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Chapter : 02
Come to think of it, from the moment she stepped into the mansion, she had sensed a certain stiffness in the atmosphere.
The maids she encountered wore blank expressions, and every object was placed precisely in its designated spot. The curtains were stiff as if freshly starched, and the carpet formed a perfect right angle with the wall.
It was a perfection so suffocating it nearly stole her breath. Jacqueline, suspecting this reflected the master’s disposition, tugged slightly at the corners of her mouth with a hint of nervousness.
Having just risen from a curtsey, she offered a polite social greeting.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Preston. I am Jacqueline Somerset. My close friends call me Jackie.”
Though she didn’t explicitly say, “You may call me Jackie too,” the implication was unmistakable. She looked at him with an amiable gaze.
“Miss Somerset will suffice.”
“…Yes.”
Windsor slowly scanned her from head to toe as if appraising an object. Jacqueline unconsciously straightened her back and adjusted her posture.
His expressionless eyes seemed cold at first glance, yet oddly, they weren’t unpleasant. To someone like her—long accustomed to curious stares directed at the so-called “impoverished noblewoman”—Windsor’s indifferent gaze was, in fact, rather comforting.
Her first impression of Windsor Preston wasn’t as terrible as the rumors suggested, and the man proved more courteous than she had anticipated. Still, she doubted he’d be an easy employer.
Soon, Windsor withdrew his gaze. He gave a faint, barely perceptible nod. Only later did she realize this slight gesture signified approval.
“I heard you are the daughter of Lord Somerset.”
“Yes.”
The two were complete strangers. Aristocratic circles were surprisingly small—surely they’d have crossed paths somewhere before—but unfortunately, such an encounter had never occurred. Windsor had entered high society shortly after Jacqueline had withdrawn from it.
She tensed slightly at the thought that he might bring up her father’s accident. From past experience, conversations following mention of “Lord Somerset” always followed the same script:
Beginning with “How unfortunate,” and ending with, “I heard he went bankrupt repaying debts—is it true you’ve become utterly destitute?”
“I was told you attended Bristol Girls’ Boarding School. Is that correct?”
“…”
Caught off guard by this unexpected question, Jacqueline missed the timing to respond. This was already her second mistake.
Receiving Windsor’s blunt stare, she hurriedly nodded. His slate-gray eyes appeared thoughtful yet as cold as a winter sky.
Swallowing hard, Jacqueline forced a calm expression and replied,
“That’s correct, Lord Preston.”
“Continental history must have been a core subject—what were your grades like?”
Jacqueline grew increasingly bewildered. Yet, facing his piercing gaze, she lacked the courage to stay silent.
Windsor Preston showed no interest whatsoever in Jacqueline Somerset—the young woman now better known as the “impoverished noblewoman.” Rather, he seemed curious about her abilities.
“I passed my final exams on the first attempt, so I’d consider my performance quite good.”
“How many instruments can you play?”
“I’m quite proficient with piano and violin, and I can also play flute and cello to some degree.”
“Can you ride or shoot?
“I’ve never learned shooting, but I’m an excellent rider—I’ve been on horseback since I was ten.”
At that moment, Windsor’s eyebrows twitched faintly. Noticing this subtle shift, Jacqueline’s eyes flickered with momentary tension.
“‘Quite good,’ ‘proficient,’ ‘excellent.’ Personally, Miss Somerset, I prefer precise terms over vague ones.”
“…Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jacqueline forced her lips into a polite smile; otherwise, she feared her face might instantly crumple into a frown.
Windsor gave a slight nod and continued his questioning.
“Are your artistic sensibilities sufficient?”
“Certainly, Lord Preston. Particularly in fine arts, my knowledge is very… deep.”
“Do you speak any foreign languages?”
“I can speak Slenian and Nortian.”
“Excellent. Your predecessor was teaching Benjamin Nortian. It’s wise to learn the language of our ally in advance.”
With that, Windsor stood from his seat. His tall frame exuded an even greater presence standing than sitting.
His broad shoulders and measured gait placed him somewhere between nobleman and soldier. Suddenly, his nickname came to mind:
The Demon of the Black Fleet.
Jacqueline stared openly at his face, forgetting even that such behavior was rude. She recalled reading somewhere that demons were far more beautiful than angels—necessary, perhaps, to instantly captivate the human heart.
In that sense, Windsor Preston was undoubtedly a demon.
Windsor pulled a pocket watch from his coat. A soft click signaled the lid opening.
“Benjamin should be reading in his room at this hour. Follow me.”
“…Yes.”
For a moment, overwhelmed by his imposing presence, Jacqueline instinctively extended her hand. Windsor, who had been about to pass her by, paused.
His gaze slowly shifted—once to her hand, then to her face.
“Oh.”
Only then did Jacqueline realize her blunder and flinched. She quietly withdrew her hand, having assumed without thinking that Windsor would escort her.
