Lord Preston's Secret Governess

Chapter 18: Two Completely Different Beings

 
“If you’re not too busy, would you care for a cup of tea, Lord Preston? It’s almost teatime. Unfortunately, Benjamin, who was supposed to have lemonade with me, has been dragged off to the bathroom by Mrs. Ritz. It seems he’s in for a bath.”

Windsor glanced at the clock and set down his pen. “Teatime is in precisely seven minutes. And I’m currently working.”
“I know. It will take Betty about that long to bring the tea. Please, continue with your work. I’ll wait patiently.” Jacqueline settled onto the sofa.
Windsor couldn’t understand her. Why wait seven minutes when she could have come back at the appointed time? Then, he realized her motive and nodded.

“You’re planning to lecture me. You’re willing to endure even the tedium of waiting to do so.”
“Of course not. Have you forgotten? I’m your…” Jacqueline paused, lowering her voice, even though they were alone. She was a woman of her word. “…secret tutor. A teacher wants her student to succeed. And don’t forget, Benjamin’s birthday ball is in a few days. You’ll be having tea with numerous nobles there.”
Windsor raised an eyebrow and returned his attention to his desk. He rose precisely seven minutes later, just as Betty arrived with the tea.

Jacqueline smiled at Betty as she set the tea service on the table. “Thank you, Betty. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
As Windsor walked towards the sofa, Jacqueline’s gaze fell upon the silver tray, and she began her lecture. “Today’s lesson is on tea etiquette. You’ll be having tea and conversing with gentlemen before the ball begins, so this is an essential lesson for you, Lord Preston.”

Windsor sat ramrod straight, listening attentively. Her voice, with its clear intonation, sounded almost like a song.
She was his opposite in every way, especially in her emotional nature, her quick shifts between laughter and tears. He often couldn’t understand her sudden changes in mood, and he suspected he never would.
“Lift the teacup to your nose. First, you savor the aroma.” Jacqueline demonstrated, and Windsor followed suit.

“It’s customary to comment on the aroma.”
“…” Windsor looked at her, as if unsure what to say.
Jacqueline nodded. “Anything will do. Everyone else does the same. ‘What a rich aroma,’ or simply, ‘It smells lovely,’ is sufficient.”

“Isn’t that a bit… perfunctory?” Windsor looked at her skeptically.
Jacqueline met his gaze unflinchingly. “I told you, these customs are needlessly complex and tedious. Not every action requires a profound explanation. Now, after appreciating the aroma, you may take a sip.”
Windsor lifted the teacup to his lips. His movements were surprisingly graceful. He probably wouldn’t have attracted any negative attention even without observing proper etiquette. His striking appearance distracted from any minor flaws.

“The tea is excellent.”
“Perfect!” Jacqueline beamed at him, like a teacher pleased with a quick study. Windsor hesitated for a moment, then set down his teacup.
Yes, these were the differences between them. Like a cat and a sparrow, or a whale and a frog, they were completely different beings. From their habitats to their behaviors, habits, and thoughts, they were utterly distinct.
“When you set down your cup, it should make a slight sound. But not too loud.”

Clink. He was an excellent student, and Jacqueline was genuinely pleased with his progress. Basking in the warm afternoon sun, she glanced at Windsor.
Their eyes met.
“…” A shiver ran down Jacqueline’s spine. She couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was his intense gaze, or the sharp intelligence hidden beneath his impassive mask.

He sometimes exuded a certain intensity, an almost dangerous aura, that seemed at odds with his aristocratic demeanor. It was like walking on a razor’s edge.
She suspected it was due to his past. Those born into the aristocracy were often languid and complacent, having always had everything they could ever want. They had never had to work hard or worry about money. An inherent ennui permeated their every action.
But Windsor was different. He was like a tightly drawn bow, ready to be released at any moment.

