Chapter 76
Jacqueline understood that in some moments, a raw emotional plea carried more weight than a mountain of evidence. Her gaze burned with a sharp, unwavering intensity.
“In the end, you couldn’t turn away from the truth, which is why you are sitting here now. Of course, Mr. O’Brien—who seems to hold the narrow view that a woman’s presence as a witness is merely a performance for the benefit of men—won’t believe a single word I utter.”
She took a steady breath, her voice ringing through the chamber. “Had I accepted Mr. O’Brien’s earlier proposal, I would have been discarded just like the twelve governesses who came before me. But I refused to be bought. That integrity is the only reason I am still employed—and it is the very thing that distinguishes me from the women who preceded me at Preston Manor.”
Jacqueline hadn’t just struck a blow against Parker; she had systematically dismantled him. Having led him into a pit of his own making, she was now meticulously shoveling the earth over him.
As Parker’s complexion turned a violent shade of crimson, Jacqueline allowed a ghost of a smile to touch her lips. A sharp, lingering gaze remained fixed on the curve of her mouth.
The impact of her testimony triggered a far greater scandal than anyone had anticipated.
“To think His Majesty tried to bribe Miss Somerset! How scandalous!”
“It explains everything—why the staff at Preston Manor was a revolving door. The previous governesses must have taken the money, and Lord Preston fired them the moment he realized they were compromised. It finally makes sense. No matter how difficult a master he is, cycling through twelve governesses in two years was always beyond belief.”
“We should be careful with such talk,” another whispered. “It might have been the lawyer acting on his own without the King’s knowledge.”
“That man, Parker O’Brien, has a loathsome reputation. They say he’ll pull any stunt to win. Perhaps the King had nothing to do with it, and the lawyer was simply trying to manufacture a victory to curry royal favor.”
“Regardless, Miss Somerset is quite extraordinary. To turn down such a fortune just to stand by the truth for Lord Preston’s sake… and she is the one who needs the funds most of all.”
“Perhaps Lord Preston promised her a better deal?”
“No, that looks like the pride of a true aristocrat to me. Look at her—she stands like a lone pine in a winter storm. They may call her an ‘impoverished lady,’ but she is a lady nonetheless. Blood will always tell.”
The gallery shifted, casting judging glares at Parker while offering Jacqueline looks of profound sympathy. She was the picture of a vulnerable noblewoman standing tall against a predatory, seasoned litigator.
Parker felt the tide turn. He realized instantly that he had blundered by underestimating her. He had banked on the idea that she would never cross the Countess of Somerset—that her mother’s iron will would eventually break her.
He had been dead wrong.
Silently cursing his own arrogance, Parker shot Jacqueline one last venomous look before snapping around.
“Nothing further,” he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. His features were twisted in a mask of fury as he retreated to his bench.
The judge turned his attention back to the witness.
“You may step down, Miss Somerset. Unless there are further arguments…”
“Your Honor,” Evan interrupted, rising to his feet.
The judge paused, peering at him. Evan looked momentarily conflicted, hesitating as Jacqueline made her way across the floor. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked. Jacqueline gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. Taking a deep breath, Evan found his voice.
“I wish to call one final fact witness.”
“I object!” Parker roared, surging upward. “The defense is flouting the rules of procedure. Witnesses must be submitted in advance. This is an arbitrary stunt that makes a mockery of this court!”
Parker was desperate to shut Evan down. Seeing the lawyer’s visible rage, Evan simply nodded with feigned understanding.
The judge adjusted his spectacles, his expression sour. “Counselor, I cannot grant this. The court has been more than accommodating to the defense thus far.”
“I understand, Your Honor,” Evan replied calmly.
Seeing the judge lean toward a denial, Parker sat back down, a sliver of hope returning. He might still pull this off.
Then, Evan spoke again. “In truth, this individual is less a witness and more a primary party to these proceedings. Master Benjamin Preston insists he has something vital to share with the court. Only moments ago, Mr. O’Brien himself argued that the boy’s perspective was paramount—that he was desperate to know the child’s preference regarding his guardian. Therefore, I’m certain the plaintiff would be eager to hear from Master Benjamin.”
A fresh wave of murmurs rippled through the spectators. Some looked horrified; others were leaning forward in anticipation.
Parker bolted upright once more. Realizing he might as well stay on his feet, Jacqueline quietly slipped toward the back of the room.
The gallery was packed to the bursting point; there wasn’t an inch of space left. Despite the length of the trial, the audience remained transfixed by this ‘trial of the century,’ ignoring their cramped muscles and tired legs.
