LPST 06

Chapter : 06

Jacqueline turned to Benjamin with an expression brimming with pride.

The boy’s face gradually took on a look of bewilderment. After thinking hard, Benjamin finally spoke in an uncertain voice.

“Is it a snowman? Hmm… I also think it might be a sunflower endowed with humanity. After all, Fauvist painters sometimes grant personality to objects.”

Jacqueline turned her head once more to look at the picture she had drawn. She replied with a shamelessly cheerful expression.

“Actually, this is Colin, my most treasured teddy bear. Father gave him to me as a gift for my fifteenth birthday. No, Benjamin, you didn’t mishear—it really was fifteen, not five. That was the year I entered boarding school. Ever since then, Colin has been my closest friend and family. I’d love a chance to introduce him to you someday.”

“…Yes.”

“Good. Then why don’t you draw a picture too?”

Benjamin stood rooted to the spot, motionless. The child looked as flustered as someone about to commit their first act of rebellion.

Jacqueline understood that feeling well—she’d felt exactly the same before she’d climbed over the boarding school’s wall.

But she also remembered the exhilarating sense of freedom and thrill she’d felt afterward.

It was as if she’d taken her first step into a whole new world, or as if she’d cast off the heavy armor that had been suffocating her.

Of course, the world didn’t change overnight. By sunset, she’d had to return to school and endure a stern scolding from her housemistress.

The headmaster had even sent a letter to her home. And soon enough, her ordinary routine resumed as usual.

Yet that one experience became a great comfort and source of strength for Jacqueline—a comfort that helped her endure dull days, and the strength to stand against rigid rules.

If she truly wanted to, she could always climb over the wall again. It just wouldn’t be today. Choosing not to do something was entirely different from being unable to do it.

If Lord Preston had corresponded with Headmaster Vincent, he wouldn’t have hired me.

Jacqueline smirked faintly at the mischievous thought. Though generally obedient and exemplary, she occasionally stirred up unexpected trouble.

Still, everyone liked her—her friends and her teachers alike.

At sixteen, Jacqueline finally gained a piercing realization: rules and discipline must be observed, but one need not be shackled by them.

Sometimes, it was perfectly fine to break free. The sky wouldn’t fall because of it. In fact, another world awaited her—one far broader and deeper than the one she’d known before.

“It’s all right, Benjamin. We’re just discussing the gentlemen of art sweeping across the kingdom. In other words, this is still part of our lesson. What’s your favorite color?”

“…”

Once again, Benjamin offered no reply. The boy still hesitated before the strict rules that bound him.

Jacqueline lightly raised an eyebrow and began painting with yellow this time, acting casually so her suggestion wouldn’t feel like pressure.

Perhaps it was a bit too early for Benjamin.

The life truth Jacqueline had only grasped at sixteen might be too heavy for a six-year-old. Yet she hoped the child would realize that rules weren’t the entirety of the world.

Just then, Benjamin quietly approached her side. After several moments of hesitation, he finally picked up a paintbrush.

With great care, Benjamin meticulously dipped the brush into black paint. Jacqueline kept her eyes on her own artwork, offering no glance toward the boy—only the faintest upturn of her lips betrayed her awareness.

Sometimes, indifference was necessary—just as Windsor had shown no interest in the “impoverished young lady.”

Hesitation.

It must have been as difficult as a chick struggling to break free from its eggshell.

Drip.

A drop of black paint fell from the tip of the brush to the floor. Jacqueline didn’t urge him; she simply waited quietly in place.

Breaking out of the shell was entirely the child’s own task.

“…”

At last, firmness filled the boy’s brushstroke. A single black dot appeared on the wallpaper.

The timid brush grew steadily bolder, and before long, it successfully formed a distinct shape.

“Wow!”

Only then did Jacqueline’s eyes widen in astonishment as she looked at the drawing. She spoke in a voice full of admiration.

“It’s a ship!”

“…Yes.”

At the boy’s reply, Jacqueline’s eyes grew even wider. She burst into a bright, delighted laugh as if she’d received an unexpected gift.

Benjamin shyly lowered his head, while Jacqueline rested her chin on one hand like a judge evaluating an artwork, studying the drawing intently.

“Where is this ship headed?”

“…”

“Hmm, judging by its shape, it’s not a merchant vessel—it’s a warship, isn’t it?”

“!”

At those words, Benjamin’s eyes widened in surprise. For the first time, genuine warmth flickered in his gaze as he looked back at Jacqueline.

Jacqueline picked up a light-green brush and returned her focus to her own piece—a simple depiction of her humble wish:

a small house standing in an open field.

After a long pause, Benjamin quietly added in a small voice,

“It’s the largest warship of the Black Fleet that protects the kingdom’s seas. It guards merchant ships and exterminates pirates. Ah—the ‘Black Fleet’ is the nickname for the kingdom’s navy.”

A faint but proud emotion shimmered within him.

When had it been? She recalled reading a news article about how Windsor’s flagship dramatically rescued a merchant vessel captured by pirates.

