LORD OSCAR SEYMOUR SAT IN THE west drawing room of the Seymour Manor, puffing freedom out of his short tobacco pipe, when he heard the sound of shoes against the wooden floors approaching. Quickly, he hid the cigar behind a velvet sofa cushion next to him and threw his hands in the air in front, dismissing the clouds of smoke and distinguishing them. It was stupid, all his friends were at liberty to smoke as they wished, yet he was still treated like a child in his household. In all his five and twenty years, Oscar Seymour had felt as though he had put up a façade of being independent, sophisticated and accomplished, only to come home to have his mother scold him on having his lunch late. It was part of the reason why he had started disappearing off to the Gentlemen's club during his leisure times. Lounging around Seymour Manor had become far too risky for his sanity. 

"Oscar, there you are, I was wondering-," Lady Seymour started, her skirts swaying to and fro as she halted mid speech and her expression changed to that of suspicion as she observed the air in the drawing room. Oscar heard her take a sniff, and at that moment, he knew he had efficiently been busted. 

"Oscar Seymour, have been smoking?" She declared, her arms crossing over her chest as her eyes widened, aghast. Before giving him a chance to reply, she continued, "What have I told you about smoking? You are not old enough! Cigars lead to marriage proposals and I will not have every fortune hunting mother and daughter in this county prancing about me like vultures. Goodness knows I already have enough on my plate after Adam, and he's always just finding amusement in every single thing. If it weren't for our fortune, no woman in her right mind would want a husband who manages to find the humor in bankruptcy." 

"Good God, mother," A dismissing voice came, followed by Adam Seymour entering the drawing room with the day's paper in his hand. He cast his mother and brother a nod before settling himself down on a sofa away from the family fiasco that was taking place, "It was only one time. And besides, at the rate Lord Hartley was gambling, he was bound to become bankrupt sooner or later. Am I at fault to predict such things?" 

"That is all very well Adam, but you could've controlled that smirk you displayed," Lady Margaret Seymour pointed, her eyes narrowing at him. 

"Now that, is beyond my reach," Adam Seymour mused, another smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes scanned the newspaper in his hands.   

Lady Seymour huffed in defeat, then she turned to look at her other son and his vices at hand. His mother's logic was humorous and Oscar would've laughed if it were not for the furious look on her face. He ran his mind through, thinking of an excuse he hadn't ever said yet, but he found none, only his most used one swirling about begging to be vocalized, "You let Adam smoke." 

"My goodness," The lady of house sighed, putting her palm to her forehead in disbelief, "How many times have I told you that your brother is old enough to do so. He is eight and twenty. When you reach that age, I will allow you to smoke as freely as you please." 

Oscar sighed nonchalantly, before carefully putting his hands together in his lap as his gaze averted from nothing in particular, to his mother, in sarcastic deep consideration, "So I am given to understand that I have to wait four more years before I am allowed to smoke?" 

Lady Margaret Seymour heaved a sigh of relief as her shoulders relaxed, "Precisely." 

Oscar Seymour rolled his eyes as his mother's head turned, she was obviously fooling herself if she thought he wouldn't pull out that cigar the second she left the room. 

"Now, about the dinner tonight," Lady Seymour began as she clapped her hands together to get her sons' attentions, "I have already sent a card over at the rectory, Jessie Churchill will be joining us in a few hours." 

"About that," Oscar spoke quickly, as his senses jolted. He had forgotten about the rector's daughter and the dinner she was to be joining his family for, "I was hoping I'd be excused." 

His mother frowned as she turned to face him again, "For what reason, may I ask?" 

"I'd rather have dinner with our gardener," He mocked, eliciting a laugh from his elder brother across the room, "Besides, I wonder what has gotten into you mother, for you to be extending invitations such as private dinners to the rectory. You know how the pastor is always at my back, goodness, the pastor is at every man's back these days, trying to secure a match for his spinster daughter." 

"That is enough," His mother hissed, sharply glancing at her youngest, who shrugged nonchalantly in response. Then she composed herself again, "This dinner is not for the purpose of securing the pastor's daughter for either of you. Since your father is away, you both will be present at the dinner, and will find out the purpose of it when I tell Miss Churchill. Is that understood?" 

The Seymour brothers hummed in unison as their mother nodded a prompt nod, "I want you to behave yourself, especially you, Oscar. I will not have you insulting our guest or making her feel unwelcome. I understand Miss Churchill is of a very unorthodox nature, but for tonight, she is our guest. And we Seymours treat guests with respect— talk freely when they are gone. Is that clear?" 

