LORD JACK BERESFORD ARRIVED AT Wycombe not more than an hour later, his brown hair unkempt, his brows pinched together in frustration, yet his presence as dawning as a Lord's ever was.
"Those rascals, I tell you," He let out once he was in Oscar's presence in the drawing room, practically ripping his hands off of the gloves he had worn outside, as his valet followed behind holding not but a silver tray for the possessions. "They are all as tight as bricks, refusing to betray an ounce of information on that scoundrel."
"So you got nothing?" Oscar sighed, his hand reaching to touch his forehead and cascading down his chin in frustration that mirrored that of his friend.
"It's as thought that bastard has them all under his finger. They don't speak anything that may be of benefit to us, unless they receive the money for it." Lord Jack Beresford plopped himself on a nearby sofa, restlessly reaching for a cigar atop the nearest side table. His valet scurried forwards to light it for him.
Oscar whipped his head towards him. "So you pay it."
"I would've," Jack muttered, a puff of smoke punctuating his words as he exhaled, "If the constable hadn't been there."
Oscar's already curling fingers tightened into a fist and he brought it to his nose and exhaled viciously. For once, he felt this gnawing anger at the burden of reputations. If Jack hadn't been so conscious about being seen bribing men, they would've had something to bring them even slightly closer to the whereabouts of Lady Embry. Oscar found himself asking what he himself would've done in Jack's situation. Would he have slammed pound notes on the table and demanded explanations regardless of a constable or anyone delicate nearby? The answer, he found, was right there in him, pulsing. I would've chosen another time to confront them again. And just like that, his fists loosened.
Jack lowered the cigar, exhaling long as he leaned in, elbows on knees. "We do it next time, alright? You will come with me and I will choke them with sixty, or however many pounds they require, until they give us the information on the doings of Thomas Cranmer."
Oscar sighed and nodded in determination. "Are you sure the men are close acquaintances of that scoundrel?"
"Yes," Jack tugged at his cravat to loosen it, "The whole lot of them. Worked in a mill in Portsmouth with him."
"Portsmouth?"
"Turns out the ruffian's been all over the place. Schemed in London, worked in Portsmouth— wait," Lord Beresford halted as a wave of recognition flashed across his eyes, "The leech is in Portsmouth, isn't he?"
"You said he worked there, that could've been years ago."
"No, no," Jack leaned forward, disregarding his cigar entirely as it was tossed on the valet's silver tray. "Those men talked as if it was recently, mere months ago."
"Did Lady Embry ever speak about Cranmer's time in Portsmouth?" Oscar asked, leaning in as well as both men's eyes bared into each other, grasping and thrashing at possibilities in a joint effort.
"She said he went there out of spite," A familiar female voice chimed in, and Oscar and Jack's attentions were diverted to the entrance of the drawing room whence stood Lady Acacia Beresford. The vibrant colour gown she wore did little to disguise the fatigue so evident on her face. It wasn't the kind of fatigue that showed as a result of exhaustion merely, it was a mix of that and the mere fact that she had misplaced someone that was dear to her, and not of her own accord.
Perhaps that hurt the most, Oscar thought, when you lost someone without having done anything to misplace them in the first place.
"It was when he was cast out of his father's will. So he retired to Portsmouth, bound to earn his own pay," Lady Beresford continued, making her way to her husband's side as he took one of her hands in his and brought it to his mouth in a kiss. "I should believe that is enough to make one go crazy, but it still doesn't quite settle in me."
"When was this, Lady Beresford? Did Lady Embry reveal a timeline? perhaps a date or a month?" Oscar probed.
"It was six months ago," she answered on cue, a response that was both confident in it's truth.
Jack and Oscar exchanged determined looks, as Acacia Beresford glanced between them. "He's taken Aramina to Portsmouth, hasn't he?" She asked, her voice cracking at the ends, her composure giving way.
"He is not in Southampton," Jack spoke, his gaze burning into the tapestry on the opposite wall. He had set out at first light, he had employed use of his connections and he had had searches conducted discreetly, there was no sign of his cousin or her abductor.
"Oh God," Lady Beresford removed her hand from her husband's hold and brought it to her face, spinning on her heel and walking to the nearest window, her pained gaze locking outside in the snow filled land of the Wycombe grounds so as to not burden it on her husband or on Oscar.
"So we search in Portsmouth," Oscar broke the silence firmly. "We make haste before the rascal escapes from there as well, because we have no information of his intentions."
"Then we get the information first," Jack bared his teeth, "We know the statistics and then we arrive on the exact spot and take my cousin. I will not rush to Portsmouth with no strategy but to search the entire county in vain only to give the bastard enough time to pack Aramina in a carriage and escape behind our backs."
Try as he might, Oscar could not help but agree, because his friend's way seemed the logical one to him too. "And so we're back to pressing those men for information."
