Lord Preston's Secret Governess

Chapter 7: Practical Application, Miss Somerset?

 
Roman leaned forward, his curiosity evident. The closer he got, the deeper the crease between Windsor’s brows became.
“If I die, Benjamin loses his last protector.”

“Aha. And the Preston estate falls into the hands of the royal family.” Roman nodded in understanding, then leaned back, a grimace twisting his features. “I don’t understand the complexities of the aristocracy. If someone’s an enemy, you just… eliminate them. But everyone’s all smiles and pleasantries, so it’s impossible to tell who’s a friend and who’s a foe. Don’t you agree?”
It was a typically blunt complaint from Roman. Accustomed to the straightforward nature of naval battles, the subtle machinations of the aristocracy were clearly frustrating him.
Windsor, however, didn’t respond. He simply held out his hand. Roman, shaking his head, placed a stack of papers into it.

Sitting ramrod straight despite the swaying carriage, Windsor lowered his gaze to the documents.
“I’ve investigated Jacqueline Somerset,” Roman explained. “So far, there appears to be no contact with the royal family. They’re likely still assessing the situation.” His tone, which had been lighthearted a moment ago, turned serious.
“She graduated from the Bristol Boarding School for Young Ladies with excellent grades and has a good reputation. Although she didn’t make her societal debut due to her father’s financial ruin, she’s clearly a well-educated and cultured young lady. She appears to be adequately qualified as a governess.”

Roman Miller had served directly under Windsor in the navy. He was the only person Windsor had brought with him to Preston Manor.
Though he sometimes seemed too casual for a military man, Roman was someone Windsor could trust implicitly in a crisis. If it weren’t for his flippant personality, he would be the perfect subordinate.
“It’s hard to believe an entire earldom could collapse so quickly. Life is full of surprises. She was once a prominent young lady, and now she’s a governess. Isn’t it strange?” Roman looked at Windsor, seeking agreement.

Windsor remained silent. Used to his superior’s taciturn nature, Roman smoothly changed the subject. “I’ll keep a close eye on Miss Somerset. His Majesty will likely contact her directly soon enough.”
“The question is how long she’ll last this time. I hope Benjamin’s education won’t be disrupted for too long.”
“A month or two at most? No governess has ever refused His Majesty’s offer. No matter how impressive their credentials, they all crumble at the King’s command. Is she the twelfth or thirteenth?”

The carriage slowed to a stop. Roman stepped out and held the door open, his other hand behind his back, resuming his formal demeanor.
Windsor, noticing the transformation, gave him an amused glance. He unfolded his long legs and stepped out of the carriage.
“The ninth governess even tried to kidnap Master Benjamin,” Roman added as Windsor buttoned his jacket.

Windsor frowned slightly, as if annoyed by Roman’s continued chatter. He strode towards the manor, where William was waiting at the entrance.
“Welcome back, my lord. It’s good to see you again, Mr. Miller.”
Roman, glancing around with exaggerated movements, greeted the butler casually. “How have you been, William? It’s always so quiet here. Like a tomb…”
“Aaaaaaah!” A piercing scream cut him off, shattering the tranquility of the manor.

“…” Roman and Windsor exchanged glances. William, startled, turned around with a bewildered expression. “Master Benjamin is on the second floor…”
“What?!” Roman’s eyes widened. Windsor frowned. Both men recalled the same incident: the ninth governess, acting on the King’s orders, attempting to kidnap Benjamin.
In the next instant, both men sprang into action. It was unseemly for a nobleman to run, but no one dared to reprimand Windsor.

By the time they reached the staircase, Roman was ahead, but by the time they reached the second floor, Windsor had overtaken him.
Still a monster, I see. Roman, watching Windsor disappear down the hallway, shook his head in amazement. Even after years of leaving the navy, his superior’s physical prowess hadn’t diminished.
Windsor headed straight for Benjamin’s room. As he rounded the corner, he saw a maid huddled on the floor, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with horror as she stared into the room. A tea tray lay overturned at her feet.

Damn it. Windsor swallowed a curse, a habit he had once indulged in freely but had suppressed since becoming the Marquess of Preston.
Jacqueline’s face flashed through his mind, her emerald eyes fixed on him.
I was told she hadn’t contacted the King yet. He had been careless. He hadn’t expected this to happen so soon. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he strode down the hallway.

“Out of my way!” He vaulted over the maid and into the room.
“…” He stopped dead in his tracks. Two pairs of eyes, one emerald green, the other a clear hazel brown, stared back at him.
He blinked.

