LADY MARAGRET SEYMOUR PURSED her lips tightly as she took a seat in the pew beside her eldest son, Adam Seymour, who, in stark contrast— bore an expression of the utmost amusement on his round features.

"For goodness' sake, Adam," The Lady chastised. "Wipe that grin off your face."

Lord Adam Seymour shrugged.

"And why must I do that?" He grinned some more, "My younger brother is getting married to the woman you have never approved of. I mean, you tried to saddle her off with Victor Colston of all middle aged widowers! And by god, Oscar used to avoid her like the plague on every Sunday at church. So forgive me, mother, if I find this situation amusing."

Lady Margaret Seymour's jaw slackened, as she fought for a reprieve. But none came so she turned her face away and bit her lip.

People walked into the church, their dresses rustling against the hardwood floor, their voices a mixture of happy declarations and hushed greetings.

Lady Margaret Seymour turned her head back, just in time to watch two of her sisters slide into the pew behind her.

"Goodness, Margaret," Lady Hyacinth Kirkpatrick mused, revelling much in her elder sister's disdain. "Quite a morning for a wedding is it not?"

"Quite a wedding for it too," Lady Ruth Beaumont winked, sitting and touching her bonnet with a careful gloved hand.

Lady Margaret huffed, not trusting herself to say anything, before turning away from her sisters to glance at her son who had quickly become the very source of her displeasure.

Lord Oscar Seymour stood beside the rector of their small parish of Southampton. He was polished to perfection. His smile etched onto him, and his physique radiating all sorts of confidence and manner of happiness that puzzled his mother immensely.

She had tried to wreck her brain so many times, every manner of self interrogation had failed.

How had this happened?

It wasn't until the fall tea party at Lady Beckley's that Lady Seymour had realized that the question she sought the answer to so desperately was not just on her lips. The poor Lady had sat through the tea party tossing and turning, sipping heavenly tea that made her feel quite the opposite.

And now, fighting against her youngest son's ridiculous inclinations and trying to get him to change his mind, Lady Margaret had gotten herself place at the front pew— in full view of the rector's toothy grin that she had promised herself to ignore.

"Oh god," The Lady Seymour murmered, wishing once more, for the almighty to do something. Anything.

"Where are Rebecca and her husband?" She asked her oldest son, nudging him with her elbow.

"At the back," Adam shrugged, his eyes darting back and forth from his younger brother to the rector.

Lady Margaret turned and indeed found the heads of her daughter and son-in-law in one of the back pews over what seemed like dozens of heads full of features and top hats.

"Is the entire parish here?" She shrieked quietly at Adam, her voice a furious whisper. "Why are they all here?"

"Mother," Adam turned to look at his shaking parent, "Nobody wants to miss this."

"And I mean," He shrugged letting out a laugh, "Nobody deserves to miss this."

Lady Margaret's hands fisted, the need for violence on her son tempting, excruciatingly desirable. She turned her head away from him, glancing back once more to look at the entering guests.

She spotted the figure of Lady Aramina Embry— an heiress and Lord Beresford's cousin. Lady Margaret remembered that jolt of excitement when Oscar had been narrating his acquaintance with the wealthy heiress a month ago.

It had been about dinners at Wycombe, hunting, tea parties, new year celebrations, and then some more tea parties— so naturally Lady Margaret Seymour had waited with bated breath for the juicy part she so believed was coming.

But then, her son had went and ended that narration with his desire to marry Jessie Churchill, and that jolt inside his mother? Oh, it had shrivelled and died like a rat in boiling soup.

The heiress clung onto the arm of a man, tall, dark, as she slid happily into a pew after him.

Lady Margaret remembered that Lady Embry had recently married, a few days ago in fact. Oscar had attended the event in Bakewell, so had Jessie Churchill. The newly rich husband, as rumour propelled, hadn't been quite the catch, with no pre-existing money or name of his own.

The Lady Seymour would have, as per her disposition in life, tons to say on the matter, but it wasn't rather urgent on her tongue seeing as her own son was about to commit the same crime.

Suddenly, violins started strumming in the air, the small orchestra gathered right outside the church started playing. Music flowed in through the windows and the doors, and the guests oohed and aahed as the figure of the bride appeared at the door. 

Jessie Churchill looked regal. Her bright hair twisted intricate into a braided do at the crown of her head, and a tulle veil so delicate, streamed down from it. Her gown was silver and white, a cacophony of cream as it glinted against the stolen rays of the sun the windows in the church offered.

Lady Seymour didn't quite realize upon the rector's daughter's return to Southampton, that the lady had changed somehow. Not entirely, not completely, just in places that perhaps were visible when she smiled and when she spoke to her son. That light, that flare in her presence that hadn't been there before.

Lady Margaret gasped as she realized her jaw had come loose. She snapped it shut, turning promptly to look at Oscar. Who, despite his mother's so obvious disdain, had a smile on his face unlike Lady Margaret had ever seen before.

