BAKEWELL WAS MUCH LIKE Southampton in the way that it was quaint and lively. The Christmas spirit was much vibrant in this English town than it had ever been in Southampton, or perhaps it just felt that way to Jessie Churchill, for her holiday in Southampton had been plagued by many a things she could count off on both her hands one by one but they would never weaken their hold on her. 

Their sledge whizzed by on the snowy carpet, through streets and turns and go rounds. A canvas of cream and brown cottages adorned with the signature green and red of the holiday— whether it be through meticulously arranged mistletoes or garlands wreathed by clumsy yet passionate fingers, passed them by. Jessie wondered what it would be like to live in one of these dream perfect houses, with chimneys so alive she could stare at the smoke dancing out of it in a trance all day. They kind of made one forget, she assumed, for their comfort was so simple and alive, that under their spell you only saw and believed in what mattered the most. But they all passed her by, leaving an emptiness in her heart. 

The journey to Bakewell from Southampton had taken them a day, a night that they had spent in an inn crowded with lively music and gentry travelling to be with their loved ones for the holiday. Though Thomas Cranmer's lingering threat clung to her like a scent she would pick up whenever she breathed, Jessie was able to relax in that room at the inn. After all, Cranmer wouldn't know she was there— so for a night, she was hidden and safe. 

It had made Jessie think about how Lady Embry would've lived her life since her father's death. The constant fear of an uncle plaguing her dreams and tainting her days. It made her feel sick to her stomach, and it made her realize that she had never hated someone so truly and passionately for what they had done— or intend to do— than she hated Thomas Cranmer. 

After the night at the inn, they were on the road again, and before long had arrived in Bakewell. The Lady Beresford had fussed over and spoiled Jessie on the entirety of the journey. They had had, even during travel, the finest of meals, made by eager and pleasing hands for during the spirit of Christmas. They had made several stops to luxurious dining places— quaint and small town charms that Jessie wondered at the beauty of. 

It had been the kind of journey she hadn't anticipated, and she was glad for the calm it brought to her. Conversation with Lady Acacia Beresford had been scarce and limited to no more than a sentence a day. After their ordeal at Wycombe, Jessie had no intention of conversing with her. It felt snobbish to admit it inside her head, for who was she to hold grudges with people much above her own station in life? But the sentiment was there anyhow, for hadn't Jessie a heart too? She could understand the place her hostess was coming from when she had accused Jessie of those things, but understanding did not mean the hurt would vanquish. It was still there. 

"Thank goodness," The Lady Beresford spoke suddenly, awakening from her short nap as she peered out of the windows. "We have arrived. I dare say, I thought this journey would never end." 

Lady Acacia straightened herself beside her mother-in-law, eyes flitting over to the image of Rosenfield Abbey arising over the snow covered hills. Her expression was blank, for she had been practically made to come against her will, and she clearly bore Jessie much ill will for that alone. 

"Look dear," The Lady Beresford smiled, her exhausted demeanour changing entirely at the sight of her estate. She glanced at Jessie and gestured to the towering estate now fully in view as the sledge chauffeur charted the vehicle towards the entrance. "Your father used to despise Rosenfield during the winter time when he was a boy, which was much imbecilic of him of course, because look at this beauty!"

Rosenfield Abbey was a cluster of tall cream towers that reminded Jessie of medieval castles. It must date back to the Tudor times, she thought, for the Abbey was grand and mighty. It had a certain softness to it, perhaps it was the cream and the bed of snow it was nestled in— or maybe it was the thriving green vines that outlined almost every window, a stark contrast to the whites. The green of the vines was curled into brown at some points, and even from like ten feet below— because the sledge had been pulled to a halt now— Jessie could see snow drop flowers peeking in from the vines like small pearls. 

The Lady Beresford was helped out by a chubby man in a dark tail coat, who Jessie figure to be the butler. The lady of he house said something to him, and he greeted her in response, following his statement up with rooms he had had prepared and things he had been told by her to take care that he had already checked off before their arrival— all of which Jessie didn't hear for she was too absorbed looking at the gardeners hard at work in the thriving Rosenfield grounds. 

