THE SNOW HIT THE GLASS PANES like stones, but instead, their wrath was more gentle and nudging. Jessie peered out. The sun was going down. It was still not quite there yet, but it was on its way. The sky had already started turning black, a diffusion of color so intense that stars had to scurry to take their places. Jessie Churchill didn't really see them scurry, though she would've liked to. Who could ever imagine the stars would be in a hurry? 

She didn't realize she had been reaching out to touch the cold glass of the window in her room, or really, Lady Aramina Embry's room in Wycombe. Her silk gloved fingers hovered with their touch, not quite touching the glass. Candles were burning in her room, and she had a feeling neither Lady Beresford who orchestrated the plot Jessie was in at present, nor Lady Seymour who knew nothing whatsoever of the same plot, would not approve of her loitering at the window— her sight obliged to the guests from outside before they even came in. 

It was Christmas eve, and a battalion of family guests were expected at Wycombe. Jessie had, upon making as delicate inquires as she could under her new guise, found at that such was not in the norm, a custom for Wycombe. Guests were received on Christmas day, and the day after for belated celebrations. Christmas eve was meant to be or intimate family only, but , this year due to the presence of Lady Embry, exceptions had been made. 

Presence, Jessie thought. What a false word. She shut her eyes tight and sent silent prayers to the real Lady Embry. The honest heiress torn away from her family and loved ones during such a time as this. While the streets of Southampton were alive with warm carols and tales of the spirits of Christmas past, present and future knocking one's doors after midnight, milk and baked biscuits being left near trees decorated with tinsel and sparling glass ornaments with a spinning fairy ceramic on top— Lady Aramina Embry was in captivity, with her life at stake, and Jessie Churchill was here, pretending. 

It felt wrong. But hadn't Oscar Seymour convinced her that it was the right thing to do? He had, but was she truly convinced? Would the real heiress approve? The latter question plummeted into her heart whenever she thought of it. If she could open her heart up on a platter and show her true intentions to a raging Lady Embry upon her rescue, Jessie would. 

Jessie's thoughts then drifted onto her father, content as he seemingly was with her presence with Oscar Seymour. Only, he wasn't aware of the entirety of that truth. She hadn't seen Oscar in days. She had wanted to, but Lady Beresford had kept her occupied. He had been occupied as well, rushing about Southampton trying to find the hiding place of that criminal. Now, he was in Portsmouth with Lord Beresford. 

A hollow feeling twisted in her heart, like blood had long abandoned her veins and cold air had filled up the empty space.  

Portsmouth. She had been used to hating a part of it. Jessie's aunt lived there, and on the few occasions Jessie had been sent to visit, she had hated the place. Her aunt lived in the city side, the hustle and bustle of working life spilled into her small house in between the window slits and door gaps. Jessie heard it for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. She tasted the bitterness of it in the tea her aunt made. But it seemed to her now that there was more to Portsmouth than she had ever seen and that life was truly there somehow. 

Her friends, Lady Diana Buxton and Lady Alicia Kirkpatrick inhabited stunning country side estates there, with their husbands. In the lively letters Jessie received from them, it sounded like heaven. Maybe it doesn't do to see a glimpse of something and form an opinion. First impressions. Those things deceived her. Maybe Oscar Seymour would stay there, his mother wouldn't mind. Maybe he'll like what he saw and stay there, and Jessie would never see him again. 

She shook her head, forcefully ridding herself of the thoughts. How is it so hard to convince yourself of something that is fairly obvious? It was fairly obvious that Lord Oscar Seymour would prefer to take a chance jumping off a cliff than talk to her. When he did talk, he was reserved and cold. Why could her mind or heart not understand? What was this ever growing care in her heart that listened to no reason? 

This Christmas eve felt hollow. Like an embellished and colourful gift bow— the one that was empty inside. If Oscar Seymour was here, she could've braved through the night with some will. For as much as he couldn't stand her, his face was a familiar comforting face. It had been there in her sight for as long as she could remember. But these people? Wycombe did not know her. Wycombe knew only the heiress she was pretending to be. 

"Dear, are you decent?" A voice called from outside her— Lady Aramina Embry's— chambers. Jessie pulled herself together, put on a brave face, an easy new smile she had practiced like one would practice ballet positions. 

The voice belonged to Lady Acacia Beresford, and considering the amount of lessons Jessie had acquired from her these past three days, she could recognize the voice anywhere. 

"Yes," Jessie managed, walking away from the window and facing the door. She ran her cream gloved hands down her bodice, straightening her skirts. The door pulled open then, to reveal Lady Beresford's plump form, sparkling in her jewellery and embellished attire. 

"Goodness," She exclaimed, almond eyes wide in surprise. "You look beautiful, Jessie." 

Jessie blinked, lips parting in shock. She held her breath then, as she stole a glance of herself again in the vanity mirror. Her eyes saw herself, when at first they had seen someone she was not. Is it possible that one might require some assistance from another for that to happen? Is it possible that her own mind was so set against her that she'd need to hold someone's hand to piece herself together? Her eyes suddenly pinched with tears, but she held them quickly and efficiently. Now, that was something she hadn't the need to practice. 

