Chapter 65
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She possessed the delicate elegance of a hothouse flower, yet she was prone to flashes of formidable sharpness. It was clear that the title “Queen of High Society” had been earned through more than mere longevity.
“The Dowager Lady’s intuition is as keen as ever,” Windsor conceded.
“I should like to hear your proposal first.”
“I intend to have this trial conducted as a public proceeding. I am seeking someone with the influence to make that a reality.”
Windsor abandoned all pretense and spoke with blunt honesty. At this unexpected request, the Dowager Lady Chamberlain’s eyebrows arched in a silent peak of surprise.
“I see…”
She lapsed into a heavy silence. Whether she was weighed down by the gravity of his ask or simply lost in reflection, she did not offer an immediate answer.
Windsor maintained a mask of cool indifference, though his pulse quickened with a hidden anxiety. If she refused him, he had no secondary plan.
Having only just emerged onto the social stage, he lacked the deep-rooted connections required for such a feat. No one else would risk their reputation for him. The Dowager Lady was his final hope.
Just as he prepared to press his case, she looked up, her contemplation ending. Her eyes met Windsor’s; he had been studying her every movement.
A gentle smile softened her features, carving fine, graceful lines at the corners of her eyes.
“I shall provide you with a letter of introduction to Chief Justice Adams.”
“Chief Justice Adams?”
Windsor’s voice was tinged with skepticism. The Chief Justice was a royal appointee—a man bound to the King’s interests. Even if the man possessed the legal authority to open the doors of the court to the public, there was no logical reason for him to favor Windsor’s side.
Sensing his hesitation, the Dowager Lady offered a reassuring clarification.
“His Majesty is under the firm impression that Lord Adams is his most devoted servant. They are contemporaries in age, and since the Lord’s father held the same high office, they have moved in the same circles since they were boys.”
“You are implying that this loyalty is merely a facade?”
“Are you aware that Lord Adams has never taken a wife?” she asked.
“I am.”
Windsor nodded. It was a well-known fact of the capital, though most people credited his bachelorhood to a naturally cold and rigid temperament.
The Dowager Lady, however, revealed a truth that ran far deeper.
“Did you know that the woman he once loved is now the Queen?”
“…Is that the truth?”
“Lord Adams… and Camilla—the Queen, I mean. Her name is Camilla. We four grew up together, which is why I sometimes lapse into such familiarity. You must forgive my lack of decorum, Lord Preston.”
Windsor suddenly recalled the whispers surrounding the Dowager Lady’s rise to power. It was said her status as the Queen of High Society was bolstered not just by her late husband’s prestige, but by the personal favor of the Queen herself. Her web of influence was far more intricate than he had realized.
“Please, do not apologize.”
“You are kind. To return to the matter—Lord Adams was smitten with Camilla from the moment he saw her. Regrettably, he was not the only man under her spell.”
“You mean His Majesty?”
“Precisely. At the time, he was still the Crown Prince. Regardless of Lord Adams being the heir to an earldom, he could never hope to rival the future King. On the very afternoon he intended to ask for Miss Camilla’s hand, he was met with the news of her royal engagement.”
It was a classic tale of unrequited love and rivalry, one that stirred no particular sympathy in Windsor. His own mother had been a woman of many passions, and he had seen far more sordid affairs end in violence.
“But that was a lifetime ago. Surely their current professional relationship…”
“Lord Preston, you clearly underestimate the enduring nature of a man’s spite,” the Dowager Lady interrupted. Windsor met her gaze, his expression steady.
“In the public eye, Lord Adams is the picture of a loyal subject. But in his heart—from the moment Camilla was taken from him—he has nurtured a quiet loathing for the King. Does his refusal to marry not prove the depth of his stubbornness?”
She continued, “He has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back. I suspect he will find your cause quite appealing. I will give you the introduction, but the task of winning him over is yours alone. If he refuses, the door is closed. No one else possesses the necessary resentment to openly challenge the King’s wishes.”
“I am in your debt.”
The conversation had shifted in a way Windsor hadn’t foreseen. He took a sip of tea, his mind already racing to restructure his entire strategy.
“One moment.”
She rang a small silver bell. As if he had been standing just outside the threshold, the butler appeared instantly.
“Your command, my lady?”
“I have a letter to dispatch. I shall write it here; bring me my stationery.”
“At once, Dowager Lady.”
The butler was nothing if not efficient. Within moments, the writing materials were laid before her.
“Oh, and there is one more thing.”
She paused, pen in hand, and looked back at Windsor with a sudden spark of inspiration.
“I will also give you the names of several journalists who may be sympathetic to your cause. In a battle such as this, one requires a megaphone to reach the masses, does one not?”
She offered a mischievous, knowing smile before setting pen to paper. Windsor watched her in silence. Having spent a lifetime at the pinnacle of society, she understood exactly how to orchestrate a scandal. Without her guidance, his path would have been significantly more treacherous.