"Crystal," Oscar mused, his gaze focused outside the drawing room window, bored. The sun had set and it was beginning to darken outside. The snow covered landscape seemed to have a deep blue sheen to it, reflecting the color of the darkening skies. Oscar disliked winters, they were an inconvenience. He had found himself being more productive in springs. The air during spring was just right, a few degrees of cold mixed with a few degrees of warmth, resulting in a perfect breeze that didn't make him want to snatch his clothes off or put a few more coats on. 

༺♥༻

"Welcome, Miss Churchill," Lady Margaret Seymour's voice floated around the manor, reaching Oscar's ears as he adjusted his cravat in his room in front of his looking glass. In the silent manor, words seemed to echo violently against the walls. In the past two years, he had become glad that his elder sister had married and left. How he had been listening to Rebecca Seymour's shrill voice talking consistently and echoing off the walls all his life, was beyond him. 

"My goodness, did you walk all the way here?" His mother spoke again, her voice laced with displeasure and shock. 

"Yes," The guest's breathy voice came. It sure sounded as though she'd had a good exercise, "The snow is thick today, a carriage would only be more inconvenient to travel in." 

"I suppose," Lady Seymour trailed slowly. Oscar could tell his mother's face was scrunching up as she tried to maintain a smile on her face. He had a sudden urge to laugh at the thought. As the hushed scuttling of feet continued, growing muffled as they entered the dining room, Oscar presumed that now would be the best time to join. He had, opted for a fashionably late entrance, were his mother to corner him into escorting the guest into the dinning room, something he would still rather do for their gardener.  

He made his way out his room, stepping down the stairs and taking his time with it. He could, at present, think of a hundred things he'd rather do, a hundred places he'd rather be, but as was a moth held by thread like reins, he was made to obey, much to his dismay. 

"There you are, Oscar, come join us," Lady Seymour gushed, motioning for her youngest son to take a seat. Oscar nodded a prompt not at her and then turned to look at the guest.

Miss Churchill sat seated in a chair opposite to his mother on the long rectangular dining table. She met his eyes, and smiled a small smile, before quickly breaking their gaze and dropping hers to her hands in her lap, anxiously. She looked rather peculiar, dressed in a plain soft blue muslin gown with a delicate chain necklace reflecting the candle lights as it sat against the pale skin of her collar bone. Her curly ginger hair sat perched on top of her head, rather messily pined into a do. Come to think of it, Oscar Seymour had never seen the rector's daughter in anything but a dirty apron atop a white cotton dress, with locks of her hair falling into her eyes from out of her equally dirty bonnet.

He hadn't thought she had the curtsy of dressing presentable, and looking at her at present, he found himself quite taken aback. She was a meek, meager little thing, and Oscar doubted if she had more to her than she let show. 

"Oscar?" His mother's voice came, pulling him out of his thoughts as he cleared his throat. He glanced at her, and Lady Seymour's expression told him exactly what he dreaded to know. Devil, he had been staring too long. 

"Miss Churchill," Oscar spoke, and offered her a nod, before resorting to take a seat at the end of the rectangular table, a considerable distance away from both his mother and her guest. Adam Seymour joined the party next, offering Miss Churchill a polite smile before taking the seat at the other end of the table.  

The lady of house motioned for the footmen, and they started coming in with delectable dishes in their hands, making Oscar forget entirely about his stupidity as his stomach dominated his thoughts. 

"I should like to thank you, my lady, for this invitation," Miss Churchill spoke, her small voice barely making it out alive amidst the tiny clatter of a plate that sounded. Her face was focused in a smile as he looked at her hostess, her soft features further softening in the ambiance of the room. 

"It is my pleasure," Lady Seymour crowed, her dominant voice taking over the room in its entirety. 

"How are you, these days, Miss Churchill?" Adam Seymour inquired, lifting a chunk of meat into his mouth as he chewed. 

"I have been well," she responded politely, her attention wavering back to her plate. A brief silence followed, only being interrupted by tiny clatters of porcelains in the giant Seymour Manor drawing room. There was a series of gentle, heavy but muffled thudding outside, it had begun to snow again. 

"Are you in correspondence with my cousins? I know the ladies hold you in a close regard," Adam Seymour asked again, this time helping himself to a crystal glass full of orange juice. 

