Chapter 77
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After kicking his legs back and forth for a moment, the tension in Benjamin’s chest began to dissolve. When he spoke again, his voice carried more strength.
“My mother passed away shortly after I was born, so I have no memory of what she looked like. I’ve seen her portrait, of course, but I never actually knew her.”
Benjamin had been staring intently at the surface of his desk, but now he slowly looked up. Jacqueline was watching him, her expression as warm and encouraging as ever.
Emboldened by her gaze, Benjamin continued his tale with the poise of someone sharing stories over a casual afternoon tea.
“Before my father died, he spoke to me of my uncle. He described a legendary naval officer—a man of immense strength who never faltered in the face of hardship. He promised me that my uncle would be the one to protect me.”
Benjamin paused, stealing a quick look at Windsor. The man was watching him back, his face a mask of unreadable emotion.
Though he felt a small prickle of intimidation, Benjamin made a conscious effort to square his shoulders and lift his chin. He knew this was no moment for childish timidity.
The courtroom fell into a heavy, expectant silence; no one wanted to miss a single syllable. Benjamin’s youthful, clear voice sliced through the stillness.
“I remember my father’s funeral vividly. A thin, grey mist of rain fell all morning, and the house was crowded with people in mourning clothes. I was only four years old then. I didn’t truly grasp the concept of death… though I certainly do now. I was just a baby then, but I am six years old now—quite old enough to understand the difference between living and dying.”
A few people in the gallery let out soft, charmed chuckles. Others were already pressing handkerchiefs to their eyes. “Poor little soul,” an elderly woman whispered, her voice thick with pity.
“At the time, I didn’t realize I would never see my father again. What I did understand, however, was that I was alone. Every adult I met would whisper, ‘The young Master Benjamin is all by himself now. Whatever will happen to the poor boy?’”
Evan caught Benjamin’s eye and gave a small, supportive nod, signaling for him to continue.
“Being all alone… it was a bit frightening.”
Benjamin flushed slightly at the admission of fear, but he quickly gave a nonchalant shrug.
“I may be six now, but I was only four then. I hate to say it, but I was very small and immature. Everyone is like that at that age, aren’t they?”
The room rippled with light laughter once more. The women in the gallery watched him with maternal affection, seeing perhaps a reflection of their own children in his earnest face.
The restless swinging of Benjamin’s legs finally slowed to a halt.
“I used to hide under the almond tree in our garden just to get away from everyone. I hated the weight of their worried stares and the way they kept reminding me I was alone. But one day, through the grey rain, a massive shadow appeared. He didn’t have an umbrella. It was my uncle. He stood over me, looking down in silence for a long time, before he said just one thing.”
Benjamin’s eyes darted toward Windsor again. The Marquess was frowning slightly, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance as if he were lost in that very memory.
“‘Are you Benjamin Preston?’”
The boy, huddled beneath the branches of the almond tree, had held his breath. It wasn’t just that he’d been found; it was the sheer, overwhelming gravity of the man’s presence. From his position on the ground, his uncle looked like a giant.
“‘Are you not Benjamin Preston?’”
Windsor had knit his brows then, as if questioning if he had the right child, and slowly looked the boy over from head to toe.
He saw a small boy in a black jacket, a crisp white shirt, matching shorts, and polished black shoes.
Snapping out of his daze, Benjamin had finally nodded.
“‘Yes. I am Benjamin Preston.’”
Only then did Windsor’s face settle back into its habitual, stony calm. The misting rain had begun to soak into his hair and the wool of his coat.
Benjamin remembered looking at the black umbrella gripped in Windsor’s hand, wondering why on earth he was carrying it if he wasn’t going to open it.
Then, Windsor spoke again.
“‘I am Windsor Preston.’”
Benjamin didn’t need the introduction; he had seen that face in the newspapers countless times. He simply nodded.
Windsor reached out a hand.
“‘I am your uncle. From this day forward, I will be your guardian.’”
Benjamin’s eyes had gone wide.
It wasn’t just the awe of meeting the famous ‘Devil of the Black Fleet,’ nor was it the anxiety of moving in with a stranger. It was the simple, profound realization that he wasn’t alone anymore.
Seeing the boy standing there in a trance, Windsor had arched an eyebrow. Finally, Benjamin found his feet and stood up.
Even standing, Windsor was towering. Benjamin had reached out and squeezed his uncle’s massive hand with both of his own, holding on as tight as he could.
Windsor, who had likely only expected a brief handshake, looked surprised for a fleeting second before his expression flattened again.
“‘If you have nothing left to do here, we should go. You have guests to greet.’”
“‘…Yes, Uncle.’”
Only then did Windsor finally unfurl the umbrella. He held it carefully over Benjamin’s head as they began to walk.
