Chapter : 11
For a moment, Madam Ritz’s face hardened. She wore an expression full of wariness, like a cat whose territory had been invaded.
Occasionally, such situations arose—when a noble-born governess, newly hired into a household, attempted to seize real authority within the manor.
Generally, governesses were nobility themselves, whereas housekeepers were merely commoners. Thus, subtle power struggles often unfolded between them.
It was an unremarkable tug-of-war for influence, common in any noble estate.
Madam Ritz tensed her eyes fiercely. It had only been two years since she’d become housekeeper. She couldn’t afford to be overshadowed by a governess so soon.
How would Mrs. Norwood have handled this situation?
Mrs. Norwood, who had served as the Prestons’ housekeeper for decades, had retired the year Jeffrey Preston passed away.
Madam Ritz had been chosen as her successor. Though Mrs. Norwood had told her, “There’s no one more suited than you, Ritz,” she’d always doubted her own capabilities.
She lacked confidence that she could perform as well as Mrs. Norwood. Sometimes, the role of housekeeper felt overwhelming.
Yet, she couldn’t show it. That burden was hers alone to bear.
Madam Ritz wanted to execute her duties flawlessly and become a housekeeper whom the maids trusted and followed, just as they had with Mrs. Norwood.
Therefore, she absolutely couldn’t afford to yield to Jacqueline here—especially not while the maids were watching.
Resolved firmly, she tightened her lips. Jacqueline, after briefly widening her eyes in surprise, seemed to instantly grasp Madam Ritz’s inner thoughts and spoke amiably.
“Countess Bernstein has a chrysanthemum allergy.”
“!”
“A few years ago, at a banquet hosted by Lord Hanson, she inhaled pollen from chrysanthemums arranged in the hall and fainted right then and there. Ever since, it’s become an unspoken rule not to decorate with chrysanthemums at any event attended by Countess Bernstein. I just checked the guest list, and both Count and Countess Bernstein are attending. Since cornflowers are chrysanthemums too, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious, Madam.”
“…Is that so?”
Madam Ritz quietly echoed, as though hearing this for the first time. Then, seemingly embarrassed by her own overly sensitive reaction, she lowered her eyes belatedly.
Jacqueline had no intention whatsoever of challenging her. Her life was already difficult enough without making Madam Ritz an enemy too.
“I heard she hadn’t been well and stayed at her estate for a while, but it seems she’s returned to the capital now. It’ll be good to see her again after so long.”
With that, Jacqueline resumed climbing the stairs. Madam Ritz watched her retreating back in silence.
If Countess Bernstein were to faint at the Prestons’ banquet—especially due to her own negligence—nothing could be more disastrous.
Madam Ritz quietly clenched her fist. She was as strict with herself as she was with others. At times, the guilt might become so unbearable she’d consider leaving Preston Manor altogether.
“…Thank you for the advice, Miss Jacqueline.”
Madam Ritz gave a slight bow toward her. Jacqueline halted, turned around, and looked down at Madam Ritz from a distance above.
She’d addressed her not as “Miss Somerset,” but as “Miss Jacqueline.” The implication was clear: the distance between them had narrowed by one step.
Jacqueline soon softened her eyes into a gentle smile.
“Not at all, Madam Ritz. You can call me Jackie.”
She playfully waved the spectacles in her hand and continued up the stairs. Suddenly, she recalled William’s remark that Lord Preston disliked banquets.
That was quite a well-known anecdote. Indeed, many rumors circulated about Windsor.
That he’d never danced with a woman at a ball. That he never attended social gatherings. Most rumors centered on his arrogant disposition.
In a sense, he was the most talked-about figure in high society—thanks to his striking looks, unusual background, and haughty demeanor. He naturally drew people’s attention,
whether he wanted to or not.
“He didn’t seem that arrogant to me.”
Jacqueline tilted her head quizzically, genuinely perplexed. The Windsor she’d met was aloof and dull, perhaps, but neither arrogant nor rude.
On the contrary, he struck her as exceptionally rational and level-headed. Concluding there must be some misunderstanding, Jacqueline knocked on the study door.
“It’s Somerset, Lord Preston.”
“Come in.”
Jacqueline entered the study, which always felt rigid no matter when she visited. Windsor cast her a glance, as if asking what she wanted.
She walked straight to his desk and set down the spectacles she’d been holding.
“You left them in the drawing room. Since it’s working hours, I thought you might need them.”
One of Windsor’s eyebrows arched slightly upward. Frowning faintly, he muttered, “You could’ve just sent a maid.”
“I happened to be heading upstairs anyway.”
“My thanks for Miss Somerset’s kindness.”
“Not at all.”
Truthfully, Jacqueline had been quite surprised he’d forgotten them. Someone so precise in everything seemed unlikely to misplace anything.
Even Lord Preston has his lapses.
Unaware, she let a softened smile appear on her lips. Then, catching sight of the stacks of documents piled on his desk, she shook her head.
