MISS JESSIE CHURCHILL SPENT the next few hours going through the preparations for a ball she wasn't quite in the right heart for. It amazed her, for if she had been invited to look over the festivities for a ball as her former self, Jessie would have jumped at the opportunity. But now? Now she was a different Jessie Churchill, perhaps with a heart that had grown two sizes in the past month. A heart that had very much the same desires but with twice that former passion.

She had wondered briefly what The Lady Beresford had conversed with Oscar Seymour about when she had been excused. It couldn't have been anything trivial, since her pretense was apparently still in place.

Lord Oscar Seymour had not been invited for the council, so Jessie wasn't quite aware on his current whereabouts in the Abbey. The drawing room she was presently in, sported only her aunt, The Lady Graham and The Viscount.

Jessie hadn't seen much of Lady Acacia Beresford either, and her current whereabouts, though not a mystery since the lady had most definitely preferred to resign herself to her room, were a reverie.

"What colour do you prefer, dear," Lady Fiona Graham asked Jessie, bringing two different embroidered pieces of table napkins. "Beige, or Canary?"

Is canary even a colour? Jessie found herself wondering with a start.

"Beige," She responded quickly, and the elder lady hummed in response, making it quite clear that she herself was team canary.

"Beige is a great choice," The Viscount joined in, his smile displaying his teeth as he glanced at Jessie. "Quite elegant."

"Yes, dear," The Lady Graham motioned vaguely with her hand, eyes pinned to a list The Lady Beresford had handed to her. "But it is awfully dull for a winter ball."

"Dull?" The Viscount laughed, "Mother, it is a winter ball. I think the point might be to stick to colours that bring out the white of the season."

"Must you keep reminding me to never let you in charge of the preparations for any of our balls?" His mother gave him a pointed look, and The Viscount rolled his eyes in good humor.

"So, Lady Embry," Conrad Graham began once his mother was occupied again in a debate over the tapestries with Lady Beresford. "Will you be dancing? At the ball, I mean."

"I hope to," Jessie answered carefully and truthfully. Dancing was her favorite thing— to watch, to do. Though she was never one to be asked more than once in a night. 

"Then you must," The Viscount beamed, dimples digging deep. He parted his lips to say something more, but an interruption came in the form a footman.

"My lady," The footman bowed to The Lady Beresford, "There is a visitor for Lady Embry."

Jessie tensed. A visitor? Was it someone Lady Aramina Embry knew? Of course it must be. But, she was not her. She'd be found out if Jessie received this visitor.

"Well, my dear," The Lady Beresford called from where she sat on the opposite sofa. "Go receive your caller. I would ask for them to be brought here but look at the state of the room. There are ball preparational things scattered everywhere. Call for me if I am needed."

"Yes aunt," Jessie swallowed, managing a brave smile as she stood up. She glanced at The Viscount for want of an encouraging face— any face, and he gave her a smile which she returned before making her way out of the room led by the footman.

Perhaps, they won't realize, Jessie thought to herself as she cascaded down the stairs to the main hall where the visitor was waiting. If I just avoid eye contact, and keep taking turns between conversations, or perhaps not look at them at all..

Before she knew it, the footman halted in front of her and Jessie realized that she was now in the main hall. She looked to the visitor. It was a man, standing with his back to her. His figure clad in a dark green velvet overcoat and grey breeches. There was a familiar hat on the person's head, and only when he turned, did recognition hit her.

In front of her stood Thomas Cranmer.

Jessie had been foolish to assume the man would falter now that Lady Beresford was also hosting a Viscount. Apparently, criminals like Cranmer had no obligations for propriety.

"My lady," The footman who had escorted her bowed to Jessie before stationing himself at a far distance in the same room.

"What are you doing here?" Jessie managed, gathering her courage.

Thomas Cranmer let out a small laugh. His voice deep and raw.

"I told you I would be here," He mused, eyes glinting from beneath the darkness the brim of his hat was offering him. "Did I not?"

"You may have," She spoke, unrelenting, "I must've chose not to listen."

He laughed again, his hands pinned behind his back as he tried to appear a gentleman— when a gentleman this man was not.

"I should've known," He let out after a pause as though talking to himself, "Such unfamiliar courage, It should have given you away."

Jessie gulped. Panic reverbrating in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"What is your name?" He asked, ignoring her.

"Aramina Embry," Jessie managed, though she knew it was in vain now.

The man scoffed. "Your real name."

"I would like to know the name of the wrench impersonating my niece. I would be needing it, when I give it to the constable and have you put behind bars for the rest of your pathetic life."

Jessie's lip trembled, her heart tore through her ribcage with every beat.