The butler ushered his lady inside, and Jessie and Lady Acacia followed on her heels, with maids instantly running over to them once they entered to take their mufflers and coats. 

The inside of the abbey was a stark contrast to what one would expect looking at the exterior. It was polished wood floors, mahogany coloured, and furniture and tapestries that complimented it with shades of mints and sky blues embellished with silver linings and embroideries. Jessie hadn't quite grasped the taste of Lady Embry's aunt until now, and she was much surprised at the beauty and sophistication of it. 

Rosenfield was, after even this short observation, a much grander estate than Wycombe, with sensibilities as old as time somehow, while Wycombe was all present. 

All their footsteps chided on the wooden floors, in sync with the soft thudding of snow outside. "Aramina darling, go get some rest dear. The journey must've exhausted you as well," The Lady Beresford instructed as she motioned to a maid, "You will be shown to your room, the same one you always prefer." 

Jesse nodded. 'Thank you, aunt." 

"And someone please show Acacia to a room as well," The lady of the house spoke lamely, a vague gesture with her hands. 

"My lady, we've received letters for the guests, and there are two for you," A footman appeared with a silver tray, envelopes lying clean on top. 

"Goodness," The Lady Beresford furrowed her brows in displeasure, "Must people have so much to say even at Christmas?" She extended her hand for the hands and her thick fingers took hold of all of them, scrunching her eyes as she read the names on each. 

"This one's for you, Acacia," She handed an envelope absently to her daughter-in-law. "For your sake I hope its from Jack." 

"Oh, and this one's for you, dear," She extended another towards Jessie, and Jessie eagerly took it. Had Oscar Seymour written back to her? 

Sure enough, the cursive Lady Aramina Embry on the front was in the familiar script Jessie had memorized the last time. Her heart surged with delight. She must've let it show somehow, for she caught the brief questioning glances of both Lady Embry's aunt and Lady Acacia. She immediately composed herself. 

"And these bear my name," The Lady of the house continued, switching between two envelopes. "I hope one of these is from the Viscount Graham— word on when he might arrive perhaps. He has been so looking forward to see you again Aramina." 

Jessie's stomach tightened slightly. If this Viscount has seen Lady Embry, would he realize that she was not her? Surely this was not just a lorgnette matter that Jessie and Lady Acacia could handle by misplacing spectacles. 

"It has been years," The Lady mused, "You were but twelve, and he was fifteen the last time you saw eachother. Now he is much grown, and quite handsome as my reports tell me." 

Jessie couldn't control the discreet sigh of relief that left her. The Lady Beresford spun around then, and neared Jessie. Then she took her hands in hers and held them warmly. 

"He is looking to make a match too," The lady spoke, with a smile, "Oh, how dearly I hope you two make the match. He is much accomplished, and if my memory serves me right, you called him your best friend at one point too. You two would suit eachother so."

Jessie felt Lady Acacia discomfort behind her, though she could not see her. I am not stealing Lady Embry's life, she repeated to herself. 

"I will make it my mission to bring you two together while he's here," The lady clapped her hands with pride. 

Jessie could say nothing but offer a smile, which the lady of the house took with satisfaction. "Now, go freshen up and get some rest. I'll tell you all what the Viscount says in his letter at lunch." 

Jessie nodded, thankful for the dismissal and followed a maid to her room at Rosenfield. Once they had arrived into the furnished room embellished with soft pink tapestries, and silver furniture, Jessie waited as the maid drew the curtains and asked if she required any other assistance. When the maid had left, Jessie made sure the door was locked as she plunked herself on the bed and tore open Oscar Seymour's letter with less grace than she would have liked to show. But at present, it didn't matter. 