Lady Beresford approached, that whimsical surprised expression stills swirling in her features as she eyed and touched the skirts of Jessie's lilac gown, flaring the layers of it out more. 

"Just like Aramina would've looked," The lady of the house added under her breath, pulled again into the frequent quiet conversations she would steal with herself and the absent Lady Embry. Jessie would pretend not to listen, not to pry. 

These words, she heard. So she stilled them out of her head, though her rebelling mind caught onto the idea of them, refusing to let go no matter how much she tugged. 

"Come now, dear, the guests are arriving," Lady Acacia Beresford spoke, her voice suddenly stuffy and Jessie knew the lady would excuse herself if Jessie's startling decoy presence got much to bear, and then, she would overhear the lady of the house silently sob into a handkerchief on the terrace sprouting from her chambers. 

༺♥༻

The dining hall was bursting with light. The giant fireplace to the left crackled and hissed, flares of fire dancing to Tchaikovsky's The Waltz of the Flowers that was being gallantly played by the violinists arranged by Lady Beresford. The table was adorned with dishes of food uncountable, the nature of those dishes so exotic, it was unimaginable. Turkey, lamb, desserts, stews, tiers of pies, a dozen meat pastries, drinks that were frothing with whipped cream. If Jessie Churchill closed her eyes, she could imagine she had stepped into Hoffmann's The Nutcracker. 

Guests had started arriving, their presences adding heat to the already boisterous environment. Jessie followed Lady Beresford around, making sure to always stay at her side and curtseying when she was introduced to someone. So far, there hadn't been anyone Lady Embry would have already known. These guests were Lady Beresford's, friends of her husband's. 

Lady Beresford showed the coming guests to their places at the giant dining table, their spots marked with scented cards lying beside their plates, with names woven on them in cursive. There was not a card for the name Jessie Churchill. And Jessie had almost mentioned it to the hostess. There's been a mistake, Lady Beresford, there's no card with my name, she would have foolishly said. 

Lady Aramina Embry's seating spot was beside Lady Beresford's, and Jessie patiently waited for her cue from the hostess to seat herself. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Embry," A voice spoke up behind her, and Jessie spun slowly on her heels to face the person. It was a lady, dressed in exquisite fabrics, hair the colour of corn, much like Lady Beresford's, but not quite. 

Jessie realized quickly that the lady had just been introduced to her by Lady Acacia Beresford, she was a cousin of hers, twice removed or something along that line. 

"I've heard so much about you," The lady went on, "You are quite the celebrity." 

"You will be charming, amused, but detached," Oscar Seymour's words floated into her head, and she fought the urge to smile. 

"It would appear so," Jessie managed with a polite smile. The lady flashed her teeth, catching the subtle humour, and going on to continue the conversation. Something about Christmas eve parties she had attended before. 

Jessie eyes caught onto a new guest. Lady Acacia Beresford had hurried to receive the person. A big lady draped in animal fur wraps on the shoulder and around her neck, her fitting brown dress embossed with golden embroidery. The lady of the house greeted the lady, kissing both her cheeks and frantically motioning for a footman to receive a cardigan the guest had taken off. With a start, Jessie realized that the lady was The Lady Beresford. 

Instantly, her hand daintily reached to touch her hair. Was it in place? did it appear like Lady Aramina Embry's? What if it didn't? What if The Lady Beresford was too intelligent to be played for a fool like this? For if Jessie was an aunt herself with a niece she adored, she would have to be admittedly crazy to mistake someone else for her niece. Suddenly, the heaviness of it all downed on her and she second guessed herself like she had never before. As a result, her hands shook and her heart pounded inside her chest, and she was afraid someone might notice and call her out on it like the imposter she was. 

"Of course, dear mother," Lady Acacia Beresford's voice drifted into Jessie's ears then amidst the chaos of the racket her heart was making. "Aramina is right here." 

With a tight smile forcefully pinned on her face, Jessie spun to face her supposed aunt. 

The Lady Beresford was quite prim and elderly up close. Her facial features were carved tight onto her face as though she were a cream bust adorning someone's dining hall. Her skin was fair, wrinkled at some bends that only accentuated her authorotive aura. With eyes resembling the colour of the sky right before a storm, hair the colour of platinum piled in a do atop her head with a giant feather sticking out, and lips thinly placed as if prepared to utter precisely what was thought, Jessie found her aunt intimidating and she was terrified. 

The lady gazed at her, her shorter height made those grey irises become all the more intense. 

"Aramina," She spoke at last, the single word spoken thick with disdain and.. reproach? Jessie's heart plummeted. This was it then, she had been found out. Had it been the hair? or the way her bottom lip was quivering madly at present? 

Lady Acacia Beresford stirred, and Jessie could that the same fears plagued her too. 

