Chapter 59
Windsor realized with a jolt of guilt that he had completely forgotten about the governess interview scheduled for that afternoon. In the wake of yesterday’s reconciliation with Jacqueline, he hadn’t thought to send word to Roman to cancel it.
As he stood abruptly, Jacqueline watched him, her head tilted in a silent question.
“A Miss Megan Wilson?” she murmured.
It was a rare occurrence for Windsor to receive a young woman at the manor—unheard of, in fact. Jacqueline’s bewilderment was entirely earned.
“I must go,” Windsor said shortly, offering no further explanation as he hurried toward the door.
Left behind, Jacqueline looked to William, who provided the missing context. “A candidate has arrived to interview for the governess position,” the butler explained.
Windsor froze in the doorway. Behind him, he felt Jacqueline’s gaze sharpen like a physical blow to the back of his head. She turned toward him slowly, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and betrayal as William’s words sank in.
The visible fluster on Windsor’s face was all the confirmation she needed.
“A governess interview?”
Her voice had lost its softness, replaced by a keen edge. Windsor turned back, attempting to wrap himself in a cloak of indifference.
“She must have missed the notice that the appointment was retracted,” he lied smoothly.
Jacqueline didn’t say a word. She simply stared, her green eyes shimmering with a resentment she didn’t bother to hide.
“I certainly hope Miss Wilson meets your exacting standards, Lord Preston,” she said, her tone so frigid it carried an unspoken threat: If she does, you will regret it.
Feeling a rare prickle of panic, Windsor desperately sought an exit. He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat, clicking his tongue as he checked the time.
“Our meeting was set for two o’clock, yet she is seventeen minutes late,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I have no patience for those who disregard punctuality.”
With that, he beat a hasty retreat from the drawing room. Even with his back turned, he could feel Jacqueline’s burning stare following him down the hall.
William, hurrying to keep pace, whispered a sharp critique. “Honestly, sir, why on earth did you arrange this in the first place?”
Windsor shot the butler a look of pure irritation before lengthening his stride.
Megan Wilson was a woman of such polished refinement that she might have been mistaken for a lady of the peerage. Her steady gaze and articulate manner were impressive; under any other circumstances, Windsor would have trusted her implicitly.
In fact, had Jacqueline not been a factor, he likely would have hired her on the spot. Her lack of a noble title was a triviality compared to her poise.
“I’m afraid I have unfortunate news, Miss Wilson,” Windsor said as he eventually escorted her toward the entrance.
Standing by her waiting carriage, Megan offered him a graceful, albeit disappointed, smile.
“Please, do not apologize, Lord Preston. I am merely saddened to hear you no longer require a governess. Should your circumstances change, I hope you will keep me in mind.”
“Naturally,” he replied, though he suspected the position would remain vacant indefinitely.
“Then I shall take my leave. Thank you for the hospitality; the tea was truly exceptional.”
“Safe travels to you.”
With a polite nod, Megan climbed into the carriage and departed. Windsor stood in the garden, watching the vehicle disappear from view before finally heading back inside.
As he moved through the quiet corridor, he came to an abrupt halt. Jacqueline was waiting for him at the base of the grand staircase, her arms crossed and a dark scowl fixed on her face.
Windsor slowed his pace, meeting her glare with a mask of cool detachment that hid his growing unease.
“Is something the matter?”
“You certainly seemed to find Miss Wilson agreeable,” Jacqueline snapped. “A twenty-eight-minute conversation followed by a personal escort to her carriage?”
She couldn’t quite fathom why she was so incensed. She knew she was prone to high emotion, but this felt volatile even for her. If her moods continued to swing this violently, she’d begin to doubt her own sanity. Perhaps a specialist was in order.
Windsor, it seemed, acted as a catalyst for her every feeling. Around him, her anger, joy, and despair were all amplified tenfold. She couldn’t explain why it was him, specifically, who had this power over her.
“And what, pray tell, were you two discussing so intently?”
“…It was a private matter.”
“Private?”
Jacqueline’s eyes widened. Windsor held her gaze for a beat before nodding firmly.
“We were simply sharing a private confidence—much like the one you shared with Mr. Knox.”
Fury surged through Jacqueline again, doubled by the sting of his words. Her mind raced with a dozen scathing retorts, her chest tightening with the heat of her indignation.
Ultimately, however, she chose silence. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving a wake of icy tension behind her.
