LADY ARAMINA EMBRY SAT IN THE west drawing room of Berkshire Abbey, in between her fingers, she held the smooth porcelain hook of a tea cup with steaming chamomile tea meant to relax her.

Next to her, sat Lady Diana Buxton, sipping her own cup of tea with a slight restlessness that radiated from her disposition. It was just that the missing heiress had been found, and Lady Buxton had questions. By some magic, she had deduced half of Lady Embry's predicaments, the supporting product of which sat on the opposite sofa with his grandmother.

Lord Jack Beresford sat hunched over a writing desk not very far from the sofas, scribbling away at parchment, turning ink into words to reflect the workings of his brain to Lord Oscar Seymour and his wife in Bakewell.

Aramina was sure Jack was to produce two letters for each, but she worried the act would drain the man.

"Lady Buxton," Aramina spoke, holding her cup near her chest. "You must allow me to thank you again for everything you have done for Jack and for me."

"I do not allow it," Lady Diana Buxton mused, a sly smile on her lips. "It was good exercise for us, and besides, the outcome is all the satisfaction I need. And you must call me Diana, we have been through far too much and not all together for us to begin now with such formality."

"And you must call me Aramina," She responded, a glint of glow on her face. Aramina had learnt much about formality the time she had been away dodging her way to survival. She had learnt that it didn't matter in the worst of times.

"Tell me, Aramina," Lady Diana Buxton began. "Has Lord Beresford told you of my dear friend, Jessie?"

A slight disturbance sounded from Lord Beresford's writing station as a quill dropped from between his fingers on the table.

"Lady Buxton," The gentleman turned to face them, "I was hoping you would clarify the situation for Aramina's understanding. I must admit, I haven't yet begun."

Diana Buxton let out a small laugh, as though she had expected her role in this, and the lack of Lord Beresford's.

"Of course, I will be happy to," She answered, glancing at Aramina's quizzical expression. "But I must insist on privacy for the discussion, Aramina, so perhaps you would like to take a turn with me in our greenhouse? I dare say, it is such a sight in winters."

"Yes," Aramina smiled, glancing briefly at Philip. She hadn't spoken to him for hours now. He hadn't ventured out to talk to her, and neither had she.

"Splendid," Diana beamed, before she followed Aramina's eyes to Philip.

"I'm sure Lord Beresford will be company enough for this gentleman and his grandmother," She continued, not quite familiar on their proper names. For this kind of introduction was thrust upon her instead of gradually and naturally taking its course.

"Yes," Lord Beresford called from over his letter, "I'll be there in a moment, Lady Buxton, you can carry on."

Aramina got up and joined Diana as the lady led them outside the drawing room and towards the back estate exit that opened up to the Berkshire gardens and eventually, the greenhouse.

Aramina caught herself glancing back briefly at Philip before he was out of sight. Footmen at their sides, helped both ladies into warm coats, as they ventured outside.

"Isn't it beautiful? Diana sighed, breathing in the cold air outside. The vision was pure snow clad on top of trees and bushes and soon, Aramina realized, on the greenhouse roof as the glorious structure came into view on the Berkshire grounds.

"It very much is," She responded softly.

"Tell me," Diana began with pride as she led Aramina into the greenhouse. "Did you have one as grand as this at your estate in London?"

The inside of the building was full of winter blooms, and blooms kept alive from other seasons that Aramina knew she could place if she had the leisure. The atmosphere was dense, a bit humid, catering to a temperature keeping all the growth alive and thriving in time for summer.

"Not quite," Aramina spoke, "London wasn't much for greenhouses on estates. The society there prefers extensions to their already grand houses instead of using their lands for other purposes."

"I suppose father got caught up in that and I never really realized," She added after a pause.

"That is alright," Diana hummed, her gloved hands tracing the edge of a wooden table that sported a range of earth pots with germinating growth. "I suppose I can inspire you then, be the reason you come up with a grander structure to wow the Londoners."

Aramina chuckled slightly. "I suppose, although-," she broke off. "I don't see myself in London anymore at all."

Lady Diana Buxton observed the girl at her side keenly.

"Then where do you see yourself?"

"I don't know yet," Lady Aramina Embry answered truthfully, "Perhaps in Bakewell with my aunt, or I can purchase an estate in Southampton. Anywhere, but London."

"Well, that's an awfully clear desicion," Diana spoke sarcastically, a sly smile on her face. "Perhaps you should consult with the people who led you to come to this conclusion- or, the person."

Aramina halted in her steps, glancing at the lady of the house in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Diana stopped, looking back at her guest as though she had heard the most ridiculous question too early in the day for her liking.