'Miss Jessie Churchill,'

A thrill overtook her as she read her name inked inside. It made her feel grounded somehow, to open a letter addressed to Lady Aramina Embry on the envelope, knowing she'd find her own name inside. It reminded her with a guiding hand of why she was here and all that she still had yet to do. 

'I shall begin this letter by informing you that I am headed to Bakewell.' 

Something clenched inside Jessie as she lost track of her breaths for that moment. 

'Jack has written, or perhaps, is writing, to The Lady Beresford informing her of my visit as Lady Embry's friend and acquaintance. I am currently at an inn, in midst of this journey to Rosenfield Abbey. I shall arrive in due time. Your encounter with Thomas Cranmer has much disturbed my conscience, and that of my cousin's. As a gentleman, it is my duty to ensure your safety considering it has been I myself who has put you in such a situation. I will be at Rosenfield Abbey with the sole intention of thwarting the criminal's plans and to make sure no harm comes to you. You had been correct in thinking that keeping him occupied in Bakewell will give ample time for Lady Embry to be found. Jack and Lord Buxton have been, as my cousin promised, set on the new coarse as per your given information. Their mission is now theirs alone for I will be undertaking a new one in Bakewell. I hope this has letter has found you well. 

Signed, 

Oscar Seymour.' 

For a while— perhaps minutes or even an hour, Jessie wasn't sure what all that had happened. The words in the letter were foreign, the concern for her was an alien thing coming from the gentleman she had known for so long. Or perhaps she hadn't known him really, perhaps just seeing someone in passing and at church or at Southampton festivals for years wasn't equivalent to actually knowing them.
He was coming here. He had forgone his part in the search for Lady Embry, left it to his friend and Lord Buxton, and he was coming here to make sure no harm came to Jessie. 

Her heart did several jolts, as though she was tight roping and was afraid of falling to places that seemed dangerous. With a sigh, her back came flush against the bed and she gazed at the intricate ceiling chandelier that hand like a giant diamond from the high roof. It sparkled as it caught the sun rays from the window, and she found herself lost entirely. 

༺♥༻

It had been almost two days since Lady Aramina Embry had penned down that short letter of help to her cousin, Lord Jack Beresford. It was Grandma Cass who had insisted on going out and getting it posted. She had claimed it was dangerous for Aramina to be seen accidentally on an errand like that by people who wished her harm. The old woman's arguments had made sense, and Aramina had forgone the intention of doing it herself. And now, she felt as though she spent her time glancing at the door waiting for knocks that would lead to the familiar face of her cousin, and all would fall into place in her world.  

She hadn't conversed with Philip for the entirety of these almost two days. He had been recovering in his room, and everything was being served to him by his grandmother. Meanwhile, Aramina had upon much insistence by Grandma Cass, been sleeping in the old woman's room. An extra mattress had been brought out for her, placed next to the old woman's bed with an extra duvet and pillow. It had been enough. 

Perhaps I should write again, Aramina considered for the sixth time that day, fearing that perhaps her plea had gotten lost in the transaction, or perhaps it wasn't to be enroute to Southampton at all because of the city's condition. She glanced towards the hallway from where she sat on the sitting room sofa, her eyes briefly landing on Philip's door before falling back to her lap with her fingers anxiously caressed eachother. 

She couldn't ask him for anything again. It didn't feel right anymore. Not when he was doing all he can despite her not asking, and had still landed himself in such a situation. He had still promised, with a bleeding wound, to help her. But how can he help in his indisposition? As the clock ticked by, Aramina's anxiety for everyone she had been torn away from, grew like wild weeds in her heart.

How was Jack doing? Was he searching for her? What if he wasn't at Wycombe at all and had long left it in pursuit of her? Her aunt's heart must've shattered beyond repair. To think of all the trouble she was causing them, all the worry. It made her despise herself, as though all this was her fault. If somehow, even while being in position she could eliminate their worry. It would take the burden off, it would take so much of it off. 

