LPST 05

Chapter : 05

“I have an idea what you might be thinking, Lord Preston, but I hope you won’t misunderstand. It’s not out of fear—it’s just that Colin doesn’t like being alone at night.”

There was no reply. His frown between the eyebrows seemed slightly deeper, though perhaps it was just her imagination; even with the oil lamp lit, the room wasn’t bright enough to discern every wrinkle clearly.

Jacqueline exhaled lightly once more and spoke in her usual tone.

“I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d have a cup of tea. Is there something you need, Lord Preston?”

Windsor’s gaze shifted to the kettle sitting on the stove. Thin white steam was already curling gently from its spout.

“Oh dear, the water’s already boiled.”

Following his gaze, Jacqueline poured the boiling water into the teapot. After placing the tea caddy, strainer, and teacup onto a tray, she turned to look at him.

“So, my lord—what is it that you need? Though this isn’t my kitchen and I’m unfamiliar with it, I’ll do my best to assist you.”

His words caught in his throat at her kindness. He couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d followed her out of suspicion about her actions.

“Why didn’t you call a maid?”

Instead of answering, he posed a question. She widened her eyes slightly, then gently furrowed her brows.

Even in the dimness, every nuance of her expression was vividly clear. His searching gaze slid across her face.

“The newly arrived governess feels awkward about waking a maid at this late hour for something so trivial. Fortunately, I’ve grown quite accustomed lately to handling these tasks myself.”

It was a tactful way of describing her circumstances—she was no longer in a position to be served by maids.

Yet there was no trace of shame or embarrassment on Jacqueline’s face.

Windsor recalled the rumors surrounding her. Most famously, of course, was the nickname “the penniless young lady.”

He’d assumed she was a hothouse flower, but perhaps she was more like a wild plant—unexpectedly resilient in adversity.

“So, Lord Preston, what is it that you need?”

Windsor stepped forward with heavy strides. Brushing past Jacqueline, he deftly took out a crystal glass and poured himself water.

After taking a long, cool drink, he set the glass down and turned to face her.

“You don’t need to serve me, Miss Somerset. I’ve also grown quite accustomed to doing things myself.”

It was a flimsy excuse—on his nightstand sat a water decanter quietly left by a maid.

“I see.”

Yet she took his words at face value. Unlike him, Jacqueline was unskilled at suspecting others, and she nodded readily.

Then again, it made sense. He was unlike other nobles. Born as Bentley Preston’s illegitimate son, he’d been raised by his mother—an opera singer—until adulthood and surely learned to handle everything on his own.

It was ironic. Jacqueline, who’d relied on others all her life, now had to manage everything herself, while Windsor, who’d always been self-reliant, now had to depend on others.

Everything about them was opposites—as if they stood at opposing poles. From temperament to circumstance, absolutely everything.

But then—

“…”

She placed Colin into Windsor’s arms.

His eyes shifted slowly downward. He stared blankly at the teddy bear pressed against his chest, looking at it with utterly unfamiliar eyes, as if he’d never seen such an object before.

Then he lifted his gaze a little and fixed his eyes on Jacqueline. Their eyes met in the darkness. She smiled softly.

“Could you carry Colin to my room? I need to carry the tray, and unfortunately, I only have two hands.”

Even after her words, Windsor didn’t move. Jacqueline raised her eyebrows, as if urging him: Well, are you going to take him or not?

Windsor fell silent, his lips pressing shut as if trying to retrace where their conversation had gone awry.

“I trust Lord Preston wouldn’t ignore a lady in distress.”

“Distress, you say.”

Slowly, he reached out his hand. Jacqueline’s eyes softened, as if she’d expected exactly this. But in the next moment—

“Huh?”

His hand reached not for Colin, but for the tray. With practiced ease, he took the tray in one hand and turned to walk ahead.

“I’ll carry this.”

“If I may offer some advice—the water’s filled to the brim, so that side is harder to balance… Hmm, you’re doing well.”

Jacqueline followed behind Windsor as he walked steadily without spilling a single drop. She held Colin tightly in both arms.

Only then did she remember he’d once been in the navy. Maintaining balance like this might be effortless for someone accustomed to life on a rocking ship.

After placing the tray on her room’s table, Windsor turned to look at Jacqueline with indifferent eyes. Moonlight streaming through the window softly illuminated his blond hair.

His face, cast in deep shadow, looked far more masculine than it had during the day—but even that suited Windsor perfectly. Perhaps, in fact, this was closer to his true nature.

“Thank you for your kindness, Lord Preston.”

Jacqueline gave a light curtsy. Colin, still cradled in her arms, bobbed his head in a little bow toward Windsor.

