LORD OSCAR SEYMOUR WAS IN HIGH fidgets as he paced indignantly across the elaborate and intricately embroidered carpet in the east drawing room of Wycombe house. Over the course of the previous night, he had tossed and turned and had been forcefully thrust to the conclusion that his infiltration of bringing Miss Jessie Churchill to Wycombe and have her play pretense as an heiress was undoubtedly one of his most ludicrous ideas. As a man of much self critic, like any responsible gentleman, Oscar did not assume himself to be devoid of ludicrous ideas, he just believed he had much less of those than perhaps all of the gentlemen in his acquaintance combined.
It was the next day, and the dread in Oscar's stomach knew no bounds. Unable to bring himself to see more of Miss Churchill in a single night than he had been forced to, Oscar had instructed a maid with the task of settling the rector's daughter in the guest room Lady Embry had previously occupied. The maid had also been employed with the task of waiting on Miss Churchill and dressing her as befit the style of Lady Aramina Embry. Oscar had hoped he would have the courage to embark upon going over a few lessons last night with Miss Churchill, but his resolve had much wavered and he'd dismissed the idea. Which is why, he'd informed her that they'd start early today while Lord Beresford was out and his wife was indisposed.
She hadn't met them yet, for the introduction was, as per Oscar's plans, to happen in the afternoon. By which time, Miss Jessie Churchill could hopefully be made presentable enough for the society of Oscar's higher connections. At least one could pray for such a heavy miracle.
Oscar Seymour glanced at the clock as it struck eight. He exhaled, a wary attempt to calm himself. Miss Churchill was supposed to meet him here, dressed and ready for the day, so that they may begin, but it seemed to him that punctuality was another attribute he was to add on his to teach list. It will all be alright, he echoed the words in his mind. The main objective was to find Lady Embry, a job he will rush to alongside Jack once he was sure Miss Churchill would ease into her part here at Wycombe.
Without meaning to, his memory flashed him the set of the Lady's amber eyes glinting up at him. Eyes that to him seemed like they were etched with gold flecks and full of life more precious than that of his own.
'You are a good friend to my cousin, Lord Seymour.'
Her butter smooth voice filled his head. He blinked as he felt himself flushing. He cleared his throat, and shook his head. Lady Aramina Embry was no doubt an attractive woman, but in the short time he'd known her, Oscar knew she was so much more, and he believed with his sound mind and heart that she deserved so much more. So he would do whatever it took to find her, because he promised her that he would introduce her to his cousins. He wanted to introduce her to Diana, to Alicia, to Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Arthur, and perhaps to all his little cousins as well. He gave Lady Embry hope, when he promised her that things will be made alright. And so he would do whatever it took to find her, even if that included bearing with Miss Jessie Churchill and all her faults.
༺♥༻
Miss Jessie Churchill was in front of the looking glass, an exquisite lilac coloured dress being fastened on her by a maid, in a lavishly furnished room with giant glass windows that let in the soft early morning sunlight through the transparency of the sheen curtains, in Wycombe house. She felt out of place, she looked out of place. Her brown eyes were glued to the intricate details of the dress that she was to call hers, a single glorious piece out of the marvellously stunning dozens carefully packed and placed in Lady Embry's wardrobe that had been left in wake of her disappearance. Staring at herself, all Jessie could think was that the dress did not belong on her, and neither did she belong in it.
"Lord Seymour would be cross," The maid noted, her tone laced with anxiety as she hurried to lower Jessie into a seat and began the odious task of assembling her ginger curls.
Jessie bit her lip. The maid, along with Jessie herself, had been the subject of Lord Seymour's strict instructions on appearing in the east drawing room at eight sharp. The delay wasn't of the maid's doing, it was entirely Jessie's own handiwork. She hadn't ever slept in a bed as plush as the one she had been given, neither had she ever felt like royalty in this extravagant monstrosity of a room. So naturally, her body disappointed her. People often said that it felt defiling, being out of place somewhere. But Jessie felt only a surging feeling of gladness, because if she felt like she belonged, she wouldn't enjoy it as much. She belonged at home, didn't she? And that was a cage she did not want to return to.
