his heart hammered a different rhythm. Her steady breathing, her air of resignation, and the profound sadness in her eyes all begged him to believe her.
Usually, Windsor’s mind and heart were in perfect alignment. Now, he was lost, unsure which voice to follow.
“……That is enough of the preamble.”
She drew a shallow, trembling breath and smiled again—a small gesture that barely contained a deep well of grief.
Windsor’s fingers gave a sudden, involuntary twitch. He balled his hand into a fist, terrified that he might instinctively reach out to her.
When he offered no reply, Jacqueline bowed her head, the ghost of her smile lingering. Windsor watched her every move with rapt intensity.
Could she truly have been a victim of that forged letter? Had she really turned down the royal lawyer’s proposition? Or was this merely the next act in her play?
“I don’t expect your belief. But I did not go to see Mr. Parker O’Brien… and I have no intention of ever doing so.”
“Are you claiming you will ignore your own mother’s pleas? Even as her illness takes its toll?”
It was his first contribution to the conversation, and his voice was still laced with a sharp edge of doubt.
If Jacqueline refused the meeting, her mother’s distress would only grow.
And yet, she claimed she would ignore those desperate requests and walk away from the staggering fortune the Crown had offered.
Windsor’s skepticism was only natural, and Jacqueline found herself struggling to explain—mostly because she didn’t quite understand it herself. Was her hesitation truly just about Benjamin?
Slowly, she looked up, meeting his gaze once more.
Windsor searched her trembling green eyes, staring into them as if the truth were a physical object he could retrieve.
“I am… not as courageous as you, Lord Preston.”
The sudden comment caught him off guard, causing his brows to knit together. Even in a moment of such gravity, she was entirely unpredictable—like a spark jumping from a fire.
It was so quintessentially her that Windsor had to fight the urge to let out a dry laugh. He reminded himself it was not yet time for forgiveness.
“The truth is, I am weak—cowardly, even. I simply don’t want to be the cause of sorrow for my mother or for Benjamin.”
“I have no desire to testify for His Majesty… but I suspect I cannot serve as a witness for you, either.”
She clutched at the fabric of her skirts, her gaze dropping back to the floor. She looked as though a great weight were pressing down on her shoulders.
“You referred to yourself as a witness for our side?”
“I did.”
Jacqueline gave a small, weary nod.
“A few days ago, the Earl of Knox asked if I would testify on your behalf. Even though I knew you were the best guardian Benjamin could have, I turned him down. If I had agreed, my mother would surely…”
Her voice failed her. she swallowed hard against a rising lump in her throat.
Her nose reddened and her eyes stung with heat, but she fought the urge to weep. Instead, she forced her lips into another fierce, defiant smile.
In that instant, Windsor Preston’s defenses crumbled. The man who doubted everything surrendered completely to her tearful honesty.
A warning flared in the back of his mind—a reminder that he detested leaving loose ends and that he might regret this lapse in judgment.
And yet.
“I understand,” he said.
Jacqueline’s eyes snapped open in sheer shock, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
Tears, which she had fought so hard to restrain, finally began to well over—a reaction Windsor hadn’t anticipated.
Seeing her stunned expression, he realized that even she hadn’t expected him to yield.
Almost of its own accord, his hand moved toward her. Jacqueline watched, wide-eyed, as he reached out.
His palm came to rest gently against her cheek. Jacqueline seemed to stop breathing entirely as the tears finally spilled over.
Windsor moved his thumb slowly, catching the moisture as it escaped.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto hers. She looked frozen, pale with shock. For a long moment, neither of them moved or looked away.
The silence between them was absolute—heavy, unbreakable, and devoid even of the sound of breath.
Jacqueline’s mind was a vacuum; there was no room for thought, only the sensation of his touch.
Just as she felt she might faint from the tension, Windsor pulled his hand back—slowly, almost reluctantly.
He took care to wipe the last of the salt from her skin before drawing himself up, assuming a posture of cool indifference as if nothing had transpired.
Jacqueline finally let out a ragged breath. But his gaze remained fixed on her, and the air was still thick with tension.
Windsor’s lips parted. Jacqueline braced herself, waiting for his judgment.
“I will not ask you to testify, Miss Somerset.”
A sharp pang hit her chest. Though his eyes weren’t warm and his voice was still clipped, she felt a stinging behind her eyes.
His touch had been soft, and his words held a rare grace. He truly understood her.
That simple realization—that he saw her struggle—caused days of suppressed misery to boil over. Like a child who cries harder when comforted, she felt a sob rising in her throat.
He had given her exactly what she needed: a moment of genuine, quiet comfort.
“Thank you… for understanding, Lord Preston.”
It was all she could manage before the tears returned.
Windsor looked uncomfortable, his brow furrowing as he reached instinctively for his jacket pocket. But, as was often the case, the item he sought was missing.
It occurred to him then that perhaps there were things worth carrying even if they weren’t essential for survival.
Jacqueline, watching his awkward search and the look on his face, suddenly laughed. Windsor could only stare.
With tears still clinging to her lashes, her laughter made her look like a forest after a summer rain—vibrant and shimmering with emerald light.
She was like greenery turning brilliant under the midday sun.
“Were you looking for this?”
She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. Windsor’s expression went blank, and he quickly looked away.
“How did you…?”
He trailed off, his usual composure failing. Jacqueline dabbed at her eyes and offered him a radiant, pure smile.
It was a dazzling sight, as bright as the sunbeams cutting through the room.
Windsor scowled again, rubbing his chin with his fingers. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
Watching his restless movements, Jacqueline asked softly,
“Does ‘J.S.’ stand for Jacqueline Somerset?”
“……Throw that away. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Jacqueline looked down at the crumpled fabric that had once been discarded.
He must have felt so betrayed. It wasn’t just the handkerchief that had been crushed; it was the trust he had started to place in her.
It wasn’t Jacqueline he had thrown away, but his own faith in her.
“No… I prefer this one,” she said, looking him in the eye.
In his slate-gray gaze, she saw a flicker of genuine fluster.
The icy, piercing stare that had chilled her for days was gone. The waves of emotional turmoil that had battered her every time they met finally began to smooth into a calm sea.
“It wasn’t that I had put a watch on you, Miss Somerset.”
Surprised by the sudden admission, she looked up. He was rubbing his lips, looking as though he wasn’t quite sure why he was explaining himself, but he continued nonetheless.