“Well then, I’ll leave you to your work.”
After leaving the study, Jacqueline headed straight for the child’s room. She knocked lightly, opened the door, and asked warmly,
“How about a walk together, Benjamin?”
The boy looked up from his book and gave her a suspicious glance. His contemplative eyes seemed to recall all the times he’d been scolded by his uncle after spending time with Jacqueline.
His legs swung slowly, lost in thought. Jacqueline’s voice turned as sweet as chocolate.
“The weather is wonderfully clear today, and the breeze feels refreshing. You’re sure to feel better. How about some lemonade after our walk?”
The boy’s cheeks flushed slightly. No matter how much he loved reading, he was still at an age where running about brought more joy.
Yet, unusually mature for his age, he didn’t act impulsively. Jacqueline pretended to puff herself up importantly and added,
“Did you know that famous philosophers often took walks as a pastime? Walking isn’t just about moving your feet—it’s time to confront your inner self, to reflect deeply on life and your own being. It’s very important.”
Convinced by her convincing words, Benjamin finally put down his book and stood up. Jacqueline turned away proudly, thinking, “No matter how mature you act, you’re still only six.”
Soon, the two strolled side by side through the well-tended garden. Somewhere nearby, early cicadas began to chirp. Jacqueline’s expression relaxed.
“It really seems summer is coming—cicadas are already out.”
“Yes.”
Benjamin wasn’t a talkative child. Jacqueline nodded, thinking perhaps silence truly was the Preston family tradition, recalling the equally taciturn Windsor.
Still, it was fine. Fortunately, she talked enough for both of them—the balance was just right.
Matching the child’s pace, Jacqueline wandered leisurely through the garden. They walked beneath trees heavy with leaves, taking in the lush greenery.
Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting delicate net-like patterns across her cheeks.
It was peaceful. The gentle breeze, the damp earthy smell, the warm leaves—everything felt calm.
Maaaah-maaaah-maaaah.
The cicadas chirped noisily, yet even that failed to break the tranquility.
Then, Benjamin stopped and stared intently at a cicada clinging to a tree trunk. His brown eyes sparkled with mischievous curiosity—unlike his usual self.
Just like spring bursting to life.
Jacqueline thought she understood what the child was feeling. After all, she too had once been six years old.
Back then, everything in the world felt wondrous, and she never noticed how days passed. She never worried about what she ought to do or who she should become.
She’d transform into a princess several times a day, then a chef, then a knight, then a noblewoman.
A delicious cookie brought her happiness; her parents’ tender hugs made her feel as if she owned the whole world.
Jacqueline leaned toward the boy with a faint smile and whispered,
“Why don’t you try catching it?”
“Huh?”
Benjamin turned to her, startled. His expression mixed embarrassment at being seen through and disbelief that she’d suggest such a thing.
His face, which had flickered with temptation, quickly returned to its usual composed demeanor.
“The heir of the Preston family doesn’t touch cicadas with his hands, Miss Somerset.”
It was as if their roles as teacher and student had reversed.
Jacqueline looked at him silently. Though only six, Benjamin already had far more things he couldn’t do than things he could—and he accepted that as natural.
Once he entered boarding school, he’d face even stricter discipline.
She wanted Benjamin, at least here at home, to feel safe. After all, this was his house.
To Jacqueline, home was both a place to return to and a place she longed to return to. She hoped Preston Manor could be that for him too—
a place filled with happy memories, a sanctuary he’d want to come back to whenever life grew hard.
Narrowing her eyes slightly, Jacqueline whispered conspiratorially, like a devil tempting primal man—but the innocent child failed to notice.
“It’s fine. There’s no one here but me, and I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
As she spoke, Jacqueline mimed zipping her lips shut. Benjamin looked conflicted.
“But…”
“No matter how much the heir to the Preston family you are, you’re still only six. There’s no one here who’d scold you for doing what you want.”
“The future Marquess of Preston doesn’t catch cicadas with his hands.”
Benjamin repeated the same words again, as if shaking off her temptation—but his voice was noticeably quieter than before.
Jacqueline coaxed him with an even sweeter tone.
“Nowhere does it say that. When I was six, I used to go catch ladybugs with the maids because I loved their shiny red shells. And after rain, I’d purposely jump into puddles.”
Of course, her mother had scolded her terribly afterward—but she saw no need to mention that part.
“…Really?”
“Of course. And look—I turned out to be a fine young lady.”
Though now she was more famously known as the “impoverished noblewoman” due to her father’s business failure, she decided not to add that either.
“Will really nobody find out?”
The boy glanced around furtively. Jacqueline immediately spun around and scanned their surroundings with wide, vigilant eyes.
“I’ll keep watch—go ahead and catch it as much as you like.”
After a brief internal struggle, Benjamin finally succumbed to her temptation. To a mere six-year-old, her whisper was simply too sweet to resist.