Jessie watched the maid, Lacey, work on her hair with intrigue and fascination. With a swipe of her thin fingers, Lacey pinned ginger curls to the sides, framing Jessie's heart shaped face. The rest of the hair at the back was gathered and pinned high atop the crown of the head in a delicate do of curls. The maid then added a lilac hair diadem above the do. It looked beautiful, Jessie looked beautiful as she stared at herself in shock.
"Did Lady Embry wear her hair like this?" She asked despite herself.
"Yes, miss," Lacey responded with satisfaction, admiring her handiwork.
Haste was them made, and Jessie was led out of the room and was taken to where Oscar Seymour stood waiting for her.
"This way, miss," The maid murmured as they cascaded down a series of intricate and lavish hallways.
Jessie felt the overwhelming urge to correct her. Please call me Jessie, she wanted to say, but was that something Lady Embry would've said? Surely an heiress such as her would value propriety in every case. Taking a turn and walking down an elaborate staircase, they turned left and Jessie made out Oscar's figure in the drawing room. His hands clasped at his back, face turned to the snowy early morning view outside of the big glass windows. The room was coated in a cream sheen, the yellow of the sun blending in with the mint coloured walls of the drawing room.
"My lord," Lacey, curtseyed, and Oscar's attention was diverted from whatever he was thinking so intently of. "I have brought Miss Churchill."
He turned to look at her then, his eyes darting towards Jessie. From where she stood, she saw them widen in surprise, she saw them drop to her dress, sprint to her hair, linger just seconds too long on her face. It made her palms sweat, she felt her face heat up. There wasn't annoyance in his irises, the kind she had become so accustomed to, and that did something to her.
"I apologize for being late, my lord," The maid interrupted their reverie, making Oscar clear his throat and straightened himself, "Miss Churchill-"
"Overslept, I suppose?" Oscar let out, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise, as the same look of annoyance and enmity infused his eyes when he glanced at Jessie. "I should've expected it."
And just like that the fluttering feeling in her stomach was replaced by empty air.
"I'm sorry, I-" Jessie began hastily, not sure what excuse to present having not rehearsed it before in her reverie. Oscar raised his hand to stop her mid sentence.
He approached them both, and Lacey curtseyed again for lack of what to do. Jessie noticed the restlessness in her manner. The maid seemed quite resolute in dealing with Jessie in the privacy of the room, but in front of Oscar, Lacey's voice wavered. Jessie might have mistook for fear if she hadn't noticed how the maid kept straightening her skirts, her flushed face and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Oscar Seymour had that affect on women, she supposed, at least Jessie had learned to slowly control the affects over the course of years.
He beckoned them nearer, as he sat himself down on a sofa, his eyes held contemplation and a glaze of determination.
"You," Oscar started, his eyes fixated on Lacey, finger held up. She shifted then, lips twitching as though she wondered if her smile was enough, "Lacey, my lord."
Oscar narrowed his eyes at her ignorance of misunderstanding his meaning. He couldn't care less for a maid's name. "You," He began in strictness, "Will refer to Miss Churchill as My lady. I am told you are relied upon and taken into our delicate correspondence by Lady Acacia Beresford, and since it is her trust that has been placed in you, I warn you to be vigilant and cautious."
Jessie's heart quickened. Had he approved then? Had Lord Oscar Seymour liked what he'd seen enough to give her hope that she could succeed in this endeavour?
"Yes, my lord," Lacey bent her head in obedience, deterred by his dismissal of her.
"Good. I must presume that you are aware of all of the particulars of your job in this, so I feel obliged to repeat a single important point again. You are to attend to Miss Churchill and address her as you would Lady Embry," Oscar leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together under his chin, eyes bearing furiously onto Lacey's bowed head. "And things will not bear well in your favour were I to find out about any carelessness on your part."
As she stirred and frantically nodded, Oscar dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and she scurried off as though her skirts had suddenly caught fire. Jessie would've laughed, were she not in a missing heiress' dress, pretending to be someone she was not.
A thick pause followed. It might've been seconds long, but to Jessie it felt an hour long at the least amongst the panic escalating in her chest.