As Jacqueline searched for a place to stand, a gentleman in the final row stood and offered his chair.
“Please, Miss Somerset, take my seat.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you,” she murmured, sitting down.
As she settled in, she looked up and found Windsor’s eyes on her, as if he had been waiting for her to notice him. His dark gaze was heavy with unspoken words. Jacqueline gave him a tiny, almost invisible smile before turning her attention back to the front.
In that moment, the crushing weight of her guilt finally lifted. The sensation of having swallowed lead vanished, and she felt she could truly breathe for the first time in days.
Only then did Windsor look away. By now, Parker was shouting.
“I did say those things, yes! But Benjamin Preston is a mere child of six. He lacks the capacity for rational judgment. Anything he says is legally worthless in a court of law!”
“I agree,” Evan said with a nod. Parker squinted at him, wary of such an easy concession.
Evan turned back to the bench. “To clarify, Master Benjamin simply wishes to speak to Your Honor directly. Whether his words are entered as formal testimony is secondary. I only ask that the court remember who this trial is actually for. Both parties claim to be here for the boy’s welfare. Surely it is worth hearing from the child himself, just once.”
The judge sighed, looking as though he were choosing the path of least resistance to appease the Crown. “Very well. He may speak, but it will not be admitted as formal testimony.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Evan bowed. The heavy doors at the back of the courtroom swung open. Benjamin entered, clutching Roman’s hand, his small frame trembling with nerves.
Every eye in the room fixed on the boy. Benjamin swallowed hard, his movements stiff and mechanical, like a wooden doll being pulled by strings. The weight of the stares, the suffocating atmosphere of the law, and Parker’s predatory glare were too much for him. He looked like he wanted to turn and bolt.
Then, his eyes found Windsor’s.
Windsor’s eyes were narrowed, his expression one of stern disapproval at his nephew’s unauthorized appearance.
Benjamin’s shoulders slumped further. He barely remembered the walk to the front. It was only when he was hoisted into the oversized witness chair that he finally exhaled.
“There is no need for an oath,” the judge noted. Evan nodded and stepped toward the boy.
“Master Benjamin?”
“…Yes?”
The boy’s voice was thin. His throat felt as though it were being squeezed, and his face had gone dangerously pale.
“I understand you have something to tell the judge. Please, speak your mind.”
“I… well… I…”
Benjamin faltered, his words dissolving into a mumble. The more he tried to force the thoughts out, the faster they vanished. He had known exactly what to say just minutes ago, but now his mind was a void. He began to regret ever begging Jacqueline to help him.
Tears threatened to spill. He was terrified; the sea of faces felt like a recurring nightmare.
Don’t cry. Don’t make Uncle disappointed.
Biting his lip to steady himself, Benjamin looked up.
“Master Benjamin?” Evan prompted gently. The boy remained frozen. Evan glanced at the judge, looking helpless. “Perhaps we should move to chambers for a private discussion…”
In that moment of panic, Benjamin’s gaze drifted to the very back of the room.
Miss Somerset…
Even in the throng of people packed into the shadows of the rear wall, he found her instantly. It felt like a miracle. She was smiling at him—the same warm, encouraging smile she always gave him.
Then, she lifted her hands and began to move her fingers through the air, as if striking the keys of an invisible piano.
Benjamin tilted his head, confused for a heartbeat.
Like… playing music?
Then it clicked. He remembered his birthday—the moment he had been just as paralyzed by the crowd as he was now. Back then, Jacqueline had smiled just like this. The music from her piano had been the hand that pushed him forward.
Because of her, he had walked down those stairs with the dignity of a true heir. He had been praised by everyone.
I am the heir of the Preston family.
Benjamin squared his shoulders and sat up straight. An internal melody seemed to swell within him, giving him the strength to find his voice. His courage, though small, finally surfaced.
He began to speak in a soft whisper. Evan stopped mid-sentence and leaned in.
“I am Benjamin Preston.”
“I know, Master Benjamin,” Evan said softly.
But Benjamin wasn’t just answering a question; he was reciting the words he had practiced over and over on the carriage ride there.
“My father was Jeffrey Preston. He died two years ago. He was very sick and stayed in his room most of the time. Sometimes I didn’t see him for a whole week because he was too ill, but he was always very kind to me.”
The courtroom went deathly silent. Every person leaned in to catch the child’s soft, clear voice. Beneath the witness table, hidden from view, Benjamin let his feet swing back and forth in the air.
If anyone had seen him fidgeting like that, they surely would have called it unseemly for a Preston heir—but for now, the secret remained his own.
