"FINALLY," LADY DIANA BUXTON let out for the fourth time since the hour she had found out. Her husband had been successful in arranging for transport in the time he had proposed. He had always been a man of his word, and Lady Buxton had equally been a lady of her own attributes.
Lady Aramina Embry smiled, aiding a maid in helping her put on her attire for the departure. The two ladies sat, or rather prepared, to leave together, bustling about in the guestroom Aramina was staying in at Berkshire.
There wasn't much luggage to haul onto the sledge along with the travellers of course, aside from Lady Buxton's attires to cover her for a few days at Berkshire, and a trunk full of gifts she had generously given to Aramina as a token of their newly formed friendship. The token in particular, consisting of a handful of dresses and jewellery the lady of the house had declared the height of fashion in Portsmouth high society.
"I take it that Philip and his grandmother are to be accompanying us?" Diana Buxton spoke after a while, curiously watching her new friend's back stiffen slightly at the mention of the man.
"Yes," Aramina spun around from the mirror, "I asked them to, and they agreed."
"And afterwards?" Diana prodded, knowing full well that it wasn't her business to, and knowing full well too that her friend at present had no one else to converse about this topic to.
"I—," Aramina spoke, a sudden confusion in her eyes as thought he hadn't given much thought to the afterwards.
"He has confessed then, of his love to you?"
The question seemed to knock colour to Lady Aramina Embry's cheeks as though she had gone a bit wild with the rouge on the vanity. Her lips parted to make way for words, but none came out.
"I take that as a yes," Diana smiled, toughing her hairdo with a gloved hand.
"But Aramina," She added, crossing over to the vanity and approaching her. "I do not know Philip, and though he rescued you, his valour attunes to his other abilities rather than the ones we are concerned with at present. I want you to be so sure of his love for you that a seven nation army couldn't hold you back."
Aramina looked at Diana, the emotion on her face going suddenly blank. She spun away to look into the mirror.
"He hasn't asked me to marry him," She let out flatly. Diana met her eyes in the mirror and sighed.
"And you want him to, correct?"
"Yes," Aramina spun back around to face Diana, "Yes, with all my heart."
"Then you speak to him, tell him as much," Lady Diana Buxton spoke with a finality, as though it was the easiest conclusion she had come up with.
"Ask him to ask me to marry him?" Aramina let out in disbelief. "I cannot. I would seem so— so pathetic."
Lady Diana Buxton's brows furrowed, a frown on her lips. "My dear. You are a lady. You should be bold in asking for what you want. No man should be fearlessly flouncing about with you without being clear and audible of the serious intention of matrimony. I understand Philip isn't— hasn't been much in circles you and I are often in, but surely as a man he must attune to your reputation. Or rather, you must attune to your own reputation."
Suddenly, there was a shuffle at the door of Lady Embry's room, and both the ladies turned just in time to see the slight glimpse of who it was before the man hurried off. The shuffle, had apparently been the departing noise, the arriving noise unaccounted for.
Diana glanced at Aramina, a brow raised and lips pursed. Aramina's brows scrunched upwards, as she quickly gathered her skirts and rushed out of the room to catch Philip.
She glanced towards the hallway he had went, and saw his figure. Without thinking twice, Aramina rustled after him, the skirts of her dress softly caressing the hardwood floors underneath her feet, her footsteps delicate thuds though her heart beat like a shot from a rifle.
"Philip," She called, following him to a terrace. The soft sun rays drenched her as she turned towards him, his hands in his hair as he practically shook.
"Philip," Aramina spoke after catching her breath. "I am sorry, you were not supposed to hear it like that—"
"No," He blurted, all wide eyes and messy hair, "Do not apologize. Lady Buxton spoke the truth. You mustn't jeopardize your reputation with the likes of me."
Aramina furrowed her brows at his interpretation of what her friend had said earlier. "That is not what she meant."
"I know what she meant," He said, "By the likes of me, I mean men who can not come clean of their intentions."
She looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly, arms crossing her chest. "What do you meant by can not?"
"I mean," His eyes flitted to her, "I— I want to, but I can not."
A sudden flare flamed in her chest then, anger, frustration. "Is that answer supposed to make me satisfied? Because god, it is a pathetic one, if ever there was."
She turned to walk away, frustration and hurt clouding her heart and brain.
"Aramina, I can not marry you because I can offer you nothing," He blurted out, and she spotted in her tracks. "And that must be acknowledged."