"Sit, Miss Churchill," Oscar finally spoke, beckoning a hand toward the sofa opposite. He had leaned in again, elbows resting on knees drawn apart.
Jessie spun entirely to face the sofa, the movement so wide and quick she felt as though her hair might've disassembled. Then, courtesy of her anxious limbs and weary resolve, she took a few hurried steps closer to it, spun back again to face Oscar, and then sat down. Her hands awkwardly rested on her closed knees, though they seemed to shake, much to Jessie's dismay.
Oscar's eyes were fixed on her, for once, a higher purpose in mind. He shook his head, betraying an emotion of dismissal.
"You are anxious. You must relax yourself," He spoke, his voice calm, it's depth suddenly soothing. "You tend to have constant haste in your actions when you are subject to nerves. I implore you to find your composure."
Jessie nodded frantically, then realization dawning on her, her frantic nods turned slow and scarce.
"I'm sorry, I am all fidgets this morning," Jessie started, in her haste to ensure the gentleman that she wasn't always a nervous wreck.
"Then fix it," Oscar blurted, before shaking his head and sighing. It looked as though he had thought better, something that made his anger go away. Perhaps the weighed torment of a beautiful heiress somewhere out there in danger. The thought made Jessie stomach ache, or was it her heart? It took Lord Oscar Seymour a moment to collect himself before he focused his attention on her again. "Breathe please. Slow and steady."
Confused, yet obliging, Jessie took deep breaths and exhaled slowly. Oscar observed her. Her skin prickled under his attention and she feared that her anxiety would only be made worse under his scrutiny. Glancing at him however, she did not spot judgement in his dark eyes, just hope for satisfaction he was determined to achieve. Jessie wasn't sure if she preferred it, but it was a welcome change.
"Good," Oscar claimed once she had exhaled a sixth time. "Now, I want you to get up."
Jessie got up, feeling better than she was a while ago. Her skin still felt on fire, and there were goose bumps on her arms, but she felt calmer regardless. She stood there looking at him expectantly, under the spell of this side of Oscar Seymour that she never knew existed.
"A lady, Miss Churchill, should exude surety," He spoke a calculated few seconds later, "She must be confident in whatever it is that she is doing, especially little actions the likes of eating, dressing, walking, or taking a seat."
"And if she is not?" Jessie blurted out, words escaping her without her notice, "You can't expect that of all ladies."
A flash of irritation flashed across Oscar's face, before being replaced by determination.
"Then she must appear to be so," His voice was not harsh this time, it contained a manner of deliverance that reflected that of her father when he reached the heavy points of his sermons in church. Jessie wondered just how furious Oscar Seymour would be at the comparison.
"Confidence makes or breaks one, Miss Churchill. It is not a mere attribute, it is a shield against the world or in favour of it, depending on however one would prefer to wield it," Oscar knew just how much it was worth, he had seen his own cousins wield it with such fervour.
Jessie nodded. Slow and steady.
"Now please, take a seat," He gestured to her.
She did. This time, it was an action borne out of will and calm. It pleased Oscar, for the look in his eyes was that of minute satisfaction, before it quickly went away.
"Your attire each day you're here, will be the responsibility of the maid that will attend to you. To maintain the performance will be your due."
She nodded, relishing the moment, the constant contact of their eyes, determination in both pairs for goals that differed only slightly. Jessie was here to escape, and to help save an innocent life, and Oscar Seymour was here for only the latter.
"I do not want to discourage you, for that is hardly in my favour at present, but to be an heiress is not a simple task— even the pretension to be one. You must appear charming to everyone. Your conversation must be enlightening and elegant."
"To please then? I must strive to please?"
"No," Oscar cut in, "Your task is to hold your conversation and presentation such that others hand over the pleasure willingly."
"How-" Jessie let out, instantly being interrupted by Oscar again.
"You will be charming, amused, but detached."
She looked at him then, head tilted slightly, eyes holding curiosity. Oscar rubbed his hands, before reaching for a cigar on the side table and lighting it up. He inhaled, an exhale slowly following after. His eyes met hers again.
"You will encourage little, but your conversation must have compliments and opinions so relevant that they mirror your thoughts. You aren't to be always positive, your opinions that don't measure up to other people's requirements will only influence if uttered with the boldness and confidence required. This, will make you charming, yet detached."
