Chapter : 41
Windsor’s gaze slowly lowered. Only then did he notice that she was clutching a crumpled letter. Her pale hand was trembling violently.
His eyes rose again. They met hers.
Her shaking gaze looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
No—transparent tears had already begun to swell in her eyes.
And yet, she did not cry.
She lifted her chin, tightening her jaw as she forced herself to endure.
“……”
A sudden thought struck him.
Perhaps she had endured all those countless moments when she was called the “poor young lady” like this—alone.
Like a tightly drawn bowstring, on the verge of snapping.
A woman of marriageable age, just out of boarding school and having debuted in society, had to bear that burden alone.
She had cleared her father’s business debts and supported her mother, who suffered from nervous exhaustion. She ignored the attention of high society and dealt with reporters who swarmed her like insects.
And yet, she had never once shown weakness. Perhaps she had simply grown used to enduring. Or perhaps she had no choice but to become used to it.
Suddenly, Windsor took a step toward her.
But then he stopped and clenched his fist.
At that moment, he felt disgusted with himself for making her utter words about “a governess’s duty.” Self-loathing rose sharply within him.
He could not approach her any further. Instead, he stood frozen like a statue and nodded.
“Where did you say your mother is?”
“Southfield.”
“I will prepare a carriage. I will also arrange the earliest train. So Miss Somerset, return to your room immediately and pack. I will inform you when everything is ready.”
“…Thank you, Lord Preston.”
Jacqueline managed to say it and looked at Windsor intently. He waited for her to say something more, but she said nothing.
She turned and left the office.
Windsor loosened his tie and rang the bell for William.
Southfield
Southfield was an unremarkable rural town. It was a place more people had never heard of than those who had.
Its most famous products were wool and lamb.
So in this countryside town where three trains passed daily, sheep grazing lazily could be seen everywhere.
Whenever she saw them, Jacqueline often wondered how their owners distinguished one sheep from another in a flock that all looked the same.
But today, she had no time for such thoughts.
She had been lucky enough to catch a passing cart and headed straight to her aunt’s house.
Everyone in the area knew Mrs. Brown. Though her husband had not been a nobleman, he had owned a fairly large sheep farm.
After his death, she had sold off the farm and was living comfortably in retirement, but the Brown name still carried weight.
Moreover, the “sister” living in her household was just as famous. The story of a countess reduced to living with her younger sister after her husband’s bankruptcy was known even by the village sheep.
“If I hadn’t happened to pass by, what would you have done? It would’ve taken you at least half an hour on foot from here.”
“Yes, it really was fortunate. Thank you.”
Jacqueline suppressed her urgency and smiled politely as she thanked him. Her backside ached, but she had no time to show it.
The man with the scruffy beard kept glancing at her while driving the hay-filled cart.
And she knew why.
Both sisters had lost their husbands. The villagers called them, behind their backs, the “husband-killing sisters.”
That was only what Jacqueline knew—there were likely many more rumors she had never heard.
“So you’re headed there… you must be Mrs. Brown’s niece.”
“Yes.”
The man said nothing more, but his meaning was clear. Jacqueline stayed silent, staring only at the uneven dirt road.
Wide plains and scattered hills were covered in green grass, dotted with white sheep like cotton.
Normally she might have found it peaceful, but today her mind was too full of worry about her mother.
Before long, the sky began to turn orange. In the countryside, night fell early, and darkness would soon spread. Her impatience grew.
Silence stretched without end.
By the time even the jolting cart and aching seat no longer bothered her, it finally came to a stop.
“We’ve arrived.”
“Thank you. Please send my regards to my aunt.”
Jacqueline jumped down at once and ran forward, carrying her bag.
Across the wide yard stood a familiar brick house, roses climbing along its walls.
She reached the door in a few strides and knocked.
Bang, bang, bang.
Silence.
Her expression stiffened.
Worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind. Her mother lying still, people gathered around the bed.
No… please, no.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Is anyone there?”
She knocked again, raising her voice.
Then a young maid opened the door.
She looked at Jacqueline blankly, then widened her eyes.
“Who—ah! Miss Somerset!”
“Susan, it’s been a while.”
“Wha—please come in quickly! Mrs. Brown! Come here, look who’s here!”
Susan called into the house.
This kind of shouting for the master would have been unthinkable in the rigid Preston household.
But for Jacqueline, it was familiar. She had lived here with her mother for months before going to the capital.
She stepped inside and looked around.
Nothing had changed since she last left.
The brick house had small windows, letting in little sunlight. It was colder inside than outside, but that was normal for this region.
“It’s really you, Jackie?”
Her aunt appeared, startled, arms open wide, and hugged her tightly.
“Oh my goodness, Jackie! How long has it been? Have you been well? Are you sick anywhere?”
“I’ve been fine, Aunt…”
But she stopped mid-sentence.
Something felt wrong.
Only then did she realize—it was because her aunt looked far too relaxed.
Jacqueline slowly pulled back.
“I rushed here after receiving your letter. You said Mother was critically ill.”
“Oh, that…”
Her aunt smiled awkwardly, resting her chin on her hand.
“Your mother insisted so much. You know how she is, Jackie—she gets so worked up. So I did write the letter as she told me… but…”
“…So it was a lie?”
Jacqueline asked sharply, unable to believe it.
The past hours flashed through her mind—rushing here on Windsor’s arranged train, her heart burning with fear for her mother.
“Come inside and we’ll talk.”
A cold voice came from within the house.
Both of them turned.
Her mother stood in the hallway, thin and sharp-eyed.
“Mother.”
Jacqueline called out softly, filled with emotion.
She looked thinner than before.
Even in late spring warmth, she wore a thick shawl. Southfield was clearly not a comfortable place for her.
Dark circles under her eyes suggested she had not been sleeping well.
“Have you been well?”
Jacqueline asked gently as she walked toward her.
Susan quietly left with her bag, smiling at the reunion.
“You think I look well?”
She stopped.
Her mother’s eyes were filled with displeasure.
Her voice was colder than the winter winds of Southfield.
“Really, sister. Why are you being harsh to Jackie the moment she arrives?”
Mrs. Brown frowned at her sister, then pulled Jacqueline gently by the arm.
“Come in, Jackie. You’ve had a long journey. Let’s have some tea and talk. Tell us about the capital.”
“I’m stuck in this miserable countryside, living a hellish life every day, and you look so pleased with yourself, Jackie. You only came after receiving a letter saying I was dying. My own daughter—how can you be so heartless?”
Jacqueline sighed silently.
She was used to her mother’s temper, but familiarity did not lessen the pain.
Her mother’s words struck like knives.
At the same time, guilt pressed down on her shoulders.
Maybe she had been enjoying life in the capital more than she realized.
Without her hysterical mother nearby, she had felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted.
Am I really such a heartless daughter?
She smiled bitterly and walked on.
They moved into the living room.
Mrs. Brown defended her niece again.
“If it were me, I wouldn’t want to come back either. Who would want to return when all they hear is criticism?”
Her mother glared at her sister.
“You make it sound like Jackie is the only one who works. Don’t exaggerate something everyone does.”
“……”
Jacqueline suddenly stopped.
She couldn’t breathe properly.
Only then did she realize—this was how she always felt when talking to her mother.
She had forgotten that feeling.
For a moment, she even missed the rigid, disciplined Preston household.
At least there, no one made it hard for her to breathe.
“Mother is just ill, Jacqueline. Don’t take it to heart. Don’t get angry. You just have to endure.”