"I have nothing," He continued after a pause. "I have no house, no money, no reputation. I have no name."
She blinked, eyes falling to her feet, before slowly turning around to catch his eyes.
"So you are ashamed?" Aramina inquired in disbelief, "You are comparing what I have and you do not? Is this your ego speaking? Because you have never been about material things Philip, at least that was what I thought."
He looked taken aback.
"Did I not tell you that I love you regardless of all those things?" She pressed. "Why would you doubt it enough to make this a gambling offer?"
Philip blinked, lips parting and mind grasping for words.
"Love is not about money, houses, reputations, or names," Aramina continued, "It is about dedication, passion and honesty."
"I just— I just wanted your word for us," She added, "That is what Lady Buxton meant too. A proposal would have made your intentions clear. But I see now that you are intent on comparing how many cards we each have. You have made this a game, and there's nothing to tell me that you won't stop after we marry— if we had married that is."
"Aramina, I just—"
"Stop," She let out, a palm raised in the air. "Don't say anything. I do not want to hear it."
He looked at her, hurt, surprise and shock swirling in his eyes.
"I think you shouldn't come with us to Bakewell," Aramina spoke after a pause and watched his brows furrow. "I will tell my aunt what you did for me, and I am sure she will reward you for it by post. I do not have any other reason to introduce you to her, and it— it wouldn't be right for you to be there."
"I am sure Lord Buxton will be kind enough to host you and your grandmother at Berkshire a little while longer, before things settle with your house."
With that being said, Aramina spun on her heels and exited the terrace, her heart shattering like glass with every step she took.
༺♥༻
"I will pay a visit soon," Lord Edward Buxton promised his wife, sharing with her a parting kiss that the party around them felt inclined to not focus on— a task hard for Lady Embry as it made the ache of a failed love inside her heart somewhat stronger.
It was, indeed, difficult to revel in other people's happiness when yours compared poorly.
His affairs in the city restricted the gentleman from accompanying his wife to Bakewell promptly, and Aramina had a feeling that Lord Buxton wasn't much personally inclined to. Reserved and restricted in his ways as he was.
Soon, the party— consisting of Lady Embry, Lord Besresford and Lady Buxton, departed from the Berkshire manor, watching it grow slightly smaller the further the sledge glided away.
Aramina caught sight of Philip's figure, watching them— or perhaps her— depart. She was leaving him behind, with no idea of when or if she would be seeing him again. With no goodbye, no farewell. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt before. Her captivity had hurt less, the days in isolation, with only her mind for company— all of that had somehow hurt less.
Lady Buxton offered Aramina a small smile. The lady had not inquired after what happened, the reason Aramina had decided Philip would not be coming along. Though she had no firm inclinations on what might have happened, her manner towards Aramina held a certain trust. It encouraged the latter that whatever decision she had made, must be a reasonable one. Though Aramina wasn't quite sure on that herself.
She turned the thoughts away, they refused to leave, so she pushed them as backwards as she could, trying to focus on the journey ahead and what lay afterwards.
She would see her aunt again, and Lord Seymour, and would be meeting Miss Jessie Churchill for the first time. Aramina ached to see what the lady was like. What did it mean, for someone to so selflessly forget themselves to help another not just in mind and soul but in body too?
Aramina felt a connection throb inside her. These invisible threads that Lord Seymour and Jack had anxiously tied between her and Jessie Churchill. Aramina knew that such things could not be reverted. Such connections cannot be broken so easily.
"We will set out after the night stops early," Lord Beresford was speaking to Lady Buxton, and Aramina only heard it once her thoughts quietened down. It appeared they had been speaking for a while.
Lady Buxton nodded. They were set to make a stop at Lord Buxton's friend's inn, and then at another place somewhere near Bakewell. In two days and a half, Jack had estimated, they would be in Bakewell.
༺♥༻
Miss Jessie Churchill sat in front of the looking glass in her lodgings at a hotel Oscar Seymour had secured for her. The room was comfortable, though she could not feel the comfort in her heart. Her thoughts kept wandering to the grief stricken Lady Beresford, and Lady Acacia Beresford.
It had been almost two days since she'd escaped her cell. As per the Viscount's promise, Jessie was not being actively sought by the authorities. She suspected a case of bribery, and though it felt slighty wrong, Jessie realized the act seemed to fit the Viscount's seemingly charming personality like a glove.