Thanks to interviews with the returning sailors, his name had circulated like a hero’s legend for a while—alongside reports labeling him the Marquess of Preston’s illegitimate son.

Ever since then, pirates had started calling Windsor “the Demon of the Black Fleet”—for the demon showed no mercy, never granting clemency.

Did Benjamin admire his uncle?

Lost in thought, Jacqueline looked at the boy and added casually,

“What a magnificent warship. If only this ship had been dispatched when my father’s merchant vessel ran aground—perhaps everyone could have returned alive.”

For an instant, Benjamin’s eyes flew wide open. His light-brown irises trembled faintly. Only then did Jacqueline realize her words had triggered this reaction.

“It’s all right. That’s all in the past now.”

It’s fine.

Those words were both kindness for the other person and a mantra for herself.

Jacqueline always had to be “fine”—even when she’d heard the news of her father’s ship sinking, even when debt collectors stormed their home.

She had a mother weakened by neurosis and reporters watching her every move.

That’s why she had to be fine. After all, this was high society—a place where someone’s misfortune quickly became entertaining gossip.

She could never afford to break down. She had to remain composed, pretend everything was normal—and she believed she’d done it rather well.

Yet right now, in this moment, the small child before her seemed so similar to herself. Perhaps Benjamin, too, kept going by repeating “I’m fine”—for the grief of losing both parents was neither light nor fleeting.

“My dream is to have a little house bearing my own name—a house where my mother and I can live together. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

She painted a few blue flowers in the yard in front of the little house and finally set her brush aside. Her confident eyes turned toward the boy.

As Benjamin listened to her words, his eyes slowly filled with bewilderment again. His gaze, darting quickly left and right, quietly drifted down to the floor.

After a hesitant pause, Benjamin slowly nodded.

“…Yes.”

Though clearly not the boy’s first lie in life, it slipped out without stirring any guilt.

Because Jacqueline smiled brightly and drew clouds above the roof. Seeing the fluffy purple clouds, Benjamin gathered his courage.

“The clouds look majestic.”

“Clouds? Ah, these? These are apple trees. It’s spring, so there are no apples yet—but doesn’t it clearly look like an apple tree?”

“…”

Benjamin turned his head slightly, dipped a fresh brush into green paint, and immersed himself fully in his own creation.

With every movement of his fingertips, trains appeared, and carriages paraded through streets. To any observer, his skill would have seemed far superior to Jacqueline’s.

Just then, Jacqueline’s gentle voice continued,

“In Fauvism, the most important thing is to reveal the artist’s individuality. It’s essential to move beyond the realistic forms of trains or carriages and infuse them with your own imagination—like a train with wings or a carriage pulled by a dragon.”

“…”

“Benjamin, if you try just a little harder, you’ll be able to draw wonderful pictures like mine. Ah—but even compared to other children your age, you’re already quite good. So there’s absolutely no reason to feel discouraged. It’s simply that I’m exceptionally talented. Truthfully, I’ve always had a vivid imagination since I was little.”

Benjamin had many things he wanted to say, but he pressed his lips tightly together, recalling the Preston family motto: “Silence is golden.”

Instead, his brush spoke volubly in his stead.

[This is the timeline separator]

The Preston family carriage stood imposingly in the middle of the grand avenue.

Roman Miller, Windsor’s aide-de-camp, gripped the carriage door with one hand while keeping the other behind his back, his spine perfectly straight. His posture resembled that of a soldier more than an aide.

That wasn’t entirely inaccurate—he had been in the navy before becoming Windsor’s aide.

At that moment, Windsor emerged from the building and boarded the carriage. Roman sat across from him and shut the door. The stationary carriage began to move.

The rigid posture Roman had maintained just moments earlier melted away as he let out a light whistle. “Phew.”

His stern expression softened instantly.

“Isn’t that automobile trailing behind us from the Greenwood household? What business could Lord Walter Greenwood possibly have with His Lordship? They never interact, do they?”

His questions came rapid-fire with open curiosity, but Windsor remained silent. Roman frowned as he watched the automobile speeding ahead of their carriage.

“These days, anyone with a bit of money rides in automobiles—so why does Your Lordship still stubbornly stick to this old-fashioned carriage? You’re certainly wealthy enough.”

“Automobiles are still an imperfect mode of transport. Didn’t you read the news a few days ago about a car that suddenly stalled on the railroad tracks while crossing them, causing a collision with a train?”

“But wasn’t that accident caused by a drunk driver who forced his way across the tracks? Besides, if we’re talking accidents, carriage accidents are just as common as automobile ones.”

“But carriage accidents are predictable. I have no intention of entrusting my safety to unreliable machinery.”

At that, Roman clasped his hands behind his head and sank deeper into the seat.

“I had no idea Your Lordship valued safety so highly. Yet when battles broke out, didn’t you always stand at the vanguard—leaving your subordinates behind you?”

“Circumstances were different then.”

“How so?”