"I mean your cousin, and this Philip," She gestured vaguely with her hand. "I can see how much you want to be around them and London isn't going to fix that."

"My cousin, yes," Aramina responded, suddenly flustered.

"And Philip," Diana prompted, her tone teasing.

Aramina sighed, letting go of her composure with a huff. "Am I that obvious?"

Diana laughed. "I think the observation says more about me than it does about you. I can just sense these things you know, and of course it was hard to pretend when your own eyes never leave the man."

"Goodness," Aramina commented, touching her warm cheeks slightly.

"Let us drop the subject, shall we?" Diana touched Aramina's shoulder. "I really must tell you of Jessie."

The heiress looked at her hostess, eyes curious as Diana slowly began to recount everything that had happened when Aramina had been taken. The tale was like nothing Aramina had expected during her hours of captivity, sitting with her hands and feet bound, not knowing that a selfless soul had been making sure Aramina's predicament did not hurt the ones she loved.

"Jessie has a big heart, Aramina," Lady Diana Buxton added, "Though I must put the notion out there that she may have mostly agreed upon Oscar's insistence, for there's something there that hadn't really been there before- but still, she's been doing her part ever since. Which includes facing your uncle in Southampton when he mistook her for you."

"Oh my goodness," Aramina let out, her hands suddenly shaking as she gulped. "I don't think I know what to say."

"Just say that you are not upset at what worried and anxious minds decided to be the arrangement," Diana hurried, "That much will suffice."

"No," Aramina felt that familiar ache in her eyes, as she reeled her composure in. "You don't understand. My aunt- my aunt has a weak heart."

The tears had escaped, rivulets down her cheeks that she couldn't now control.

"I spent countless hours worrying how she'd be faring with the news, worrying that maybe this- the turn my life had taken would be the end of her."

Lady Diana Buxton looked at the girl in front of her with sympathy marring her features.

"And now I learn that someone had been keeping my life alive, keeping my remaining family away from grief? Making me sinless for abandoning them?"

Aramina turned to meet Diana's eyes. "You can't imagine what I feel. This is the most precious thing anyone has ever done for me. I feel so light, I could float with the relief."

Diana sighed, reaching out her arms as Aramina reciprocated. Enveloped in a hug, the latter found her sobs turn to whimpers and only then did they break the hug.

"Where is she? When can I meet her? Because, god, I would like to so much." Aramina wiped at her tears, a sniffle punctuating her words.

"In Bakewell, at your aunt's estate," Diana spoke, taking Aramina's hands in hers. "The plan, according to my husband and your cousin, is that we arrange for safe transport out of the city- once the chaos of the strike dies down as my husband assures me it will. Until then, Jessie and my cousin Oscar hold the fort at Bakewell. By the time we leave here, they will be expecting us, and all can go back to as it was."

Aramina blinked in a daze.

"And ofcourse there's the matter of the documents that Cranmer has been forging. But don't fret about that, Lord Buxton is on the case," Diana added with a smile, "He believes if he can catch the men who chased you this morning, he can get one of them to spill where the papers are. After that, it will be a large fire in a hearth and those documents becoming ash."

"But that is not our domain," Lady Buxton continued, "So we will focus on other things."

"I don't think I will ever have words enough to thank you, your husband, your cousin Lord Seymour, and Miss Jessie Churchill-," Aramina let out softly in the cool of the greenhouse. "You didn't even know me, yet you-,"

"Oh, enough with that Aramina," Diana waved a hand dismissively. "I told you, it is just the way we are. And, it was mighty good exercise."
She ended with a wink that made Aramina smile.

༺♥༻

Lord Oscar Seymour stood at the edge of the balcony that extended from his guestroom at the Rosenfield Abbey in Bakewell. He watched Miss Jessie Churchill walk about the grounds below, accompanied by a certain Viscount Conrad Graham Oscar had been inclined to dislike. And now, that dislike had morphed and deepened in ways Lord Seymour couldn't measure.

His hands clasped the cold balustrade tightly. He had purposefully abandoned his gloves, and thus his bare skin clenching the freezing railing was painful- but it kept him alert to the happenings of his mind and heart.

Oscar's attempts to join— or rather— intercede between Lady Aramina Embry and The Viscount had been fruitless. For the Lady Beresford had made it her mission to birth spontaneous activities the two could engage in together, and in none of those activities had been a place for Oscar.

The youngest Lord Seymour of the Seymour family didn't quite have an issue with lack of reserved places for him in gatherings or events, nay, the gentleman believed in making the space for himself. He had done so for four and twenty years now, but at present, it was proving quite a challenge.