"Now," Oscar continued, "Please stand."
Jessie stood, slowly, her composure intact. A wave of determination to please him washed over her.
"Arch your back."
She looked at him in shock, blinking her eyes and hoping she had misheard, but she had not.
"Arch your back," Oscar repeated, taking another puff from his cigar, his eyes observing her with intensity.
She gulped, but rolled her shoulders and arched her back. The posture felt different, as though she was seeing everything in a slightly different light.
"Good," The gentleman hummed, his voice deepening like that sent shivers down Jessie's already arched back. "Now bring your hand to your front. Intertwine them together at the base of your stomach."
Heat crept up in full force to Jessie's face. She'd never imagined she would ever hear Oscar Seymour talking of her hands and stomach. She did as she was told, and Oscar put his cigar on the side table and got up. He neared her, and Jessie found herself counting sheep in order for the heat to dissipate from her face. He was so close now, she could touch him were she to extend one hand.
"Keep your gaze locked up front," Oscar instructed, and when she did so, he circled her. His eyes scrutinizing and observing Jessie's standing figure. Breathe, she told herself, stop flushing and breathe.
"Never stray from protocol, Miss Churchill," He began, his voice smooth and contemplative, "You will avoid showing private emotions, you will maintain an elegant gait, and when listening to other people's conversations, you will appear amused where it is due, no more no less."
"Yes," Jessie found herself answering, though her voice came as soft as a whisper, and though she wondered how easier all this was said than done.
Oscar stopped in front of her, meeting her eyes head on. Jessie averted her gaze quickly and in return, Oscar let out a hum of disapproval that sent jolts down her stomach.
"Eye contact, when sought out like this, is necessary. You will maintain it, for wavering eyes in a disagreement, argument, or a simple conversation is an opportunity lost."
Before she could raise her eyes again, two fingers settled underneath her chin and her face was raised of someone else's accord. Jessie's eyes now wilfully met Oscar Seymour's dark ones, and the contact of skin on her chin tightened the knots in her belly till they ached.
"Your chin will be up, always. Your upper lip will be stiff and you will keep a grip on yourself at all times."
Jessie nodded, her mind wheeling on the mere observance of little things such as a stiff upper lip that makes such difference.
A pause followed as Oscar observed her again, his eyes fixated and determined. Then he spoke again, "I want you to exit the room and walk in again."
She swallowed then, making sure not to betray an obvious expression of shock, she nodded a small nod and swiftly but slowly spun on her heels and made her way to the entrance of the drawing room, only just starting to wonder where all the servants were.
"Stay," Oscar called as she was just about to walk in again. "Your steps must be light, your gait should be steady, not fast and nor slow."
Jessie bit back an expression, and nodded curtly. He motioned for her to walk back in, so she did, making sure her steps were light, her breathing steady, her arms not moving too much. Never before had she been so focused on the way she should walk. Her chin stayed in place where Oscar had positioned it, her back stayed arched, her upper lip stiff. Maybe she could do this. If she could succeed in front of Oscar Seymour, what were other people? For it was only Oscar Seymour who's scrutiny seemed to always matter the most to her.
Jessie Churchill was met with a satisfied nod that made the skin at her chin, and every part of her body for that matter, prickle with heat.
"You can address Lord Beresford as Jack in public, since you are playing pretence as his cousin, but you must address him as Lord Beresford in private, keeping in mind the inferiority of your circumstances regardless of everything else. Similarly, Lady Beresford is Acacia to you in public, but Lady Beresford in private. Jack's mother, The Lady Beresford, should be addressed as Aunt, since that is the exact word Lady Embry uses," Oscar paused, returning to pick up his cigar from the side table and taking a long puff before exhaling it, "Is that all clear?"
"Yes," Jessie nodded, feeling pleased with herself. It will be alright, she reminded that nagging counter voice in her head, I will go through everything again and again. I will practice, I can do this.
"Now," Oscar let out, his eyes finding hers again, a hint of amusement playing in them, "Before Jack arrives and I introduce you to the Beresfords, tell me, are you fluent in table manners or do I touch upon them too?"