"We are," Jack let out, "We'll pay them another visit tonight." He got up, rubbing his palms together, made his way to his wife, wrapping a comforting arm around her back as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He bent his head to hers, lower until—
Oscar averted his gaze and straightened himself, the tense feeling of intruding on a private moment overtook him. A feeling that took him spinning to the time when he had been minding his own business in the parlour at Mansfield estate and his elder sister, Lady Rebecca Ashbrook, had tumbled in alongside her husband, mistaking Oscar and his brown coat for wallpaper. The memory tossing up his composure like a bin, he cleared his throat loudly.
"I-uh, was hoping to introduce you to—," He broke off, not sure what word to use in this hasty sentence. Was she a guest? or an actor? how do you introduce someone who was, in all technicality, both of the above? "To the rector's daughter," Oscar blurted out, already regretting his choice of words. His sentence made it seem that he had corresponded with the lady in question so often that it had morphed into something normal for him, an illusion he would rather die than give.
"Ah," An amused twinkle glinted in Jack Beresford's eyes as he turned to face his friend. Knowing his friend and the irregularities that plagued his life, Jack was all but versed, "The infamous lady who—"
"Is to be the decoy," Oscar added in quickly, and the twinkle in Jack's eyes was immediately replaced by a hard expression. Sceptical and wary, it had taken convincing for Lord Beresford to allow the blasphemy of having someone else play pretend at upholding the position of his cousin while her own life was in peril. Miss Churchill would doubtless receive judgement from his side, and Oscar was fully prepared for his friend's contempt for no one else in his place would react any differently.
And Miss Churchill was only a decoy. Bearing disturbances the likes of those was part of her job.
"Pray don't use that word, Oscar," Lady Beresford, "Sounds too harsh."
Oscar almost snorted. That, was actually the perfect word to use for the idea of Jessie Churchill being in his life more than he would've liked at the moment. That word was comforting, the idea of it being fleeting, nothing permanent, one minute there and the other minute not. Invisible, not quite there. So, in conclusion, he'd use the word as often as he'd prefer.
With a flick of his hand, motioned to Jack's valet, who had long since blended into the furniture of the room. The valet nodded and with a low bow, exited the room only to come in along with Jessie Churchill a few minutes later.
"Miss Jessie Churchill," he announced, before moving aside and letting her walk into the room.
Oscar found himself holding his breath, his chest constricted as he waiting for something, anything, to go horribly wrong.
She bowed, a surprisingly perfect curtsey, much to Oscar's relief.
"Miss Churchill," Jack broke the silence of the room, addressing her as his eyes swept over her presence in a swift moment, yet a concluding one. His facial expression betrayed no doubt, just a mere fleck of caution and a dose of civility. "It is a pleasure to meet you, I am—"
"Lord Jack Beresford, of course," Jessie Churchill butted in, and Oscar sunk low in his seat. Then she turned her focus to Jack's wife, and met her with a broad smile, "And Lady Acacia Beresford. It is an equal pleasure to meet you both. Oscar has told me much about you."
As the words left her mouth, Lord Oscar Seymour choked a little on the air that entered his lungs. And as though Jessie Churchill shared some connection with him, she immediately corrected herself.
"I mean, Lord Seymour, of course," She hurried hastily, but one wary glance at Oscar told her that the damage was done. His forehead was officially being held in dismay by his fingers.
"Of course," Added Lord Beresford, his tone laced with amusement at his friend's discomfort.
"I hope you found Wycombe to your liking, Miss Churchill," Lady Beresford spoke next, trying to clear the air, "I understand you had to procure mush haste for your presence here, and I understand of the sacrifices you have decided upon making."
Jessie felt her resolve weaken and a lump form in her throat. What sacrifices? Could Lady Beresford be referring to Lady Seymour's proposal? Does she know of Lord Colston? Could this be one of those many instances where she enters a room and meets people who in turn reveal themselves to know much of her misfortunes and she none of theirs? Gossip travelled faster than explanations in her parish in Southampton, and Jessie was painfully aware of it.
As if answering Jessie's predicament, Lady Acacia Beresford continued, "I refer to the holiday of course. I'm sure you had such plans for Christmas, and now all of them have been mercilessly thwarted for our sake."
Jessie held back a sigh of relief. No, this was not one those many instances.
"No, no, my lady," She then hastened in relief, "I'm sure I won't be missed." She realized too late how self deprecating she had sounded, and by then, Oscar had cleared his throat.
"Let us get down to business shall we?" He spoke loud enough to recapture the attention his presence had always had in a room. "Miss Churchill is here for a reason, and there is no need for us all to sugar coat it. The stakes are high, and she's aware of them."