Securing her alliance felt like a miracle. When she handed him the envelope, Windsor gave her a bow of genuine gratitude.
“Thank you, Dowager Lady. I cannot begin to repay your kindness.”
“Think nothing of it. If you wish to show your thanks, simply visit an old woman from time to time.”
Windsor’s brow furrowed slightly as he tried to discern if there was a hidden motive behind her request. Seeing his confusion, the Dowager Lady let out a bright, girlish laugh.
“It is nothing so complicated. It is simply that looking at you reminds me of Gregory. If it is not too much trouble, come by occasionally and allow me the luxury of a little nostalgia.”
“I shall. It would be no trouble at all,” Windsor replied with a curt nod.
He offered no flowery condolences for her late husband, nor did he make grand promises he didn’t intend to keep. His response was characteristically blunt. This only made the Dowager Lady laugh again; Gregory had been a man of few words and much action, just like the man standing before her.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, observing him with keen interest. She was fascinated to see how this man—a newly minted marquess—would fare in a collision with the King himself. She wondered who would be left standing when the dust settled.
Raising her teacup, she spoke casually.
“I am hosting a ball at the estate in a fortnight. It would please me greatly if you would attend, Lord Preston—and bring Miss Somerset with you.”
“I shall consult Miss Somerset regarding her wishes.”
“Splendid. A formal invitation will follow. I find myself looking forward to the evening already.”
She took a slow sip of tea, her gaze drifting downward. The Dowager Lady could feel it in her bones; a change was coming to the capital. The seasons were shifting.
In the solitude of his bedroom, Windsor rubbed his tired eyes and looked away from the mountain of documents on his desk. He checked his pocket watch. It was more than two hours past his usual time for sleep; he had been immersed in the legal files for four hours without moving. The sheer volume of evidence regarding Evan’s trial was staggering.
On the corner of his desk sat a folded newspaper, the headlines bold and provocative.
“Chief Justice Adams Orders Public Hearing for Benjamin Preston’s Guardianship!”
“A Victory for Transparency: Lord Adams Rebukes Aristocratic Secrecy!”
“Royal Palace Expresses Deep Disappointment Over Judicial Ruling!”
Windsor thought back to his meeting with Adams. He remembered the man’s severe expression as he listened to the arguments—and the tiny, triumphant smirk that had flickered at the edge of his mouth despite his best efforts to remain neutral.
The lean, inscrutable Chief Justice had spoken with the finality of a gavel strike:
“You are correct, Lord Preston. The law should not be a private playground for the nobility. It is meant to be a shield for all, yet we know it often serves only the interests of the powerful. I find your request to be in the best interest of justice.”
Behind his spectacles, Adams’s eyes had shone with the predatory glint of a hunter who had finally cornered his prey. He was ready to strike, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Windsor himself was part of the very elite he was criticizing.
Adams had added a single, perhaps unnecessary, justification:
“Furthermore, I am a man who remembers his debts. I could never turn my back on a request from the Dowager Lady Chamberlain.”
Windsor shook his head to clear the memory. He ran a hand through his hair and stood up. The pieces were all in place. The true conflict was about to begin.
But then, he stopped.
A rhythmic, heavy thudding drew his attention to the window. Rain was lashing against the glass in a sudden, violent downpour. He had been so buried in his work that he hadn’t noticed the storm breaking.
The sky was a bruised, rumbling mass of grey.
“Summer has arrived, it seems,” Windsor murmured, indifferent to the weather. Once the rain passed, the world would turn a vibrant green, and the lingering cool of spring would be forgotten in the heat.
He started toward his bed again, but paused a second time.
The thunder continued to roar. Standing in the dim light, he stared at the window, absentmindedly scratching the edge of his brow.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rain struck the pane with a persistence that sounded hauntingly like a hand knocking for entry.
Flash.
A bolt of lightning tore through the dark, illuminating the garden in a stark, white glare. It looked as though a tree had been cleaved by the strike.
“This is absurd,” he whispered.
He turned on his heel and walked toward the door. He knew he was acting against all logic, yet his feet moved of their own accord. He was fully aware that he would likely regret this moment of weakness come morning, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I must be losing my mind.”
Windsor found himself standing in the hallway before Jacqueline’s room. He stared at the wood of the door, as if waiting for his common sense to return and stop him. But the impulse was too strong. Just as he reached out to knock—
Click.
The door swung open from the inside. The figure in the doorway froze in shock, and in that same heartbeat—
“Kyaa—!”
Jacqueline let out a sharp, startled gasp, her body tensing as if she’d been struck.
Before her cry could echo through the silent halls and wake the household, Windsor’s hand shot out, covering her mouth.
“Quiet. It is far too late for such a commotion, Miss Somerset.”
“…Mmph?”