"Dear mother, why don't you take a seat?" The hostess hastily interrupted, glancing briefly at Jessie, "You must be exhausted. Come, dinner must begin." 

As she took hold of the elder lady's elbow, it was instinctively yanked back from her.

"Acacia," The Lady Beresford cried out, nay demanded. "Seat yourself if your hunger consumes you so. Let me be with my niece. I shall sit when I want to." 

Lady Acacia looked taken aback slightly, but with a cautious glance at Jessie again, she excused herself. 

Jessie gulped and tried to maintain her composure. She had been called niece. Maybe the ploy worked. Or maybe she should expect to be recognized for the imposter she was once the hostess was out of earshot. She gripped her hands tightly together at the base of her stomach, holding on to herself. 

But as her eyes hesitantly settled back on The Lady Beresford, Jessie found the oddest sight welcoming her. The lady's expression had infinitely softened, her grey irises radiating adoration, the kind Jessie had never been privy to before. But this wasn't for Jessie, it couldn't be. 

"Oh my dear girl," The Lady spoke, tone thinner and calmer than it had been before. "How my heart has longed to see you. Your letters spoke much but they mean nothing for me if I can't lay my eyes on you in person." 

Letters? Jessie wondered, maybe Lady Acacia had been writing to her mother-in-law posing as Aramina. 

"How have you been, my darling?" The lady reached for Jessie's hands and for a moment, just a moment, Jessie thought of moving them away. What if they didn't feel the same as Lady Aramina's hands? What if it were the hands that give her away? But before she could register these thoughts, thick warm hands enveloped Jessie's scared cold ones in a tight grip that felt like all the love that Jessie had only read about in books where daughters had mothers who adored them. 

"Oh, I am all anger at Jack for keeping you to himself when he knows I need your company more. I must insist on taking you from Wycombe, my dear, you must accompany me back to Rosenfield Abbey. I have invited The Viscount Graham over for a few days as my guest and I want you to be there too," The Lady spoke, her voice changing at the mention of The Viscount. Perhaps this Viscount means something to the real Lady Aramina Embry. "I know how fond you are of him. I'm sure you've had enough of Southampton society, now you must come to Bakewell." 

Jessie managed a smile, her eyes peering into her aunt's. She no longer felt afraid, intimidated. Perhaps that effect was reserved for everyone else who was not this Lady's niece. The fact alone felt heart warming. 

The Lady Beresford's smile weakened slightly, a look of confusion on her face then. Jessie realized she was meant to say something in response and hadn't. 

"Say something, my dear. Tell your Auntie that you will come with her. I must have you by my side now. You are as much my daughter as you were your dear father's. After him, I have believed you my responsibility, and I owe my brother that." 

Jessie didn't know what to say. But for a moment she pondered what it would be like. To forget herself entirely and become Lady Aramina. To leave Southampton behind forever, to live in Bakewell, a part of England she's never been to, somewhere that holds perhaps more promises than Portsmouth. To live in an an estate she can call home, to be acquaintances, or perhaps more than that, with a Viscount.

But Oscar won't be there, a voice in her head whispered to her, and unbeknownst to her, a slight crack appeared in her heart as though she had handled it quite carelessly like a piece of cutlery that slipped from her hands and clashed against a plate on the table. 

"Nothing would make me happier, auntie," Jessie managed, not a tremor in her voice. For it was the truth, despite being spoken in a lie. 

Lady Beresford burst into a smile that seemed to light a corner of Jessie's heart. Was it the corner she had stolen from Lady Aramina's identity? Or was it her own? blossoming with a new kind of affection she'd never felt before. 

"Oh, darling," Came the response, flush with adoration. "Let me look at you dear— ah, where is my lorgnette?" The Lady glanced at her sides searching for a lorgnette tucked into the cardigan she had already taken off at the door and was now in the possession of maids and footmen, only to be retrieved at the end of the festivities for the day. 

"Come auntie, let us sit," Jessie quickly spoke, gently and hesitatingly taking the Lady Beresford's elbow. It was given to her gladly, and Jessie fought to maintain the smooth smile on her face that threatened to be overtook by a rush of heartfelt surprise. 

She felt Lady Acacia's eyes on them from where the hostess sat at the head of the table, but Jessie didn't want to decipher the look on her face, because somehow she felt more at home with Lady Aramina's aunt by her side than the hostess she'd spent a number of days by now with. 

Jessie helped Lady Beresford to her seat where a card with the lady's name in cursive stood adorned in a napkin shaped like a rose. A jolt of happiness took her when she realized that her card— or rather the one with Lady Aramina's name, was right beside Lady Beresford. 

Jessie seated herself next, and found herself witness to a boisterous dinner conversation punctuated with laughs and cheers and observations she couldn't help but agree with. As she delicately filled her plate with various dishes the footmen brought around, she caught The Lady Beresford's stray glances at her side laced with admiration and pleasure, and for the first time, she felt the flicker of envy for Lady Aramina Embry's life.