His eyes glinted like dark gems, and they were pinned on Jessie. Lady Margaret Seymour had the crazy urge to do something completely undignified, just to see if her son saw anyone else in the church beside Jessie Churchill.

Giving the bride away, was Lady Diana Buxton, a fact that elicited gasps of surprise and wonder throughout the church. Diana wore a lilac gown, her presence complimenting the bride's like two different flowers in a garden as she clutched her friend's elbow.

She was beaming— like she always was, Lady Margaret Seymour thought with a smile. Somehow, her niece's presence made things wildly bearable. If anyone could trust in Oscar's decisions, it was she.

"Oh, Margaret, I hope you approve," Lady Beaumont whispered hurriedly from her back. "Diana insisted on giving the bride away and since the rector has to officiate, I—"

"It is alright, Ruth," Lady Margaret hushed back. "Your daughter's idea is the only thing about this day that I do approve."

"The rest though," The Lady murmured with a sigh. "I suppose I will just have to suck it up."

Adam Seymour raised a brow, pressing his lips tight to hold back his laugh at his mother's undignified comment.

Oscar Seymour took Jessie Churchill's hand, as the violins ceased softly. Lady Diana Buxton gently stepped away, joining her husband in the pews. Then, the rector, teary eyed and shaking— officiated the wedding, with compulsory sniffles after every word he spoke.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Lady Seymour huffed quietly at the rector's emotional meltdown. "Can not he save it for after?"

"Hm," Adam Seymour murmured, "I would agree, but I have never seen a grown man cry like this before."

Lady Margaret's brow scrunched as she felt compelled to turn and look at her oldest son in distaste.

"Adam," The lady began firmly, "I must find you a bride."

"Hm," Her oldest son hummed again, distracted as he gazed at the couple taking their vows. "Will you look at other rectories then?"

Lady Seymour pursed her lips and Adam looked at her, offering her a silent laugh and a wink at the expense of his jest.

༺♥༻

The newly weds poured out of the church, with one last kiss shared in the house of god, they burst through the doors to find their path lined with all their family and friends as they showered petals of roses and lilies on Oscar and Jessie.

Lord Oscar Seymour clung to his top hat, a grin on his face as he grasped his wife's hand, his mind alight with the wonders his life had given to him.

And his wife, Lady Jessie Seymour, held onto his hand tightly, her heart joyful inside her chest.

The sky was brighter then. So so bright. Southampton skies were always stunning, but this particular sky? The one above Jessie's head as she got married to the love of her life? This was the most beautiful of them all. It was not entirely blue, and the clouds seemed a bit heavy. She knew it would rain soon, give or take a few hours. But it was still beautiful, god, it was so beautiful.

She would drench herself in this rain without a care in the world, all the while, holding onto Oscar's warm loving hand.

They approached their newlyweds' carriage. Jessie hadn't still quite gotten used to wheeled carriages after the harsh winter she spent travelling in sledges. But it was summer now. That winter was a memory— a memory both beautiful and terrible in equal parts, but a memory nonetheless.

"Jessie!" A voice called out to her after she separated from the hug that Lady Diana Buxton had clasped her into.

Jessie turned to look at Aramina, also newly wed, and glowing like the north star.

She pulled the heiress into a hug.

"I am so happy for you and Lord Seymour," Aramina hushed into Jessie's ear, emotion thick in her voice.

"And I for you and Philip," Jessie mumbled back, offering Philip a smile behind Aramina as he stood in the distance.

Aramina pulled away, eyes glassy.

"Could you have ever imagined it would turn out this way? For both of us?"

"No," Jessie shook her head, a happy tear cascading down her face. "I could never have."

"Alright," Oscar Seymour's voice pulled the ladies' attention towards him as he wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her to him.
"Making my wife cry at her wedding isn't on the itinerary today, my lady."

Aramina giggled. "I apologize my lord, it was entirely my fault."
She winked at Jessie.

Jessie giggled in return.

And then, when final parting hugs— for the onslaught of the honeymoon of course— were exchanged, with Oscar teasingly winking at his disapproving mother and Diana almost making him tear up, Lord Oscar Seymour helped his wife into the carriage.

The driver pulled on the reins and the horses moved forwards, the carriage swiftly being pulled.

Jessie waved a gloved hand from the vehicle's window. She waved, at Diana, at Aramina, at her father, and at everyone who had come. She vowed silently not to forget anyone who had been part of this happy day for her. It took such whole hearts and kind minds to become witness to someone else's happiness, especially when happy wasn't where one was at in their own life.

She waved them all good byes. She knew she would see them again. She would see Diana and gossip with her about Oscar more freely than she had ever done. Jessie would see Aramina they would spend hours entertaining each other at their houses. She would see Lady Margaret Seymour and be kind to her every disapproval with the hope to win her over someday. And, Jessie would see her father, being proud of her for accomplishing all that he wanted and more— but of course, he would not know what the 'more' entailed.

You see, they were keeping this thing a secret. A story Jessie and Aramina would tell their children in their cots someday. With changed names, but dreadfully similar characters, of course.

~The End~