Chapter 68
At that moment, Windsor’s detached voice reached her. Jacqueline, who had been drowning in a mire of her own making, slowly lifted her gaze.
“Your father?”
“Yes. Your father—the man who gave you memories to lean on whenever life became unbearable, Miss Somerset.”
She had been staring blankly into the shadows, but now she allowed herself to sink into the depths of her past. The sludge that had been dragging her down began to recede.
“He was more kind than he was strict. He was always so gentle, both to Mother and to me. Perhaps he had his flaws… but he was a good man nonetheless. No one is perfect, after all. He gave me his absolute best, even if his best didn’t always produce the results he hoped for.”
Windsor gave a small nod. He felt no real curiosity regarding the late Earl of Somerset; he wasn’t the sort of sentimental man who dwelled on those long since departed.
Why, then, had he prompted her to speak of him?
Windsor wondered if he simply found a strange satisfaction in these moments—listening to her voice as she wove her stories. He was a man of few words, yet he possessed a natural talent for listening.
As Windsor sat in the comfortable silence, Jacqueline’s soft voice continued. Mingled with the rhythmic patter of the rain, her tone was as melodic as music. A slow, quiet sigh escaped Windsor’s lips.
“After James Hammington swindled him, Father fell into a long period of despondency. To be honest, it wasn’t the first time he’d been cheated. With every venture failing, his confidence withered. Then, by chance, he heard of an opportunity in the New World. An acquaintance must have whispered in his ear. I was terrified of him jumping into a business he didn’t understand, but when I saw him glowing with life for the first time in years, I couldn’t bring myself to stop him. If I had… would he still be here with me now?”
“Speculating about the past is a fruitless endeavor.”
At Windsor’s characteristically blunt remark, Jacqueline let out a silent, weary laugh. She shifted her tone, sounding like a stern governess.
“In moments like these, My Lord, I require comfort, not a lecture.”
Windsor rubbed the edge of his eyebrow, his expression turning awkward. After a heavy pause, he finally spoke.
“I have never been practiced in such things.”
“Of course you haven’t.” She sighed softly, adding with a gentle lilt, “Just saying ‘That must have been difficult’ or ‘It wasn’t your fault’ would suffice. Surely those aren’t such taxing words to utter?”
Windsor’s lips parted, but no sound followed. Jacqueline imagined he was committing her words to memory, repeating them like a phrase in a foreign tongue.
A small smile touched her lips. They spoke entirely different languages. To truly understand one another, they would have to learn each other’s vocabulary.
When Windsor said, “I understand,” he meant precisely that. When he said, “I’ve never done it before,” he wasn’t being coy; he was being literal. That was his nature—a preference for efficiency and absolute clarity.
In contrast, the nobility often buried a thousand hidden meanings beneath a single sentence. They favored indirectness, believing that blunt speech lacked refinement and hoping their listener would be intuitive enough to grasp the subtext.
To say “The riverbank flowers are in bloom” was an invitation for a stroll. To remark “It is only a common emerald” was a plea for more praise regarding the effort spent acquiring the jewel.
Having spent her life surrounded by such euphemisms, Jacqueline found Windsor’s directness jarringly unfamiliar. She found herself constantly hunting for hidden depths in words that were perfectly transparent.
Yet, Lord Preston was not entirely immune to saying the opposite of what he felt.
When he had told her, “You did nothing wrong,” what he truly meant was: “You told me a lie so monumental it has wounded me deeply.”
Her eyes clouded with bitterness as she remembered that day. She had assumed he was ignorant and had deceived him with a falsehood; in return, he had cut her with his coldness. They had each dealt a blow—a miserable draw.
She never wanted to cause him pain again. As she watched him try to learn her “language,” she wondered if he felt the same.
“The rest of the story is common knowledge. The Esther set sail with such high hopes, only to strike a reef and sink. By some cruel twist of fate, no other ships were nearby. My father and the entire crew were lost before help could arrive. Every soul… it was a tragedy.”
Jacqueline offered a silent, brief prayer before continuing.
“I was supposed to make my debut then, but I couldn’t accept the news. I ran everywhere, searching for word of him. But in the end, I was left with nothing but creditors’ demands and the wreckage of the Esther.”
“That must have been difficult.”
Windsor delivered the comfort with his usual brevity.