Left alone in the hallway, Windsor traced the line of his lips with a thumb. He found himself bewildered by his own pettiness. This wasn’t like him; the Windsor Preston he knew was a man of calculated words and steady temperament.
He felt a flicker of regret, but the words were out, and there was no reclaiming them. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward his study.
“…or so they will claim. Do we possess any evidence or testimony that could dismantle this version of events?”
At Evan’s inquiry, Windsor pulled himself from his thoughts and nodded slowly.
“We have the necessary proof.”
“Proof?”
Evan looked surprised, but as Windsor detailed the evidence, a relieved smile broke across the lawyer’s face.
“That significantly lessens the threat of their witness. However, we are still playing a defensive game. It would be far better if we could do more than just neutralize their claims—we need an offensive strategy.”
For a fleeting second, Evan thought of Jacqueline, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t drag her into this against her will. Instead, he shifted focus.
“I’ve spent some time reconsidering our approach to this case. There is a new strategy I’d like to propose.”
Windsor’s brow twitched. “This case?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of distaste.
Evan nodded and pulled a newspaper from his satchel. Windsor’s frown deepened as he recognized the headline covering his own testimony in the James Hammington fraud trial.
“Every major publication has put your story on the front page, Lord Preston,” Evan noted cautiously. “I’ve reviewed sixteen different papers, and regardless of their political leaning, you are the lead story in every single one.”
“How heartening,” Windsor remarked dryly. “It seems the kingdom is so starved for news that my trivial court appearances are considered headline-worthy.”
“That isn’t the point,” Evan countered, his expression turning serious. “The point is the sheer scale of public interest you command. The nobility appearing as witnesses is rare enough, but for it to be Windsor Preston… the public is captivated.”
“Get to the point, Evan. What are you suggesting?”
Windsor’s eyes narrowed, focusing intently on the younger man. Evan’s usual air of innocence vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating glint.
“I suggest we use that spotlight to our advantage.”
“Go on.”
Windsor gave a slight nod. Evan glanced briefly at Roman, who stood like a sentinel behind Windsor, before continuing.
“Standard procedure dictates that trials involving the peerage are held behind closed doors to protect the reputations of those involved.”
Roman scowled at the obvious statement, but Evan wasn’t finished.
“I want to petition to make this a public trial.”
Windsor’s eyebrows shot up. He stared at Evan, searching for the logic behind such a bold move.
Roman started to protest—“But surely that—”—but Evan held up a hand.
“Please, listen. Lord Preston, you know as well as I do that the odds are stacked against us. The opposing counsel is formidable, and the presiding judge is firmly in His Majesty’s pocket. No matter the facts, the verdict has likely already been written.”
He paused, meeting Windsor’s icy stare.
“That is precisely why we need the public. We need the press and the people to witness our arguments. We need an audience of rational minds. With the eyes of the kingdom on that courtroom, neither the King nor the judge can act with total impunity. It forces them to consider the fallout of an unjust ruling in a case we should rightfully win.”
Evan shook his head slowly.
“And even if they do rule against us on absurd grounds, the damage to their reputation would be catastrophic. They might win the legal battle, but they will lose the war for public favor.”
“Furthermore,” Windsor added thoughtfully, “witnesses for the Crown will find it much harder to lie under the scrutiny of a public gallery.”
Evan nodded, pleased that Windsor had grasped the tactic so quickly. “Exactly.”
Windsor looked at Evan with a newfound respect. He had initially pegged the man as a delicate aristocrat who would play strictly by the rules of decorum. He was wrong. Evan Knox was a man who knew how to fight dirty when the situation demanded it.
“It will be a burden for you, of course,” Evan admitted, his eyes bright with the prospect of the coming battle. “But it will be a far greater burden for His Majesty. He has much more to lose than you do. I ask that you consider it.”
“Let’s do it,” Windsor said without hesitation.
Evan blinked, caught off guard by the immediate surrender. “Pardon?”
“It increases our probability of success. Whether the judge cares for public opinion remains to be seen, but doing something is infinitely better than doing nothing. I have no intention of sitting quietly while I am defeated.”
I have no intention of sitting quietly.
Evan turned the phrase over in his mind and nodded. He suddenly remembered the stories of Windsor’s naval exploits—how he had once engaged ten ships with only his own. Windsor Preston was not a man who surrendered to bad odds. He was the type of man who would tear an opponent apart piece by piece, even if he went down with them.
“I agree,” Evan said.
“The only question now,” Windsor noted, “is whether they will actually grant the request.”