Oscar watched The Viscount say something, and he watched Jessie Churchill laugh in response. Her bright face lighting up with a flush of colour in her cheeks, and her vibrant ginger hair gleaming on this sunny winter morning. The desperate need of being the only person to make her laugh flooded Oscar like a dam had shattered inside if him.

He gripped the balustrade tighter, the cold had made his palms numb, but he didn't care much of it at present. Then, as he was trying to steel himself again, he saw Miss Churchill trip as her foot caught onto a stray branch. Oscar quickly inched closer, only to see the Viscount grip her elbow and pull her to him.

Oscar cursed under his breath, his heart hammering, angrily, furiously, inside his chest. They were so close now, and they had paused, looking into each other's eyes like they were about to..

"Lady Embry," Oscar blurted out before he could stop himself. One hand outstreched as he called out to Jessie, his body stiff, heart missing several beats.

Jessie Churchill and The Viscount looked up at the caller, quickly separating.

"Lovely day for a stroll, isn't it?" Oscar managed, gulping.

"Viscount," He acknowledged giving a brief nod in Jessie's companion's direction.

The Viscount returned the nod stiffly, frustration evident in his features, and Oscar had the sudden urge to give him a fist or two.

"It is, Lord Seymour," Jessie managed after a pause with her bright smile. "I hope you join us, if you want to."

"I would be glad to," Oscar responded, relief calming him temporarily. "I will be down in a moment."

Then with a nod he turned and made his way back into his guestroom, quickly stepping in front of the mirror to check if his cravat was in place and smoothen his hair under his top hat. He would be there in a moment, that is what he had said, and a moment it shall be. No way was Oscar to give that sly Viscount time enough to aim again to redeem his previously failed attempt at a kiss.

Lord Oscar Seymour thundered down the steps of the staircase, sweat already beading in his forehead, breaths unsteady. I'll be down in a moment.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, a footman met him.

"Lord Seymour, you have a letter," The man spoke, his eyes glancing strangely at Oscar. It didn't take the former much time to realize that his stampede down the stairs had risen much doubts against his personality in the eyes of this footman.

"Uh, yes," Oscar thickened his voice and straightened himself, taking the letter from the tray.

Was it another one from Diana? He wondered. After his arrival in Bakewell, his cousin had written to him from Portsmouth once. That correspondence hadn't contained much answers, but questions- all of which relating to Miss Churchill.

The footman hurried away, desperate to keep a considerable distance from this particular Rosenfield guest.

With half a mind to read the letter later, Oscar made to fold it, but his eyes caught on to Jack Beresford's name aside his own. And Oscar found himself instantly opening the correspondence.

His eyes hurried over each word, gaze quickening and quickening with every sentence. He felt himself sigh, in confusion or relief or some other emotion entirely, he couldn't say.

They had found the real Lady Aramina Embry, and she was safe and sound, ready to return to Bakewell once Lord Buxton ensures the chaos of the strikes die down.

The message of the letter fluttered about in his head, before slowly settling in and making a cocoon. Was this over? Was this all finally over?

He quickly folded the letter and put it in his vest pocket, before hurriedly making his way out to join Jessie Churchill and the Viscount.

Oscar's countenance settled once he was in their company, knowing none of them could attempt something in a third's presence as atrocious as they were about to just a couple of measured minutes ago.

Jessie Churchill spoke about something, her opinion on the workers' strikes taking over in Portsmouth. The Viscount asked her questions, waiting with a smile as she gave her views. Oscar tried to collect himself, he wanted to converse too. But his mind wouldn't let him.

Would Jessie Churchill had kissed the Viscount were Oscar to not interrupt? Would she have forgotten herself, let go of the person she was, to throw herself on a Viscount now that she was pretending to be someone else and she had the opportunity? Or had she truly fallen in love with him? The latter was idea that physically ached him when thought of it.

How had a Viscount she's known for eight and forty hours charm his way into her heart so quick? How had Oscar let him?

"Conrad, dear," A female voice called from somewhere, and the party turned to the source, the figure of The Lady Graham peeking in through a window of the estate, waving to her son. "Come in for a moment, Lady Beresford and I are in dire need of your opinion! It is about the ball she's to host."

The Viscount, slightly embarrassed, excused himself, giving Jessie Churchill a lingering smile that Oscar was inclined to despise.

He watched the Viscount Graham walk away, hands pinned at his back. Then without warning, he turned to Jessie Churchill and the turmoil in his heart poured out aggressively in words he couldn't control.

"What were you doing?" He let out in frustration.