"Yes," The guest replied, smiling as the topic enticed her, "I am, although they have much to say and I have nothing at all." 

"That is nice," The hostess added, as she brought a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Adam cast a glance at his mother, his brow raised in amusement. She blinked, before she swallowed and realized her mistake, "I mean the former part of your statement, of course." 

"Of course," Oscar mused, biting back his grin by taking a bite of an apple. This had turned out to quite an awkward dinner party, Oscar wondered whether it would've been the same were their gardener seated here. The man probably had more jokes up his sleeves to last him a lifetime. At least it would've been fun. Then he remembered, his mother had a purpose for inviting the rector's daughter, and he doubted that it entailed making pointless small talk with her. 

The dinner progressed, it was largely silent, with the hostess and Adam Seymour asking the guest more questions. Some of which, made Oscar silently snicker with the sheer uselessness of it all. He kept his mouth shut though, for he had far better things on his mind than making conversation with their guest. His mother had cautioned him to be polite, and he'd do that by keeping his thoughts to himself. 

"Diana and Alicia told me a lot about Mansfield estate," Miss Churchill effused, "I thought we'd have dinner there." 

Lady Seymour stilled as the spoonful of gravy she was helping herself to, hung in mid air. Then composing herself she began, "Mansfield estate is reserved solely for large celebrations. As you may know, my daughter's wedding celebrations took place there. As did some of Diana and Alicia's. We don't live at Mansfield, and so it makes no sense to host every guest we have there." 

Oscar raised his brows, in slight amusement. Mansfield estate was a rather popular estate in Southampton, considering the amount of balls his mother arranged there. His family had bought it, only for the sole purpose of using it for celebrations. The only time Miss Churchill had been invited to it was when his cousins, Diana and Alicia, had celebrated their engagement balls there, and that was two years ago. Had she been pining to be invited to something again? Surely she didn't believe that she became a part of the family because of her friendship with his cousins, that was utterly ridiculous.   

"Miss Churchill, I presume you have managed to ponder why I invited you here?" Lady Seymour spoke finally, resting her back against the dinning table chair and looking at the guest. 

Miss Churchill looked confused suddenly, and Oscar could tell that she hadn't indeed pondered anything. Perhaps she thought she had been invited out of the goodness of his mother's heart, after how the rector had been setting his sights on Oscar like a fool, the thought was utterly ridiculous. 

"I'm sorry, but I haven't," she responded politely, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief in a way that made Oscar believe she hadn't ever done it before. Miss Churchill's eyes were slightly wider now, as she looked at her hostess in curiosity. Oscar saw her breathing quicken, as her chest faintly heaved up and down quicker than it was doing before. It was then that he realized that her curiosity was merely her anxiety. She was more anxious than she was curious, and it baffled him entirely.  

"I had an old acquaintance of mine write to me a week ago," Lady Margaret Seymour began, as her sons and Miss Churchill looked at her in intrigue, "She wrote to me about her brother, Lord Victor Colston, a wealthy man of eight and forty, with honor and prestige. He resides in London, with his three children, and having previously lost his wife to a fever, he seeks to marry again. My acquaintance urges to my aid in finding a suitable bride that may profit greatly with such a marriage and I have settled on whom I propose."   

At that moment, the thudding outside grew greater, and the party glanced out the darkened windows. The carpet of snow seemed to have tripled, and half the bottom quarter of the giant window was covered with snow. Heavy snow had begun, the kind that cancelled plans and forced guests to spend a day or two inside someone else's home. 

"As I was saying," Lady Seymour continued, "I want you to consider this match, Miss Churchill, it would be of great benefit to your family name and your circumstances. I am sure your father will be beyond delighted." 

Oscar Seymour was stunned, as his mouth slightly parted. Out of every awkward thing he had presumed this dinner party would entail, his mother putting Miss Churchill on the spot and asking her to marry an eight and forty year old man, wealthy or not, was not part of it. Oscar's eyes shot towards Miss Churchill's, and she looked surprisingly unreadable. Her soft features had slightly contorted into thought and misery. She didn't seem much affected, she seemed as though she had received blows of a similar nature more than a dozen times. Something tugged at Oscar's chest and he immediately pushed the discomforting feeling away. After all, it was none of his business who the woman married, or what she decided to do with her life. 

He shrugged nonchalantly, and then motioned a footman to pour him a drink in a crystal.