"Aramina, dear," A warm voice brought her out of her reverie. "Here." She handed Aramina a cup of steaming water. It smelled sickly sweet, an infusion of honey and mint. But Aramina had just had tea. 

"This is for Philip," The woman began as Aramina was about to decline, "Please get him to drink this. It will be help him get his remaining strength back but he's had enough of me fussing over him and refuses to touch anything else. Perhaps, if you try.." She trailed off. 

Aramina's stomach clenched at the thought of conversing with Philip. Fate had decreed that the both of them could never have a normal conversation, could never talk about things she'd converse about with her acquaintances back home. The day's weather, politics, social graces, or even the turn of seasons and all the celebrations that came along with it. All of that seemed meaningless in front of him. Perhaps it was because they had assumed roles now— roles so strange that they existed in Venn diagrams separate and untouching. 

"I can try," Aramina managed regardless, having long ago made up her mind to not deny the old woman anything considering her generosity to her. 

She took the cup from her hands and got up, her feet taking slow yet determined steps towards Philip's room. The door was ajar, and she didn't dare peep inside. Her knuckles rapped slightly on the door. 

"Grandma, please I don't want—" Philip's rough voice, surprisingly strong like she remembered it protested. 

"It's me," Aramina interrupted, her own voice soft in stark comparison. Then giving him a few seconds, she gently pushed the door open. Philip was sitting on the bed, his face was clearly healed, only a hint of purple around his eye. His body had clearly healed as well. He looked as strong as she had remembered him from when he came to give her food in her captivity. The memory made her slightly dizzy, it felt like yesterday yet so long ago. 

"You're supposed to drink this," Aramina just wanted to do what she was bid and get out of his sight. She wanted to go back to her thoughts, though they stole her calm inch by inch and there was always more to steal. She wanted to go back to looking at the door, hoping Jack would come. Hoping she wouldn't have to impose on this family any longer, hoping she wouldn't have to bring herself to ask anything more of them than she had selfishly taken. 

Aramina brought the cup over to him and thankfully he didn't protest, raising his hands to take the steaming cup. Their fingers brushed, and Aramina's heart pounded loudly. She was startled that he would hear it, and when she looked at him, he was looking back at her. His grey eyes questioning, confused. He had heard, hadn't he? 

"I'm sorry," Philip spoke suddenly as he retrieved the cup and her hands fell to her side. She stilled, not wanting him to apologize for what she thought he was going to apologize for. 

"For what?" She asked regardless. 

"I'm sorry for sitting around like this," He let out, gesturing at himself in an emotion of self distaste. "I'm well now. I'll go out today, try to keep arranging for discreet transport out of the city. I was close the last time—" 

"No," Aramina stopped him. "It's alright. You don't have to now. I'll think of something—" 

"What? No," Philip countered, his brows furrowing, "Give me two days, It'll be done—" 

"Philip, you don't have to," She argued in earnest. 

"Of course I have to," His voice was loud now, as though he had been denied the one thing he had always wanted. "I promised you I will." 

Aramina blanched. His words undecipherable. He had to aid her only because he promised. What other reason had she been expecting? What had gotten into her? 

"Then just keep me safe here," She steeled her voice, and spun on her heels to face away from him. "It won't be for long. I have written to Jack. He will come for me." And then I won't endanger you or your grandmother anymore, she added the last part in her head. 

"You have written?" He managed after a pause, his voice quieter as though in denial. The question suddenly made frustration rush inside her. 

She spun on her heels to face him. "Did you think I will keep pressing you after this?" She referred to his injuries. "I'm not entirely helpless. I may have a scheming uncle running after everything I own with his tail between his legs, but I have people who love me too. You rescued me from that place and I am entirely in your debt for it. But I think I will handle myself from this point on." 

"I have written to Jack and he will come for me," She repeated again, willing herself to find solace in the words. 

Philip looked at her, searching for something in her eyes, but failing to find it. He got up, determination lacing his posture. 

"Then I'll do what you ask of me for the meanwhile. I will keep you safe here."