After giving the teddy bear an unreadable look, he left the room without another word.

“Next time, call a maid for such matters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I hope you have a good night, Miss Somerset.”

“!”

Jacqueline’s eyes widened slightly in surprise—she’d never dreamed this taciturn man would offer her a good-night greeting.

Soon, a smile as gentle as moonlight touched her lips. Just before the door closed, she spoke.

“You too, Lord Preston. Have a good night.”

Click.

The door shut. She couldn’t tell if he’d heard her farewell—but Jacqueline was certain he had. It seemed to her that his head had given the faintest nod.

With a languid sigh, Jacqueline buried her face in the back of Colin’s head.

“You really are just like Benjamin—the kind of brusque kindness that never refuses help. Isn’t that right, Colin?”

Her muffled voice vanished into Colin’s mind as if drawn inward.

[This is the timeline separator]

Jacqueline knew better than anyone how to appear the perfect young lady—it was one of her specialties.

Dressed in her morning gown with her braided hair neatly coiled, she was a flawless noblewoman—especially in her erect posture and graceful gait.

Moments ago, she’d confirmed Windsor’s carriage had departed from the mansion. In other words, the time now belonged to her.

“Good morning, Benjamin.”

At Jacqueline’s cheerful greeting, Benjamin, who’d been reading alone, rose from his seat. As always, he looked perfectly put together—like a carefully dressed doll.

Guessing it was Madam Ritz’s handiwork, Jacqueline strode confidently into the room.

“Good morning, Miss Somerset.”

His greeting was flawless as well. Jacqueline beamed warmly as she walked toward the boy.

“Yes, good morning indeed.”

Betty, who’d followed behind her, set down the bundle she was carrying onto the table.

The diligent maid didn’t ask what Jacqueline intended to do with it—she knew that question wasn’t hers to make.

“Thank you, Betty. You may go now. Benjamin, our first lesson will be about new movements in art. Appreciating art is fundamental to nobility, after all.”

After nodding to Betty, Jacqueline turned to the child and continued.

In truth, however, her words were meant more for Betty than for Benjamin. She could tell without looking that the maid’s ears had perked up attentively.

The maid gave a small curtsy and left the room. Jacqueline knew she’d head straight to Madam Ritz—

it was the duty of a diligent servant: to report every detail of the unfamiliar governess’s actions to the head housekeeper.

Click.

The door closed.

“…”

She didn’t hear footsteps moving away. Jacqueline sensed that Betty hadn’t yet left the area outside the door.

Rather than go directly to Madam Ritz, the faithful maid apparently intended to gather more information first.

Alone in the room, Jacqueline moved with practiced ease. She squeezed paint onto her palette and dampened her brush—all while her lips kept speaking steadily.

“Until now, painting has largely been divided into Realism and Impressionism. Realist painters depicted objects and landscapes exactly as they appeared. To illustrate just how realistic they were—ah yes, it’s best to mention that painter who rendered a funeral scene, once considered taboo, onto canvas. That work caused quite a stir in society.”

Benjamin listened quietly to her words. Though he already knew this material, he offered no objections.

He was more curious about what she was actually doing. His brown eyes darted busily, following her every movement.

“Then came Impressionism, which focused on fleeting moments—the unique appearance only visible in that instant. For example, even when painting the same cathedral, artists would depict it differently at dawn, afternoon, sunset, and under the dark night sky. Rather than precise forms, they emphasized light and color boldly.”

At that moment, soft footsteps finally receded into the distance. A knowing smile curled Jacqueline’s lips.

“As I mentioned earlier, Realism and Impressionism have dominated art up to now. Though artistic trends have shifted over time, they’ve never strayed far from these two movements.”

She picked up her palette and brush and strode forward decisively. The brown eyes that had been following her indifferently suddenly widened in astonishment.

“!”

Jacqueline’s voice gained a brighter, livelier tone.

“And then, at last, Fauvism emerged. Stale traditions began to fade, and a new movement swept through the art world. In Fauvist painting, the most important thing is—”

Benjamin couldn’t utter a word. But his wide eyes and raised eyebrows revealed his astonishment completely.

“Not to fear using vivid primary colors, and to express the artist’s individuality without restraint. At long last, a world made for oneself has arrived.”

“!”

Jacqueline pressed her red brush firmly against the ivory-colored wallpaper. Her strokes were swift and unhesitating.

Benjamin didn’t even blink. He looked like an exquisitely crafted doll—if not for the slight trembling of his long eyelashes, one might truly mistake him for porcelain.

“Well, Benjamin? What does this painting look like to you?”

“…”

The boy, still stunned, only snapped back to attention when he heard his name. He focused his mind, trying to answer his governess’s question.