LPST 07

Chapter : 07

Roman leaned forward curiously, his upper body swiftly jutting out. The closer distance only deepened the furrow between Windsor’s brows.

“If I die, Benjamin will lose his last protector.”

“Ah. And the Preston family will fall into the royal court’s hands.”

Roman finally nodded in understanding and leaned back, his face twisting in a frown.

“I really don’t get why the nobility’s world has to be so complicated. If someone’s your enemy, just beat them to death—that’s all. Everyone’s smiling and laughing on the surface, and it’s driving me mad trying to figure out who’s actually against me. Isn’t that right, Marquess?”

It was a complaint perfectly fitting Roman’s straightforward nature. To someone who charged into naval battles with a grin, the underhandedness of aristocratic society must have felt utterly stifling.

But instead of answering, Windsor simply extended a hand. Roman shook his head and placed a bundle of documents into it.

Even inside the swaying carriage, Windsor kept his back perfectly straight as his gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.

Roman added an explanation.

“We’ve investigated Miss Jacqueline Somerset, and so far, she appears to have had no contact whatsoever with the royal court. They’re likely still assessing the situation themselves.”

His earlier casual tone vanished, replaced by a solemn voice.

“She graduated from Bristol Girls’ Boarding School with outstanding grades and has a rather good reputation. Due to her father’s business failure, she never made her debut in society, but she is clearly a well-educated and cultured young lady. I judge her fully qualified as a governess.”

Roman Miller had served directly under Windsor during his naval days and was the only person Windsor brought with him to Preston Manor.

Though he occasionally appeared lax—unbecoming of a soldier—he was the kind of man you could trust with your back in critical moments. Were it not for that laid-back demeanor, he would have been a perfectly flawless subordinate.

“Still, for an earl’s family to collapse so suddenly—it’s baffling. One can never truly predict the ways of the world. She must have once been a distinguished young lady, yet now she’s reduced to being a governess. Isn’t that so?”

Roman posed the question as if seeking agreement, but Windsor’s lips remained sealed. Since his superior’s silence was nothing new, Roman smoothly changed the subject, accustomed to it by now.

“We’ll keep Miss Jacqueline Somerset under strict surveillance. His Majesty the King will likely reach out to her personally before long.”

“The real question is how long it’ll take this time. I hope the gap in Benjamin’s education won’t be too long.”

“At most a month or two, surely? Not a single governess has ever rejected His Majesty’s offer before. No matter how impressive a letter of introduction might be, everyone ultimately caves at the King’s mere word. Was Miss Somerset the twelfth? Or the thirteenth?”

The carriage, which had been gradually slowing, now came to a complete stop. Roman stepped out first and stood holding the door open with one hand, the other kept firmly behind his back.

Windsor cast a fleeting, wry glance at his aide, who had instantly transformed back into his disciplined official persona. Stretching his long legs, Windsor alighted from the carriage.

“The ninth governess even attempted to kidnap Master Benjamin—though she failed.”

Windsor, fastening his jacket buttons, faintly furrowed his brow as if asking whether this chatter would ever end.

He strode heavily toward the manor. William was already waiting at the entrance.

“Welcome back, my lord. It’s been a while, Lord Roman.”

Roman glanced around with an exaggerated gesture and gave the butler a light nod.

“How have you been, William? This place is as quiet as ever. Feels like a graveyard—”

“KYAAAAAH!”

Before Roman could finish his sentence, a sharp scream echoed through the air, instantly shattering the manor’s tranquil silence.

“…”

For a moment, Roman and Windsor exchanged glances. William, startled, turned around and muttered in confusion.

“Master Benjamin is on the second floor…”

“What did you say?!”

Roman’s eyes widened. Windsor’s brows also knotted deeply. Both men simultaneously recalled the same incident: the ninth governess, acting on the King’s orders, attempting to abduct Benjamin.

In the next instant, Windsor and Roman bolted forward. Though it was unheard of for nobles to run, no one dared reproach Windsor.

By the time they reached the stairs leading to the second floor, Roman was ahead—but by the time they reached the top, Windsor had already overtaken him.

He’s still as monstrous as ever.

Roman clicked his tongue, watching Windsor vanish ahead in the blink of an eye. It seemed his physical prowess hadn’t diminished at all, even years after leaving the navy.

Windsor headed straight for Benjamin’s room. The moment he rounded the corner, he saw a maid sitting slumped on the floor.

Her hands clamped over her mouth, she stared into the room in horror. A tray of tea lay scattered haphazardly at her feet.

Damn it.

Windsor swallowed the curse rising in his throat. He used to utter such words constantly, but since becoming Marquess of Preston, he hadn’t let one slip past his lips.

Suddenly, Jacqueline’s face appeared in his mind—those emerald eyes staring straight at him.

He’d been told she hadn’t contacted the King yet.

He must have let his guard down—uncharacteristically so. He never expected something like this to happen within a single day. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he swiftly crossed the hallway.

“Move aside!”