"I am not impersonating—," She tried to lie, to defend herself, but words didn't come. How had she never thought of what she would do in a situation such as this? How had she not rehearsed it like she had reheared the heiress gait?

"You cannot make a further fool out of me, you deplorable girl," The man snapped, hatred evident in his voice, and in what Jessie could see of his face. And, she hated him back. What he felt for her, she felt twice for him.

"My men informed me in a message that my niece is still in Portsmouth. As you can imagine, that was quite startling news to my baffled ears since I thought I had just seen her in Southampton and was following her to Bakewell."

Jessie remained quiet, for at present no words would solve this issue— especially words spoken to Cranmer.

"Why did you do it?" He hissed. "You miserable fortune hunting whore, you could not sit back, could you? You saw the seat open and you took it." 

"I did it to save her," Jessie cried, her hands shaking, voice cracking.

Thomas Cranmer laughed his despicable laugh again. "Now, who will save you?"

She looked at him, brows pinching together as she tried to figure out what he meant, but she did not have to ponder for long.

Thomas Cranmer raised a hand, a finger pointed to her as he winked, before a loud shout escaped his mouth.

"Imposter!"

Jessie took a slow step back, the panic in her veins engulfing her entirely. This is it, it is all over now.

"She is an imposter!" Cranmer yelled again, and Jessie heard footsteps barging into the room.

She saw The Lady Beresford enter, followed by The Lady Graham and The Viscount, confused and shocked expressions marring their faces as they looked between Jessie and Thomas Cranmer.

The Lady Beresford's gaze stopped at Cranmer, her face twisting in distaste.

"Thomas Cranmer," She let out, "How dare you set foot in my house? Who let you in?" The woman glanced around for her butler angrily.

"Your butler and staff did," Cranmer spat, "Apparently they let just anyone in."

"What are you—," The lady asked as he cut her off.

"This woman," Cranmer continued, finger pointing towards Jessie, "Is not Lady Aramina Embry. She is a devious imposter."

Everyone gaped at Jessie, Lady Beresford's eyes widened in shock, while the Viscount and his mother looked merely confused.

"No! I— I am—," Jessie cried, her hands raised as her eyes met the Lady Beresford's. What was she supposed to say? Would any lie work now?

Jessie felt tears rush to her eyes. Oscar, where are you?

"Cease your facade now," Cranmer snapped, "You thought you could steal my niece's fortune, but I will never let that happen."

"I never wanted to!" Jessie cried, "I am not you!"

"Tell that to the judge," Thomas Cranmer smirked. And suddenly through the door, poured in a constable and two of his police men at his heels.

"Take her in, Sarge," The vicious man leading the stage motioned, and the constable nodded, signalling to his men who appeared at Jessie's sides and grabbed her by the elbows tight.

"No, please," Jessie struggled, fighting against the men's grips, but they were too strong for her.

"Stop," The Lady Beresford shouted, hurrying over to Jessie's side with anguish clear on her face. But then, the elder woman did something Jessie would never have expected.

The woman's hand clasped the neckline of Jessie's dress from the shoulder, and she yanked it down aggressively, revealing Jessie Churchill's bare shoulder for only a second before the material snapped back into place and The Lady Beresford stumbled backward with a cry.

"There is no birthmark," The woman cried, sobs shaking her big frame as The Lady Graham held her for support. "My Aramina has a birthmark."

"What have you done with the real Lady Embry?" Thomas Cranmer shouted, making Jessie gasp at his visciousness.
She shook her head in disbelief as tears poured down her face.

"Have you killed her?" The man continued, eliciting shocked cries from everyone in the room.

"No," Jessie tried desperately, "I haven't done anything to her! You have!"

She turned her head to look at everyone else in the room, hoping someone would believe her when her eyes landed on Lady Acacia Beresford.

"Lady Acacia!" Jessie uttered, "Please tell them, I haven't done anything!"

Everyone, including the policemen and Thomas Cranmer glanced at Acacia Beresford, waiting for her witness testimony, and she gave it to them.

"I do not know what she speaks of," The lady spoke softly, but the words tore at Jessie like knives.

"Take her away," Thomas Cranmer spat with hatred, and the constable motioned the message to his men.

As Jessie thrashed and struggled, heavy pounding of feet sounded and Lord Oscar Seymour burst into the room. He looked disheveled, as though he had just found out about the scene in the main hall.

"Stop, stop," He shouted, blocking the constable's path quickly. "You are making a mistake, this lady is guilty of no wrong."

The constable pursed his lips. "Then you can tell that, and prove it, to the judge."

"I will," Oscar let out furiously, "But you will let her go, first."