He sometimes appeared relaxed, but it wasn’t the languid ease of the aristocracy. It was more like the relaxed alertness of a predator, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.
Jacqueline forced a smile, hoping to hide her nervousness. She could feel the corners of her lips twitching, but she couldn’t relax.
He evoked a strange mix of comfort and unease, a paradoxical feeling she couldn’t explain.

She averted her gaze, fiddling with her teacup, then looked up at him, as if just remembering something.
Windsor, sipping his tea elegantly, slowly raised his head.
Who could ever mistake him for a commoner? And yet, who could ever truly consider him one of them?

“Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll have to dance at the ball.”
“Dance?” Windsor’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t a pleasant topic. Jacqueline nodded firmly.
It was better to keep talking than to let the silence stretch between them. His heavy silences sometimes felt suffocating.

“A proper gentleman must ask a lady to dance.”
“Ah, those needlessly complex and tedious customs.”
Jacqueline ignored his comment and stood up, placing her hands on her hips and looking down at him with a determined expression. “Go on, then. Ask me to dance.”

“I don’t see the point. No lady would want to dance with me.”
Jacqueline remained silent, recognizing the self-deprecating remark, a reflection of his insecurities about his background. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, much like when she referred to herself as the “Penniless Lady.”
She mumbled, as if offering an excuse, “But you’re a marquess, Lord Preston. There are plenty of ladies who would be eager to catch your eye…”

“I intend to relinquish the title to Benjamin when he comes of age. Do you think any lady would want to dance with me, knowing that?”
Rumors circulated that Windsor intended to usurp the Preston title, that he was a greedy uncle who would steal his nephew’s inheritance.
But Jacqueline knew it was false. He genuinely had no desire for the title. He might be a stoic uncle, but he wasn’t a cruel one.

“I have a responsibility to transform you into a respected gentleman of high society. A gentleman who can’t dance? I’ve never heard of such a thing. So stop arguing and ask me to dance.”
“Stop arguing…?” Windsor frowned at her, as if questioning her audacity. Jacqueline, ignoring him, held out her hand.
Lowering her voice, imitating a gentleman, she said, “You should say, ‘May I have the honor of this dance?’ Now, take my hand.”

Windsor stared at her outstretched hand. Jacqueline, impatient, wiggled her fingers. She wasn’t as patient as Benjamin.
“Well?”
“I’ve never danced before.”

Jacqueline’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you say your mother was an opera singer? Didn’t she teach you?”
“She wasn’t that kind of mother. She preferred dancing with her lovers to teaching her son.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jacqueline apologized awkwardly.

Windsor didn’t understand her apology. His mother’s romantic entanglements weren’t her fault.
“Are you going to keep me waiting? It’s ungentlemanly to make a lady feel uncomfortable.”
Prompted by her second reminder, Windsor reluctantly extended his hand and placed it on hers.

Jacqueline’s shoulders twitched involuntarily. A jolt, like a mild electric shock, ran through her fingertips. She thought she heard the rumble of thunder.
She glanced at the window, then back at him, taking a deep breath. The air was clear and sunny, not a cloud in sight.
The scent of his cologne, cool and refreshing, filled her senses. It suited him perfectly.

He stepped closer, and they stood a hand’s breadth apart, facing each other.
Jacqueline’s breath hitched in her throat. An inexplicable pressure settled on her shoulders.
He was taller than she had realized, his shoulders broader. She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

She couldn’t maintain her composure. She bit her lip, worried that he would notice her trembling hands.
He slowly shifted his gaze from their joined hands to her cheek. His voice, deeper than usual, resonated in the quiet room.
“What do I do next?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.” Jacqueline snapped back to attention and looked up at him. She placed her other hand in his and turned her palm upwards. His hand moved down, and hers moved up.
She lowered her gaze demurely, like a lady accepting a dance invitation. “Since you insist, Lord Preston, I’ll grant you one dance.”
Windsor’s eyebrow twitched, but she didn’t notice, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“We can’t play music, so just follow my lead. I’ll move slowly. Ready?”
Windsor, instead of replying, simply raised an eyebrow.