Jessie's brows pinched in confusion, before realization struck her. She knew what he was referring to, because it was the only thing she remembered from the conversation with the Viscount.

"I know what it looked like," Jessie started, eyes earnest. "The Viscount— he cares for Lady Embry, not me."

Oscar pursed his lips, breaking their gaze and fixing his eyes on a tree in the distance.

"But he was going in to kiss you," He stated through his teeth.

"I know," She pressed, "I'm so glad you interceded—"

"And if by some chance, I hadn't? Would you have done it?" Oscar looked at her again, eyes firm.

Jessie's brows furrowed, a frown on her face.

"No, I would have not. Please do not think that of me. I was thinking of any and every excuse I could make at that moment. There was nothing else going through my head."

"He was—," Oscar started again, breaking off as he took his top hat off and ran a hand through his hair, "He was so close to you."

"I know," She responded softly, "But I—"

"Why are you encouraging him, then? If there was nothing else going through your head, why make the moments leading up to this?"

"Oscar, you don't understand," Jessie raised a hand, mindlessly going in to touch his elbow before awareness hit her and she dropped her hand.
"The Viscount has known Lady Embry when they were children. He shares these fond memories with her that he believes I do too, but of course, I know nothing of them."

Lord Oscar Seymour looked at her, his eyes flashing intrigue as a calm spread over his restless disposition.

"He intends to love her," She continued, "That is why he came here. He thinks he can fall in love with her after the years they spent apart. He believes she's the one for him. And now that he's here, I am the one standing in his lover's shoes. I cannot dissuade him not even knowing if that is what the real Lady Embry would have done."

"What if she loves him back, and I gave a wrong impression and damaged something beyond repair?" Jessie asked, voice cracking slightly as her eyes watered. "I am so scared of making a mistake. I am scared of jeopardizing her life instead of doing my part to help her. And— and I am scared now that you think of me as Lady Acacia does."

Oscar Seymour's lips parted, his eyes peering at Jessie Churchill as he thought of her like he had never before. His hands ached to touch her, to hold her and tell her that she was the bravest woman he had ever known. But this was not the place, and though this might have been the time, it was not the place.

But somehow, Lord Oscar Seymour had no conception left of being resigned to a place. He had jumped from Southampton to Portsmouth and then to Bakewell in the span of a month and a half. Places didn't matter to him anymore.

"I am sorry," He began earnestly, "For being rash and quick to judge when in my heart I desperately hoped for otherwise. I understand what you are doing, and I believe I trust you to the point where I think no one else can do what you are doing with such honesty and determination."

Jessie's glassy eyes peered at him, her brows furrowing, lip slightly trembling.

"Do not compare me to Lady Acacia in my opinion of you, because it is a poor comparison."

He tried to say more, but the word formation lined up in his brain had suddenly disintegrated, evaporated.

"I— I just," Oscar stumbled the words out, "I got so confused seeing him so near you. I thought you reciprocate what he feels."

"I don't," Jessie spoke softly, afraid the ferocious pounding of her heart will become audible.

"I want you to know that— that it matters to me, more than I thought it did, if you choose to reciprocate the Viscount's feelings or heck, anyone else's for that matter."
For once in his life Oscar felt as though words had just abandoned him. Were there no right words to justify how he was feeling?

Jessie gasped silently, her lips apart as she tried to steady herself to ask him why. She wanted to hear him say it. The words in his last letter were still so fresh in her mind, but if this was what she thought it was, if he had come to Bakewell for her and her alone, she needed to hear him say it like she needed oxygen to survive.

Suddenly, rustling sounded behind Jessie as twigs snapped underneath somebody's anxious feet.

Jessie turned to look, only to be met with the appearing figure of The Lady Beresford. Jessie Churchill's heart stopped for that moment and she felt Oscar stiffen, though they were not touching and stood a considerable distance apart.

How much had The Lady Beresford heard?

The question was swiftly answered.

"Aramina, darling," The lady of the house cried, "We are discussing the ball preparations and much as the Viscount and his mother are helping— I do need expert advice."

Jessie sighed in relief. "Of course, aunt."

"Well, go on," The Lady Beresford motioned, "I'll just be a moment with Lord Seymour."

Jessie nodded, and then throwing a cautious glance Oscar's way, she made her way to the abbey.

The Lady Beresford watched her niece go, before turning swiftly to face Oscar Seymour. And, for once in his life, Oscar knew exactly what was coming and he found that he didn't care much for it all.

"Lord Seymour," The lady began, her hands clasping together and a curious expression plastered on her face. "What exactly, pray tell, are your intentions towards my niece?"