"That is not how this works, sir," The constable looked as though he'd had this conversation many a times.

"Make it work that way," Oscar snapped, "Or I'll—"

"Threatening authority back fires, my lord, as I am sure you are aware."

Oscar glared at the man in the uniform, the former's eyes so furious, so demanding, that Jessie felt as though she was looking at a different person entirely. She did not want to see him this way. She had ruined everything, she will not ruin Oscar Seymour by dragging him into this.

"Lord Seymour," Jessie managed through her tears, keeping her voice firm, though it shook slightly nevertheless. "I will be alright."

Oscar looked to her, his eyes softening as his brows furrowed. Jessie saw his lip quiver.

"I will get you out of this," He spoke to her, lowering his voice, eyes bearing into hers with determination. "I promise you, Miss Churchill."

Jessie nodded frantically, before she was dragged away. Her eyes left Oscar's a while later, and out of the entire ordeal, it struck to her that that had been the most painful part of it all.

Before Jessie Churchill knew it, she was being shoved into a sledge with all the decorum the constable offered to a soon-to-be convicted female criminal, and it wasn't much. Jessie had no choice but to endure it. The driver yanked on the reins of the horses as the constable and his men got in too, and the sledge was pulled away. Jessie bid the Abbey behind her farewell, pinning all her hopes on the gentleman who had just now promised that he will come to her aid.

༺♥༻

Lady Aramina Embry strolled alone in the greenhouse where she had conversed with Lady Diana Buxton a few days ago. Strangely, as though she had been reincarnated into the same life and in the same body, Lady Embry's troubles had significantly lessened over the course of every passing hour.

She was with her cousin, and she had met the working minds aiding in the search for her without even knowing her. She had made new friends, and not just acquaintances, for Aramina had a permanent feeling about this. She had found places in her heart for Lady Buxton, for Grandma Cass, for.. Philip.

She wouldn't let anything erase these places, these indentations in her heart. Aramina missed her aunt, a reunion she knew wasn't much long away. When it happened, Aramina had to decide whether to tell her aunt of all that had transpired, or whether to swiftly switch places with Miss Jessie Churchill like nothing had happened.

Jack had left that decision to her. Though he wasn't ever much keen on explaining anything to his mother, he had assured Aramina, in his complex way, that his mother would definitely not respond well were Aramina to come clean.

"I propose that you leave out the life threatening bits," Jack had added as he had munched on a biscuit during tea that afternoon. "If you are to tell my mother everything."

Aramina had briefly wondered how she might succeed with that, since there was really nothing left to tell if she eliminated those bits. Hadn't her entire journey up to this point had been her dangling between life and death?

She shivered slightly.

"You are cold," A voice rang into the silence of the greenhouse, the rusty and raw voice Aramina was all to familiar with.

She turned and her eyes met the figure of Philip making his way toward her with an awkward gait, as though he wished he hadn't drawn her attention to himself.

"No, actually," Aramina spoke, offering him a smile, "I am just wondering what I am to tell my aunt, about all that has happened."

Philip joined her at her side, eyes scanning the snow clad cream landscape Aramina had been eyeing through the greenhouse glass wall. The Berkshire Abbey grounds were stunning, daunting. They felt majestic but intimidating at the same time.

"Just tell the truth," He suggested with a shrug, not seeing her dilemma.

Aramina turned her eyes away from him. "That is easier said, than done. You do not know my aunt, Philip."

He looked at her. "But she is your family. Does not she deserve to know?"

She considered, a sigh escaping her lips. "I suppose so, but I do not want her to worry. I would be standing there telling her, and she would still worry and trouble herself about all that is in the past. I do not think I can bear to see it."

He shrugged again. "That is what family does."

Aramina looked at him curiously. "Would you have told Grandma Cass everything? Were you in my place?"

"I would have," He answered simply, before meeting her eyes again. "Forgive me, if this is too bold, but I believe you do not really have a perception of all that the word family entails." 

Aramina blinked, before forcing herself to look elsewhere. "I suppose not. After my mother left and my father died, I lost all perception of family, all by myself in London. I did not have a Grandma Cass reminding me every moment like you did."

Philip looked taken aback. He schooled in himself slowly. "I did not mean it like that. I just meant that family is supposed to share your troubles and lessen them simultaneously. I believe if you had not worried about worrying your loved ones when you first suspected Thomas Cranmer's intentions, you wouldn't have been taken because you would have reached out for support from those you love with more determination."

Aramina's lips parted. She hadn't ever heard him speak like that. Philip, she assumed, was a man of short sentences. But he was right. She hadn't thought of it like that. Maybe if she had gone straight to Bakewell to be with her aunt, maybe if she would  have informed her aunt, they could've taken precautions together.