In that moment, the boy realized why his uncle had brought an umbrella he had no intention of using for himself.
“When I was all alone, it wasn’t His Majesty the King who came to find me,” Benjamin said, his voice ringing through the court. “It was you, Uncle. To be honest… I have never even seen the King’s face. I know he is my grandfather, but he feels like a stranger to me. But you…”
Benjamin looked down, his cheeks turning a bright pink. A tiny, shy smile touched his lips.
“For my birthday, you didn’t give me a dry set of history books. You gave me a model of the Black Fleet—the toy I wanted more than anything. I never told you I wanted it, but somehow, you knew. And whenever there is a thunderstorm at night, you always come to my room.”
A wave of shocked murmurs broke out across the room. The spectators looked at Windsor’s cold, stern face with newfound disbelief.
No one had imagined that the man who had taken in his nephew out of legal necessity would show such genuine tenderness.
There had been whispers that Windsor intended to cast the boy aside and seize the Preston fortune for himself—after all, why else would a man like him take on such a burden?
As the audience sat in stunned silence, Benjamin added, his face deepening in color:
“Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not actually scared of thunder. It’s just an electrical discharge in the atmosphere. But… I like it when you’re there. I have better dreams when you are nearby.”
The gallery erupted in a much softer, fonder kind of laughter.
“You never told me about this trial, Uncle. Neither did Miss Somerset or any of the servants. But I knew. I’ve been reading since I was four, and I can read the newspapers just fine.”
The atmosphere in the courtroom had shifted entirely. Every face in the room was now turned toward the boy with warmth and sympathy.
“My father was right. You protect me, Uncle, and you do a wonderful job of it. But as you always tell me, I am a Preston heir, and I cannot simply leave my future in the hands of others. That is why I begged Miss Somerset to bring me here, Your Honor.”
Benjamin turned his attention to Judge Harrison, using the formal title with practiced ease.
The judge, looking flustered, peered at the boy over the top of his glasses.
“Go on, Master Benjamin.”
“Please let me stay with my uncle. I’m asking you, please.”
The plea hit the room with the force of a physical blow. Benjamin was the heart of the case, and he had just delivered a clear, heartbreakingly sincere desire to remain with Windsor.
Windsor had proven himself a far better guardian than his reputation suggested, and the bond between the man and the boy was undeniable.
As if Benjamin’s words had broken a dam, the sound of muffled weeping filled the gallery. Handkerchiefs were out in force, and even the men in the room looked visibly moved.
Jacqueline watched Benjamin’s proud, steady face.
She realized then that a heartfelt emotional plea could be far more devastating than any logical argument—and Benjamin had delivered it with a mastery she couldn’t have hoped to match.
He was going to grow into an extraordinary man. He was already a remarkable child; his future seemed limitless.
Suddenly, her vision grew hazy. Jacqueline blinked back the moisture until she could see clearly again.
“Oh, the poor child. Lord Preston simply has to win. The boy has already lost his parents—he can’t lose his uncle too.”
“The King hasn’t even bothered to meet him. Why does he want custody now?”
“There must be a reason. Perhaps the King is the one after the Preston money, not the Marquess.”
“The court has to be careful here. They need to make a fair choice.”
“This is going to be a massive story. I need to get back to the office.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The courtroom had descended into chaos. The judge hammered his gavel, his face set in a hard line.
“Silence! Order in the court!”
The noise died down slightly, but the shift in public sentiment was palpable, pressing toward the bench like a rising tide.
Trying to hide his inner turmoil, the judge looked back at Benjamin.
“If you have finished your statement, Master Benjamin, you may step down.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Benjamin gave a graceful bow and began to walk back to his seat with Roman. As he passed through the aisle, people leaned in to whisper to him.
“Well done, little one. That was beautiful.”
“Your father would be so proud of you.”
“Don’t you worry. Justice will be done.”
Benjamin offered a small, polite smile as he left the courtroom. Only then did the crowd settle back into a hushed, expectant silence.
Parker, who had been chewing his lip in frustration, suddenly stood up.
“Your Honor, I must remind you—Master Benjamin is not a formal witness. His comments should not be considered legal testimony.”
“Hmm.”
The judge fell into a deep, troubled silence. He knew instinctively that his ruling on this case would be the defining moment of his career.
The world was watching. Every word he uttered would be transcribed and dissected by the press.
If he ruled for the King, he would secure royal favor, but he would be loathed by the nobility and the public.
The newspapers would tear him apart, and his social standing would vanish overnight.
However, if he ruled for the Marquess, he would become a hero to the people, but he would lose the King’s support. His dream of becoming Chief Justice in a few years would likely wither away.
The King’s favor, or his own legacy?
The silence stretched on. Finally, he spoke, his voice sounding weary and thin.
“We will now hear the final arguments from both parties.”
