Lord Preston's Secret Governess

Chapter 6: It’s Alright

 
Jacqueline beamed at Benjamin, a look of immense pride on her face.
The boy’s expression, however, grew increasingly bewildered. He racked his brain, then ventured a hesitant answer. “Is it a snowman? Or… perhaps a sunflower imbued with human qualities? Fauvist painters sometimes personified objects.”

Jacqueline turned back to her artwork and replied with a straight face, “Actually, it’s Colin, my most cherished teddy bear. Father gave him to me for my fifteenth birthday. No, you didn’t mishear me, Benjamin. Fifteen, not five. It was the year I started boarding school. Since then, Colin has been my closest friend and family. I hope I’ll have a chance to introduce you two someday.”
“…Yes, Miss Somerset.”
“Alright. Now, why don’t you try painting something?”

Benjamin stood frozen, as if paralyzed by the prospect of this unprecedented act of rebellion.
Jacqueline understood his hesitation. She had felt the same way before scaling the boarding school walls.
But she also remembered the sense of liberation and excitement that followed. It was like stepping into a new world, shedding the heavy armor that had confined her.

Of course, the world didn’t change overnight. She had to return to school before nightfall and endure a stern lecture from the headmistress. The headmaster even sent a letter home to her parents. And then, life returned to its usual routine.
But that experience had given her a sense of solace and strength, a comfort that helped her endure the monotony of her days and the courage to defy the rigid rules.
She knew she could scale the walls again whenever she chose. It just wasn’t today. Not doing something was entirely different from not being able to do it.

If Lord Preston had corresponded with Headmaster Vincent, he wouldn’t have hired me. A mischievous smile played on her lips. She was generally an obedient and exemplary student, but she had her moments of unexpected defiance.
And yet, everyone liked her. Both her friends and her teachers.
At sixteen, Jacqueline had a profound realization: rules and regulations should be followed, but one shouldn’t be enslaved by them. Sometimes, it was okay to break free. The sky wouldn’t fall. In fact, a whole new world, far wider and deeper than before, awaited her.

“It’s alright, Benjamin. We’re discussing a new art movement sweeping the kingdom. In other words, this is part of your lesson. What’s your favorite color?”
“…” Benjamin remained silent, still hesitant in the face of strict rules.
Raising an eyebrow, Jacqueline began painting with yellow, deliberately appearing nonchalant so as not to pressure the boy.

Perhaps this is a bit too much for Benjamin. The life lesson that sixteen-year-old Jacqueline had learned might be too overwhelming for a six-year-old. But she hoped he would understand that rules weren’t everything.
Then, Benjamin tentatively approached her. After a moment of hesitation, he picked up a brush.
He carefully dipped it in black paint, his movements deliberate and precise. Jacqueline, focusing on her own painting, simply smiled to herself.
Sometimes, a little indifference was necessary. Just like Windsor’s indifference to the “Penniless Lady.”

The squirrel-hair brush hovered hesitantly over the ivory wallpaper. Benjamin was waging an internal battle against his ingrained obedience.
It was probably as difficult as a chick hatching from its shell.
Plop. A drop of black paint fell to the floor. Jacqueline remained silent, patiently waiting. Breaking free was something he had to do himself.

“…” Finally, his hand moved with newfound confidence. A black dot appeared on the wallpaper.
His hesitant strokes gradually grew bolder, and soon, a recognizable shape began to emerge.
“Wow!” Jacqueline’s eyes widened as she looked at the painting. “It’s a ship!”

“…Yes.”
Her eyes widened further at his confirmation. She burst into a bright smile, as if she had received an unexpected gift.
Benjamin lowered his head shyly. Jacqueline, like a judge evaluating a masterpiece, rested her chin on her hand and studied the painting intently.

“Where is the ship sailing to?”
“…”
“Hmm, judging by its shape, it’s not a merchant vessel. It’s a warship?”

“!” Benjamin’s eyes widened, and for the first time, a flicker of warmth appeared in his gaze.
Jacqueline picked up a light green brush and returned to her own painting, a depiction of her simple dream: a small cottage in a field.
After a moment of hesitation, Benjamin spoke softly. “It’s the largest warship in the Black Fleet, the fleet that protects the kingdom’s seas. It guards merchant ships and fights pirates. Oh, the Black Fleet is a nickname for the kingdom’s navy.”