“My lord, what happened…?” Roman arrived a moment later, pushing past the maid. He, too, fell silent, mirroring Windsor’s stunned expression.
“Uncle.” Benjamin, who had been sitting on the floor, slowly got to his feet. A look of embarrassment flickered across his face as the reality of the situation sank in.
He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, his small hands clenching his trousers.

Jacqueline also rose, stepping forward protectively in front of Benjamin, facing Windsor.
Windsor’s gaze, slow and deliberate, moved past the boy and settled on her.
“What in the…?” Roman, finally comprehending the scene before him, stared with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

Windsor met Jacqueline’s unwavering gaze. Her emerald eyes hadn’t lost their sparkle.
His gaze shifted to the wall, now covered in a riot of colors.
He massaged his temples, then straightened and spoke. “What is the meaning of this, Miss Somerset? If I recall correctly, this morning’s lesson was a discussion on new art movements. Is my memory faulty?”

“No, Lord Preston. Your memory is perfectly accurate. Quite impressive, in fact.” Jacqueline straightened her back and lifted her chin slightly, her voice brimming with confidence.
“The kingdom’s art has progressed from Realism and Impressionism to the present-day Fauvism. While there are smaller sub-movements within those, these three are the main currents. I thought it would be more effective to show Benjamin a practical example rather than simply explaining it with words. So we conducted a practical exercise.”
“A practical exercise, Miss Somerset?” Windsor’s voice seemed to drop an octave, resonating with a chilling undertone.

“Yes, Lord Preston. As you know, practical application is a crucial part of the learning process. Just as it’s more helpful to actually ride a horse than to simply hear an explanation of how to do it, the same applies to art. I believed it would be more beneficial for Benjamin to experience Fauvist techniques firsthand rather than simply hearing me describe them. Practical application is highly emphasized at boarding schools.”
“And this practical application involves painting on the walls instead of a canvas?”
Jacqueline glanced back at the wall, now adorned with a colorful mural. A smile played on her lips. “Doesn’t it look much more like a child’s room now?”

“Miss Somerset.” At the same time, Benjamin flinched, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Lord Preston,” Jacqueline interrupted, “perhaps we should discuss this privately. Conversations between a guardian and an educator aren’t suitable for a child’s ears.”
Windsor’s brow furrowed at her audacious suggestion. Jacqueline, still smiling, glanced at Benjamin.

Only then did Windsor notice the boy standing behind her. Benjamin’s shoulders slumped further under his uncle’s scrutiny, his lips pressed so tightly together they were almost bloodless.
Understanding her meaning, Windsor took a deep breath and turned. “Very well. Come to my study in thirty minutes, Miss Somerset.”
“Thirty minutes? Not now?” Jacqueline blinked, her expression bewildered.

Without turning around, Windsor replied, “Judging by the state of your paint-splattered dress, I doubt you’re in a frame of mind for a rational discussion. I suggest you change into something more suitable.”
“Certainly, Lord Preston.”
Windsor left the room without another word. The maid, finally recovering from her shock, began frantically gathering the broken teacups.

Mrs. Ritz, who had arrived with a group of servants, dispersed them and scolded the maid who had screamed. “Screaming over something like this! How many times have I told you that a servant of Preston Manor must remain composed under any circumstances?!”
“I apologize, Mrs. Ritz.”
Roman, after a final glance around the room, followed Windsor, murmuring softly, “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“…”
“She had such a good reputation with both teachers and students. I wonder what happened in the past three years? Did the collapse of her family change her? Perhaps she’s decided to throw caution to the wind, now that she has nothing left to lose?”
Windsor shot him a cold look, and Roman wisely fell silent, wary of incurring his wrath.

The brief silence was broken as they reached the study. Roman, standing before the desk, spoke in a serious tone. “An invitation has arrived from the royal family.”
Windsor’s expression hardened, his eyes turning as cold and calculating as a soldier on the eve of battle.
Roman respected his superior. He had served under many commanders, but he had never met anyone as rational and decisive as Windsor.

Even when their patrol ship encountered a merchant vessel surrounded by ten pirate ships, Windsor hadn’t lost his composure. His terrified crew had urged him to wait for reinforcements, but Windsor had led the charge, issuing commands from the front lines.
The sight of a single warship systematically dismantling ten pirate ships was like something out of hell. Theoretically, it should have been impossible.