The moment Windsor leaped over the maid and burst through the doorway—

“…”

He froze on the spot. Two pairs of eyes stared back at him: large green ones and clear brown ones.

Blink. Blink.

“My lord, what’s going—!”

Roman arrived a step too late. Pushing past the maid and entering the room, he clamped his mouth shut just as Windsor had.

“Uncle.”

Benjamin, seated on the floor, slowly rose to his feet. Only now did reality seem to sink in, and a look of awkward embarrassment flickered across the boy’s eyes.

He hunched his shoulders deeply and lowered his head. His small hands clutched tightly at his trousers.

Seeing this, Jacqueline also stood up. She stepped forward protectively, placing herself between Benjamin and Windsor.

Windsor’s gaze, which had been moving slowly, passed over the boy and settled firmly on her.

“What in the world…?”

Roman, finally grasping what had happened in the room, gaped with wide eyes and a dazed expression.

Windsor met Jacqueline’s steady gaze head-on. Her emerald eyes hadn’t lost an ounce of their luster.

His eyes then shifted to the wall—splotched wildly with vivid colors.

Pressing his temples firmly, he straightened his posture and spoke.

“What exactly is going on here, Miss Somerset? As I recall, this morning’s lesson was supposed to be a discussion on the gentlemanly principles of art. Or have I remembered incorrectly?”

“No, Lord Preston. You recall perfectly—your memory is impressively sharp.”

Jacqueline straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly. A confident tone slipped through her words.

“The kingdom’s art tradition progressed from realism through impressionism to today’s Fauvism. Though there are smaller branches within, these three movements form the main current. I thought showing Benjamin directly would be far more effective than explaining it a hundred times with words, so we conducted a practical exercise together.”

“A practical exercise, Miss Somerset?”

Perhaps it was just his mood, but Windsor’s voice had grown noticeably lower—eerily so, as if echoing from the bottom of a well.

“Yes, Lord Preston. As you know, practical experience is one of the most vital aspects of education. It’s like teaching someone to ride—a hundred explanations won’t help as much as actually getting on the horse. The same applies to art. I thought experiencing Fauvist techniques firsthand would be more beneficial than describing them repeatedly. The boarding school also placed great emphasis on practical work.”

“Are you telling me, Miss Somerset, that your idea of a practical exercise involves painting not on canvas—but on walls?”

At that, Jacqueline glanced back slightly. The lovingly decorated wall, now a riot of colorful paintings, came into view. The corners of her mouth lifted.

“Doesn’t it finally feel more like a child’s room now?”

“Miss Somerset.”

At the same moment, Benjamin’s shoulders twitched faintly. The boy’s gaze sank endlessly downward—into the deep sea, and deeper still.

“Lord Preston, perhaps the rest of this discussion should happen privately between us? A conversation between primary guardian and educator isn’t quite suitable in front of a child.”

At her playful suggestion, Windsor’s brow twisted. Jacqueline, still smiling, flicked a glance toward Benjamin.

Only then did Windsor notice Benjamin standing behind her—his shoulders slumped as if already scolded, his tightly pressed lips flushed as red as blood.

Understanding her meaning, he took a quiet breath and slowly turned away.

“Very well. Come to my study in thirty minutes, Miss Somerset.”

“Thirty minutes from now? Not immediately?”

Jacqueline blinked in confusion, her eyes wide with bewilderment. Without turning back, Windsor replied curtly.

“Seeing your dress stained with paint, I fear I’d struggle to control my temper. For the sake of a rational discussion, I suggest you change into something else first.”

“Yes, understood, Lord Preston.”

Windsor turned and left the room without another word. The maid, snapping out of her daze, scrambled to pick up the fallen teacup.

Madam Ritz sent all the servants who had gathered due to the commotion back to their posts and scolded the screaming maid.

“To shriek over something so trivial! How many times must I tell you—no matter what happens, a servant of Preston Manor must remain composed!”

“I’m sorry, Madam Ritz.”

Roman cast one last glance around the room before silently following Windsor and whispering,

“She’s quite the handful, isn’t she?”

“…”

“She was clearly well-regarded by both teachers and students—so what happened during those three years? Did the fall of her earldom change her mindset? Or maybe, with nothing left to lose, she’s decided to throw caution to the wind?”

Windsor shot him a frosty look, and the quick-witted Roman promptly clamped his mouth shut, wary of inviting trouble onto himself.

The brief silence broke as soon as they reached the study. Standing before the desk, Roman turned solemn as he began.

“An invitation has arrived from the royal court.”

Windsor’s eyes turned cold—ruthlessly so, like a soldier just before setting sail.

Roman admired his superior deeply. He’d served under many officers, but never met anyone as rational and composed as Windsor.

Even when their patrol ship encountered a merchant vessel surrounded by ten pirate ships, Windsor never lost his calm.

His terrified crew had clamored to wait for reinforcements, but Windsor had taken command from the front.

The sight of a single ship methodically dismantling ten pirate vessels resembled a scene from hell itself—a feat theoretically impossible.