"Then I wouldn't have met you," Aramina heard the words glide from between her lips after a pause.

Philip looked at her, silent, his eyes flashing emotions she tried to read but they were just too fast to fully acknowledge.

"Then I wouldn't have hurt you," He added, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Aramina's brows pinched together. "Philip, you have not hurt me."

He scoffed, surprising her with his opinion of himself.

"I kept you bound in a room on orders from a criminal. That makes me no better than Cranmer," He let out, eyes pinned furiously outside.

"No, Philip," Aramina cried, "Do not compare yourself to that man. You rescued me, and that is what matters to me in the end. You kept me safe."

He looked at her, hard grey eyes softening.

"You made me promises I didn't want, but you kept them either way," She continued, "I have never met anyone like you. I owe you my life and I do not believe I can ever repay such a debt."

"Do not call it that," Philip spoke, "I did it because it was the right thing, and— and you do not deserve what he put you through."

Aramina smiled a small smile, and he responded with a soft nod.

"I am sorry," Philip said after a quiet while. "About your father."

"Don't be," She shrugged gently, "I just wish he could meet you, though. He would have all the words of gratitude ready that I can not seem to locate."

"And I would tell him that it was my duty," He offered with a smile.

Aramina's smile dimmed as she felt her heart plummet inside her. Duty. Had he done it all because of that word? Had there been no other motivations? No other emotions to lead him?

She took a breath. There was no use dwelling on questions when she needed to ask them out loud. If the answers hurt, at least she would know and she would move on. At least there would be no questions left to churn and burn inside of her like acid and keep her awake at nights.

"Duty?" She managed, "Was that all that it was?"

He looked at her, eyes flashing recognition to what she was getting at. Aramina knew that look.

"Philip," She spoke quickly to stop him from saying anything before hearing her out. "I— I find that I care about you, a lot, in ways that I never have for anyone else."

His lips parted, eyes pinned into hers.

"I believe I am in love with you," Aramina gulped, "And I am afraid that you do not feel the same for me. But, nevertheless, I want you to tell me so that I can—" She broke off, voice slightly cracking.

"So that I can move on from this and exit your life."

Philip blinked, breaking their gaze as his eyes fell to his feet, a hand raking through his hair in tension. Then he gripped his face with both his palms, fingers pressing his eyes as he spun away from her.

Aramina watched him, her heart pounding wildly.

Philip grabbed the back of his neck with both his hands, head tipping to the ground with his back to her.

"Please say something," Aramina spoke softly, on the verge of tears, desperately trying and failing to read him.

"I— I can't," Philip let out finally, his voice thick with desperation.

Aramina shut her eyes tightly, registering the painful words, before Philip continued.

"I am not— I am not who you deserve," He pressed, and she opened her eyes, peering in confusion at him. "Why me? I am a terrible person. I had you suffering alone in that room for days before I thought to do anything about it. I should turn myself in for that. You deserve someone better. A lord, or— or a Duke who would have no stains like I do."

"Philip," Aramina's voice finally broke as she took measured steps towards him. "You rescued me. Even when I was being kept there, you were already rescuing me. Seeing you come in everyday was so much comfort because I knew you would not harm me."

"How could you have known that?" He asked, the veins in his eyes red.

"By looking at you," She answered. "I knew that just by looking at you."

Philip gulped and shook his head in disbelief. Aramina quickly raised a hand and held his cheek, holding him so that he would keep looking at her. His skin felt warm under her touch through the layer of the fabric of her gloves, a soft graze of his stubble and the throbbing of his pulse.

"I am a mere street urchin," Philip began, "I am not rich—"

"I don't care," Aramina let out. "I know who you are and I have still fallen in love with you."

Slowly, she leaned closer on to him. A hand touching his chest over his clothes, while her other dropped at his shoulder from his cheek.

"Philip," Aramina spoke again, her voice earnest. "I love you, and if you— if you want to walk away from this, from me, then I will make myself understand. That is my promise to you."

"No," He blinked, his palms quickly cupping her face.

Aramina gasped at the sudden warmth, her skin tingled under his touch.

"I do not want to walk away from you, away from this." His grey eyes bore into hers. "Because I love you too."

A sigh escaped her lips, her heart swelling and swelling inside her chest. 

"How much?" She asked, shutting her eyes close before opening them again to meet his. She wanted to hear him say it so many times. Once was not enough for her.
"How much do you love me?"

"I will bring down the moon for you if you asked me too," Philip spoke, his voice husky, raspy. "And when I see Thomas Cranmer again, he will pay for every tear that fell from your eyes. I swear it."