Running a brush through her ginger hair, Jessie pinned it up as properly as she could manage. She wasn't Lady Embry anymore. Her hair was her responsibility now, no maids at her beck and call.
Surprisingly, Jessie didn't miss it. When she'd first become Lady Embry, it had felt like a fever dream. All the luxury she could ever imagine. But then, it started feeling so severely loneful. Jessie didn't realize how much she missed her old freedom of self until now. Making her own bed, dressing herself, doing her own hair. Simple acts that she always took for granted.
Observing herself in the mirror, her thoughts went to Oscar Seymour. She hadn't seen much of him in these two days, though she knew he was near— which was still such a comfort. He always brought along a server carrying a tray of food when mealtimes struck, and with a greeting and a mumbled goodbye, he left her room as the maid did.
It felt strange, this situation they were in. Jessie could see it in Oscar's stern frame. He was so cautious, afraid of making a mistake and jeopardizing Jessie's reputation. He was a gentleman after all, brought up and bred like one. He wouldn't visit her other than at mealtimes, because then, he would be alone with no third party present.
Jessie thought back to their conversation in the cell. Her heart soared. She had constantly played his words in her mind like a lullaby these past two days. And after so many repeats, she wondered if he had really said what he had said.
Had it been true?
For a moment, Jessie desperately wished the Viscount hadn't shown up when he did. Perhaps if she was still in the cell, Oscar would've said what he wanted to. Perhaps..
She stopped herself. Why did it only take trouble to arise before people realized what they needed to say and how much time they had wasted?
Because Jessie had so much more of what she wanted to say to Oscar Seymour, if only he would really talk to her again.
Suddenly, a series of knocks sounded on her door. Desperate, anxious knocks that startled her.
She rushed up and slowly opened the door, to find the figures of the man she had just been thinking of and the Viscount Graham standing alongside. Both of them looked on edge, the Viscount more so than Oscar Seymour.
"We are heading to Rosenfield," The Viscount blurted out quickly, "You must come with us."
"What is it? What's happened?" Jessie asked, confusion striking her features.
"According to the Viscount, Cranmer's at Rosenfield and he is about to acquire a major portion of the Lady Beresford's wealth through a contract signed by her," Oscar spoke next, though his tone remained levelled, as though he was concerned with another part of this story and not the one he had spoken of.
"We have to dissuade her," The Viscount pressed, "And I hoped you would be able to help."
Instantly Jessie spun on her heels and grabbed hold of her coat, putting it on and yanking gloves onto her hands. The gentlemen stood at her door, but she didn't keep them waiting for long. With a gloved hand touching her hair to make sure it was in place, Jessie headed out.
Oscar closed the door behind her.
"I have a sledge waiting outside to take us to the Abbey," The Viscount probed as the three hurried past the halls to make their way downstairs and outside.
"Why would the Lady Beresford agree?" Jessie asked anxiously, "Surely she must know that Lady Embry would not sanction this?"
"It is Lady Embry that she is being threatened with," The Viscount swallowed, eyes fixed ahead.
"But did he not wash suspicion off himself by framing me? Why would he take it all back?"
"That isn't what that scoundrel is doing," Oscar chimed in, "He is painting himself as a saviour."
"Yes," The Viscount glanced at Oscar with an unreadable look. It was clear that neither were much fond of eachother.
"He tells the Lady of Rosenfield that he will find Lady Embry and bring her back, but for a price. Which, he has now named."
They reached the sledge outside and the Viscount helped Jessie in by taking her hand. Oscar followed in after her, quickly taking a seat beside Jessie so that the Viscount was made to sit opposite.
"God, the man is terrible," Jessie let out, a gloved hand touching her chest as the sledge moved forwards. "And what of Lady Acacia Beresford? Surely she must—"
"Lady Acacia doesn't have much credibility at Rosenfield, or in The Lady Beresford's presence at all," The Viscount sighed, "That much was clear to me when I first arrived."
"That doesn't matter. One must try to stick by what is right even so," Jessie murmered under her breath, looking away.
She felt Oscar glance at her, her words clearly audible to him by how near he sat. His gaze warm at her side of her face.
Then, to her surprise, he murmered back. A small 'I agree,' that only she could hear over the rustling of the snow outside.
Jessie felt a smile grow on her face, and she instantly wiped it off, worried the Viscount might notice and think her heartless, when he had no idea what was going on inside her heart.