A subtle sense of pride resonated in his voice.
She remembered reading a news article about Windsor’s warship rescuing a captured merchant vessel from pirates. The interviews with the rescued sailors had turned his name into a legend, alongside the stories of his illegitimate birth.
That was when the pirates started calling him the “Devil of the Black Fleet.” A devil showed no mercy, offered no quarter.

Does Benjamin admire his uncle? Jacqueline looked at the boy thoughtfully, then added casually, “It’s a magnificent warship. If that ship had been there when my father’s merchant vessel was shipwrecked, everyone might have survived.”
“!” Benjamin’s eyes widened, his light brown irises trembling. Jacqueline realized belatedly that her words had struck a nerve.
“It’s alright. It’s all in the past.”

It’s alright. The words were meant to comfort him, but they were also a mantra for herself.
Jacqueline always had to be alright. When she heard the news of her father’s ship sinking, when the creditors came knocking… She had a mother weakened by anxiety and reporters watching her every move.
She had to be alright. Here, in the world of high society, someone’s misfortune was just another piece of gossip.

She couldn’t afford to crumble. She had to maintain a brave face, pretend that everything was fine. And she thought she had done a pretty good job of it.
But now, looking at the small boy before her, she saw a reflection of herself. Perhaps Benjamin was also clinging to the words “it’s alright” to cope with the loss of his parents. Such grief wasn’t easily overcome.
“My dream is to have a small house in my name. A place where I can live with my mother. What do you think? Isn’t it lovely?” She added a few blue flowers to the front yard of her little cottage and finally set down her brush. Her confident gaze turned to Benjamin.

The boy, who had been listening intently, looked increasingly bewildered. His eyes darted back and forth before settling on the floor.
He hesitated, then slowly nodded. “…Yes.”
It was a lie, clearly not the first in his young life. But Jacqueline felt no guilt. She smiled brightly and added a cloud above the roof of her cottage. A fluffy, purple cloud. Benjamin, looking at the cloud, finally spoke.

“The cloud is magnificent.”
“Cloud? Oh, this? This is an apple tree. It’s not apple season yet, but doesn’t it look just like an apple tree?”
“…” Benjamin turned away and dipped a new brush in green paint. He returned to his own artwork, his small hand moving with surprising skill. With each stroke, trains appeared and carriages traversed the streets. Anyone else might have judged his technique superior to Jacqueline’s.

Then, her gentle voice broke the silence. “The most important thing in Fauvism is to express your individuality. It’s about going beyond the realistic depiction of trains and carriages and incorporating your imagination. Like a train with wings, or a carriage pulled by a dragon.”
“…”
“Benjamin, with a little effort, you could paint as wonderfully as I do. Of course, compared to your peers, you’re already quite talented. So there’s no need to feel discouraged. It’s just that I’m exceptionally gifted. I’ve always had a vivid imagination.”

Benjamin, though he had much to say, remained silent, remembering the Preston family motto: Silence is golden.
Instead, his brush spoke for him, his hand moving with a newfound fluency.

* * *
 
The Preston carriage stood proudly on the grand avenue.

Roman Miller, Windsor’s aide, held the carriage door open with one hand, the other resting behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. He looked more like a soldier than a civilian aide.
Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. He had served in the navy before becoming Windsor’s aide.
Windsor emerged from the building and stepped into the carriage. Roman sat opposite him and closed the door. The carriage started moving.

Roman, who had been standing at attention, relaxed with a soft whistle, his stiff expression melting away. “Isn’t that car behind us from the Greenwood estate? What business does Lord Walter Greenwood have with you? You don’t usually associate with him.” His curious questions tumbled out in rapid succession.
Windsor remained silent. Roman frowned, watching the car pull ahead. “Everyone who’s anyone is driving a car these days. Why do you still insist on this antiquated carriage? Especially when you can clearly afford a car.”
“Cars are still unreliable. Didn’t you read the article about the car that stalled on the railway tracks and was hit by a train just a few days ago?”

“That was because the driver was drunk and tried to cross the tracks recklessly. Besides, there are just as many carriage accidents as car accidents.”
“But carriage accidents are predictable. I’m not willing to entrust my safety to an unreliable machine.”
Roman leaned back against the seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I never took you for a safety-conscious man. And yet, you’re always the first one into battle, leaving your men behind.”

“The circumstances are different.”
“How so?”