This was no ballroom, and Windsor was her employer.
“Shall we go?”
Acting as if nothing had happened, Jacqueline briskly strode ahead. Only once Windsor was behind her did her expression gradually distort. A silent scream echoed only inside her mouth.
“Which way should we go, Lord Preston?”
Having stepped into the corridor, Jacqueline turned gracefully, wearing an aloof expression as if she’d never made a mistake.
“To the left.”
Windsor passed her with precise strides, and Jacqueline, sighing inwardly once more, followed behind.
Good heavens—of all places, why there? Why then?!
Behind Windsor’s back, her face twisted comically.
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Windsor moved without a trace of superfluity. Walking behind him, Jacqueline unconsciously straightened her spine, matching his measured pace.
She felt as though she couldn’t afford another mistake—just like the stiff curtains and the precisely aligned carpet, she too had to be flawless.
Up ahead, Windsor halted before one of several identical doors. After a light knock, he opened it. Jacqueline, on her tiptoes, quickly peeked over his shoulder.
Ivory walls, heavy solid-wood furniture, and perfectly ordered belongings—it looked less like a child’s room and more like that of a stern old man.
A boy reading alone slowly lifted his head. It was Benjamin Preston.
Upon spotting Windsor, the boy sprang to his feet with a tense expression. The book he’d been about to set on the table slipped and fell to the floor.
“!”
His wide eyes widened slightly further before dimming with dismay. He bit his lower lip sharply, picked up the book, and placed it back on the table.
He was six, wasn’t he?
Dressed in shorts, white stockings, and suspenders, Benjamin appeared far more mature than his peers. He bowed courteously toward Windsor.
“Good afternoon, Uncle. I was reading.”
“This is Miss Jacqueline Somerset, whom I mentioned this morning. She will be your new governess. Offer your greetings.”
Benjamin’s gaze shifted slightly. Jacqueline, finally entering the room, met his eyes and instinctively smiled.
Benjamin was as endearing as a character freshly emerged from a fairy tale—perhaps even more so than Colin, her favorite teddy bear.
His curly hair resembled red cotton candy, and his brown eyes gleamed like polished marbles.
His cheeks were plump as if holding candy, and faint freckles dusted his nose—visible only upon close inspection.
Benjamin sharply brought his right foot beside his left. His hands remained pressed against his thighs.
As Jacqueline’s eyes widened in surprise, the boy spoke first.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Benjamin Preston. I look forward to your guidance, Miss Somerset.”
“…”
His greeting was flawless—she could well imagine how rigorously Jeffrey Preston, or perhaps Windsor himself, had drilled him in etiquette.
Yet Jacqueline found herself wearing an expression of unwitting bewilderment.
She glanced from his blank face and tense posture to his rigid eyes, then turned toward Windsor.
“Is something the matter, Miss Somerset?”
Though his question was clear, his flat, toneless voice revealed he had no idea what might be wrong.
“It’s nothing, Lord Preston.”
Shaking her head, Jacqueline took a step forward. She walked past Windsor and approached Benjamin directly.
Though she felt Windsor’s gaze burning into her back, she didn’t bother turning. Kneeling on one knee before Benjamin, she whispered gently,
“Hello, Benjamin. My name is Jacqueline Somerset, but you can call me Jackie—it’s what all my friends call me.”
“This child will become the next Marquess of Preston. It would be best to maintain proper decorum, Miss Somerset.”
An immediate, stern voice cut through the air. For a fleeting moment, Jacqueline and Benjamin’s eyes met.
At the words “next Marquess of Preston,” Benjamin squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and pressed his lips together—like a tiny soldier.
From an angle Windsor couldn’t see, Jacqueline scrunched her face as if biting into an unbearably sour lemon. Yet Benjamin didn’t laugh.
Hmm, how odd.
Whenever she made that expression, her classmates forgot all about ladylike propriety and burst into loud laughter. Even the notoriously strict dorm matron would ease her frown and let Jacqueline off with just a warning.
Blink. Blink.
Jacqueline silently closed and opened her eyes, then rose gracefully to her feet.
“I’ll take care to remember that, Lord Preston.”
“I understand this is your first time as a governess. Please prepare a one-month curriculum and submit it to me before dinner.”
“By tonight…?”
Jacqueline stared at him, eyes wide in surprise. Windsor asked in a dry tone,
“Is it impossible?”
She turned to Benjamin with a pitiful expression—like an innocent lamb cornered by a ferocious lion.
But once again, Benjamin didn’t laugh. Jacqueline turned back with an embarrassed smile.
“No, it’s possible. I’ll have the curriculum ready and deliver it to you before tonight’s dinner.”
Instead of replying, Windsor merely gave a single nod and left the room. Only after his steady footsteps faded down the hall did Jacqueline finally let her tense shoulders slump.