His eyes met hers in a stare of recognition, and it seemed to set Jessie's insides on fire. A fire that felt so beautiful and consuming, that she wasn't sure if fires were supposed to feel that way. She nodded, for once having the courage to maintain the eye contact before he broke it away.
"What do you think of her, Jack? Will Miss Churchill be enough of a decoy while we find our missing lady?"
Lord Beresford shifted under his friend's straightforwardness. Jessie realized how hard it could be for one to put formality aside for someone they had just met. It felt harder on both sides, because this had been the first time in forever that she had had the pleasure of meeting someone new, acquaintances that could flourish a friendship perhaps with every time they talked. But she wasn't to be herself anymore, she was to be Lady Embry, and this was not be a proper first time meeting for a decoy who was about to play pretend.
Lady Acacia Beresford pursed her lips, and Jessie Churchill wondered what she had found displeasing at present, the idea of someone like Jessie impersonating a loved one, or the idea of that loved one missing in general. She made her way toward Jessie, the skirts of her gown swishing in expert movements before the lady reached her.
Taking Jessie's hands in hers, Lady Acacia Beresford spoke, "I am so sorry, that you have to be here."
And though Jessie Churchill tried to argue with herself that the Lady meant the words spoken in all goodness, she couldn't help the painful jolt at her heart that felt as though yet another arrow had hit the bull's eye in her chest. Because, if truth could be told, Jessie was not sorry that she had to be here. She was glad. Glad to have this break from being the plain old Jessie Churchill from back home, glad to be somewhere the idea of marrying and caring for Lord Colston's children could not reach her ears, glad to be away from her father's whims, glad to be away from the cage that was the rectory she was born and grew up in. She was, at present, a bird who had left her cage, and because she knew not much of anywhere else except those familiar iron bars, it would take a while for her to find the right footing.
I'm not sorry, she wanted to say, but instead, she offered a slow smile.
Glancing towards Oscar Seymour, Jessie realized he had been in hushed conversation with Lord Beresford. Both gentlemen were calm, and she couldn't detect any general displeasure on either of their faces. Had Lord Beresford warmed up to the idea of Jessie enough that he could let her try? or was he just a gentlemen who could hold his composure longer than the others?
"Tell me, Miss Churchill," Acacia Beresford spoke, bringing Jessie's attentions back to herself, "What do you think of this?" Jessie clearly caught a break at the end of her voice, a painful ache that was accidentally let slip.
She started into the lady's emerald eyes. "I didn't really think at first, my lady," Jessie began truthfully. Sure, she had wondered about the ifs and buts, but Oscar Seymour had received her answer as soon as he had let her know that she could be saving a life. "I just wanted to help in any way that would be necessary. It was only after coming here, that I well and truly thought. And I think, now, that what happened to Lady Embry is cruel and unjust. I think that she has to be saved, and if that could be helped even a little by my presence here, then I am glad to do so. I know I don't know her, but I know how cruel people can be, even if I do not know the entire extent of it."
She paused then, catching an earnest expression in Lady Beresford's eyes, urging her to go on. "I do not know how you feel about this," Jessie continued, "Though I imagine it must be hard, the idea of watching someone take a loved one's place while knowing the former is in danger. It must be terrifying. But I do think it would buy the gentlemen some time, it would ease the process, and I hope that's of some comfort to you."
Lady Beresford's eyes had misted, and Jessie feared that her words had made the lady cry, but Acacia Beresford held onto her composure like a lifeline as she answered, "It is, Miss Churchill. It really is."
"There are still many factors to consider, Oscar," Lord Beresford's voice broke the silence, and the ladies glanced in the gentlemen's direction. "You do not understand. I am still prepared to tell mother myself of Aramina's predicament."
"That would be chaos, and you know it," Oscar argued, "Once word gets out—"
"For God's sake, I do not care what everyone would think," Jack interrupted, his voice raising by the second.
"It is not about what everyone would think, Jack, it is about how much harder the reveal would make it for us to locate Cranmer."
"If people know, he won't be able to flee."
"If people know, he would find more creative ways to flee!"
Lord Beresford silenced himself at his friend's statement. He had no counter argument to put forth, yet he was still wary. Knowing everything he had heard about Miss Churchill pass from Oscar's lips, could he trust her enough to let her be his cousin? It sounded ridiculous. But the tables had turned, and his friend seemed to trust the rector's daughter for the task, and Jack would in turn try to do the same.
With a sigh, Lord Beresford slumped himself on a sofa. "But she doesn't— she doesn't know about our acquaintances, about Aramina's acquaintances for that matter. I told you, looks aren't enough."
"Then I'll teach her about them," Lady Acacia Beresford spoke up, a lustre of determination in her voice as the gentlemen, and also Jessie Churchill turned to look at her. "I'll teach her what Lord Seymour cannot."