Jacqueline’s eyes widened in genuine shock, as if she hadn’t expected him to actually try—then she dissolved into laughter. She had to stifle the sound quickly when she saw Benjamin stir in his sleep.
Windsor didn’t quite understand the joke, but he found he couldn’t look away from her. He allowed himself to believe that his attempt at empathy had been successful.
Jacqueline rubbed the corner of her eye. It was hard to tell if she was wiping away a tear or if exhaustion was finally winning the battle.
“Yes. It was hard. But the worst part was how quickly people changed. Those who had been fawning over me the day before became cruel the next, terrified they wouldn’t see their money again.”
Windsor remained silent. He couldn’t even bring himself to offer the reassurance that it wasn’t her fault; for some reason, saying it now felt too hollow.
“But I had to stay strong. Mother was suffering far more than I. Though she’s become sharp and fragile now due to her nerves… she used to be so kind. On stormy nights like this, she would stay by my bed and whisper that she’d protect me from any monster.”
Kindness, Windsor thought, was often a luxury of the comfortable. Those with power and wealth could afford to be gentle, while the desperate could not. The poor, living in fear of losing what little they had, often became hardened. Having lived that life himself, Windsor understood it better than anyone.
To him, the Countess of Somerset’s current irritability was likely her true nature, revealed only after her shield of wealth had been stripped away. He believed that those who were truly noble of heart remained so regardless of their circumstances.
However, he kept this thought to himself. He didn’t want to bring her further grief. Instead, he asked quietly, “Is it that memory that sustains you, Miss Somerset?”
As if realizing it for the first time, Jacqueline nodded slowly. Her eyes grew hot, and a few tears escaped before she could catch them.
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
She closed her eyes, picturing her mother as she once was—radiant and loving. The servants had adored the benevolent Countess, and Jacqueline had worshipped her. That single memory had given her the strength to endure everything that followed.
“…I think that’s how it works,” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness as she drifted toward sleep. She felt as though she might have a beautiful dream tonight—one where her parents were together in the greenhouse, and she was playing nearby.
In the haze of falling asleep, she heard quiet footsteps. It had to be Windsor. She wanted to open her eyes, but her lids felt like lead. She hovered in that threshold between worlds.
Suddenly, something light and warm was draped over her. A familiar scent followed—a deep, dark fragrance like a bottomless canyon. She recognized it instantly; it was the same scent that had lingered on the robe she’d used in Benjamin’s room.
A small smile played on her lips. Then, a large, hesitant hand brushed against her forehead.
Jacqueline let out a soft, unconscious sigh. The touch felt strangely nostalgic. When she was a child, her father would sit by her bed and stroke her brow just like this. Even when she was restless, his touch would always lull her into a deep sleep.
Wait—was Father’s hand this rough?
As she slipped further into the dark, a flicker of confusion crossed her mind. The Earl of Somerset had never worked a day in his life; his hands had been as soft as hers. But these fingers, smoothing her hair, were calloused and firm. Yet, they were surprisingly pleasant.
She tilted her head toward the sensation. The hand paused, then resumed its rhythmic motion, gently rubbing the skin beneath her eyes. A sudden wave of déjà vu hit her—she was certain she had felt this exact touch before.
But before she could grasp the memory, she sank fully into the abyss of sleep. Tonight, her dreams would be happy ones.
“Sweet dreams.”
The tender, whispered words arrived too late for her to hear.
The morning sky was so brilliantly clear it was hard to believe a storm had ever occurred. The garden looked more vibrant than ever, the deep greens of the leaves almost dazzling under the sun. The contrast between the azure sky and the lush foliage was enough to stir anyone’s heart.
A single cherry tree lay charred and fallen, but the surrounding tall grass was already beginning to reclaim the empty space.
Benjamin and Jacqueline walked through the hall to see Windsor off. No words were exchanged; the atmosphere was too heavy for small talk. Today was the final confrontation between the Preston estate and the Crown’s legal team. Even the servants moved with a grim, solemn focus.
Stopping at the front door, Windsor pulled his pocket watch from his coat. He glanced down at his nephew with his usual stoic expression.
“Your morning lessons begin in three minutes.”
“…Yes, Uncle.”
Benjamin understood the gravity of the day. Today, the court would decide who would officially be named his guardian.
