#servants in art history
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The Maids of the Victorian Era
In the1800s and early 1900s the role of maid was relegated to women from families of modest means. It was a job that required a great deal of subjugation and a steady mood. It's presumed that some maids were subjected to the various moods of their employers, at the very least. At worse, servants were overworked and sometimes physically or sexually assaulted.
In terms of clothing, the role of maid required very little. The maid, while at work, either wore a uniform or a plain work dress. A white apron and cap were standard.
Wilhelm Amber âą The Maid âą 1862
The painting above shows a whimsical scene that if discovered by the employer may have resulted in a reprimand.
Except for the very rich, most households employed one servant â the "maid of all work". She was often a young girl who was taken in from the local workhouse. As the name implies, the role included all the chores of a household: cleaning, shopping, cooking, mending and washing. This grueling job paid very little due to the benefit of room and board. The maid often worked from early morning to late evening, with very little time off.
A simple black dress was often the uniform beneath the white apron. Notice in the photograph below that the two women are dressed identically.
George Lambert (Australian, 1873-1930) âą The Maid âą 1915 âą National Gallery of Australia, Parkes
References:
Jane Austen's World: Regency Servants â Maid of All Work
My Learning: The Family at Shibden
Elizabeth Bailey's blog
#art#portrait#painting#genre painting#george lambert#history of workers#servants in art history#history of clothing#the resplendent outfit blog#victorian era#regency era#19th century occupations#wilhelm amber#artwork
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Dear Jeeves and Wooster fandom, lovely fic writers, my betters in bertieprose. Why are we sleeping on Lady Malcolmâs Servants Ball, held annually in London from 1923 to 1938 specifically for people in domestic service, with a reputation of drawing in queer and gender-nonconforming working-class crowd? A servants' ball where people were, for a time, "allowed" to crossdress and dance with same-sex partners? (Before it drew too much attention and got banned.)
Where are my fics about:
Jeeves moving his day off around so he can attend the ball, crossdress, and/or dance with other men?
Bertie finding out about the ball and asking questions?
Bertie sneaking into the ball pretending to be a servant and crossdressing in order to dance with other men? Perhaps he has been doing this for a few years until the year he hires Jeeves, and that year they accidentally meet at the ball. Perhaps they're both in drag, or only one of them is in drag. Perhaps only one recognises the other, or both of them do (I believe this was a costume, though not necessarily a masked ball). Perhaps Jeeves has to explain that if he has questions, they're not precisely objections, and he only worries that Bertie might be recognised and blackmailed â or perhaps Bertie has to explain that Jeeves is not in any danger of losing his job and Bertie doesn't mind him crossdressing at all. And they dance.
Bertie ordering a fancy bespoke dress for Jeeves so that he can go to the ball? ("Wealthy households would fund their workers to go, with some even loaning them evening dresses." [link 2 - though it probably means dresses for maids]) Bertie getting some jewellery for Jeeves and watching him apply make-up?
Bertie finding out that this is the best ball for servants around and telling Jeeves that he should totally go because he always has to attend the fancy parties as a butler or Bertie's valet, not there to have fun, and Jeeves agreeing because he's very insistent? Perhaps Jeeves is very secretive about the costume he's preparing even though Bertie's dying of curiosity. Perhaps once Jeeves leaves, Bertie starts having all these Very Strange Feelings, and after suffering in the flat for a few hours, he ends up going as well. And then he either can't find Jeeves until Jeeves chooses to reveal himself to him, or he finds Jeeves and almost perishes on the spot. And then, of course, they dance.
or whatever silly plot come on this is so juicy
ADDED: I wrote all this and then I discovered a great Jeeves fic that does make use of the ball, except it's not Jeeves/Wooster, but Wooster/Haddock (which is how it initially escaped my notice). If you don't mind that, go read it and enjoy the queer dancing, the crossdressing, and a delightful version of Jeeves: We Want Haddock.
#jeeves and wooster#jeeves#jooster#crossdressing#queer history#Lady Malcolmâs Servants Ball#this is sooooo self-indulgent#dancefics and gender-playful fics are my weakness#pulling this from discord in the hope that someone steals this from me#another ball where crossdressing and homosexuality were happening was Chelsea Arts Ball#but it was for a more artsy crowd I believe#idanit talks#fic rec
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Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners by Alexandre Cabanel, 1887.
#classic art#painting#alexandre cabanel#french artist#19th century#academicism#history#ancient history#ancient egypt#cleopatra#servants#people#leopard#death#exterior#columns
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Sketches of "Costumes of China" (1805)
Drawings by William Alexander (English, 1767-1816) [all images © The Trustees of the British Museum]
Portrait sketch of the Purveyor to Lord Macartney's Embassy; three-quarter length to front, wearing a fur (?) coat and carrying a box with handle in his left hand [Graphite, with watercolour] (ca. 1816)
'A Soldier in an undress'; wearing a long coat with big sleeves, decorated with a golden eagle in a circle on the chest, a cap on his head, long braid over his shoulder, holding a long stick in his right hand; from an album of 82 drawings of China [Watercolour, ink and graphite] (dated 28 November 1793)
'A Peasant and his Child'; a man seated on the ground grasping a small child, whose hands are on his arm but who is twisting away from him, around the waist; from an album of 82 drawings of China [Watercolour, ink and graphite] (ca.1793-97)
'Tartar soldier in his common dress'; full-length, with a flag, bow and arrows; from an album of 82 drawings of China [Watercolour, ink and graphite] (ca.1793-96)
'A labourer'; facing right and pointing ahead with his left hand; wearing a cap on his head and with jacket unfastened, revealing his bare torso, holding a pipe in his left hand and a tobacco pouch suspended from his waist; from an album of 82 drawings of China [Watercolour, ink and graphite] (ca.1793-96)
Portrait of Qiao Renjie (ćŹäșșć) [inscribed "Chou-tazhin, a Mandarin of the civil department; in his Dress of ceremony"]; full-length, wearing a hat with a peacock feather, a string of beads around his neck and with a scroll held aloft in his left hand, standing by a large block of masonry to the left, boat on a body of water and mountain in the right far distance; from an album of 82 drawings of China [Watercolour, ink and graphite] (ca.1793-96)
More info about Qiao Renjie ("Tianjin daotai" at the time this portrait was made) and how "'the eight different classes of mandarin could be distinguished by the style and colour of the buttons on the top of their caps, which ranged from smooth red coral for the first order to engraved gilt brass for the eighth' (Legouix, 1980, p. 54)" at the BM page.
#China#dress#1790s#1793#1797#Chinese dress#fashion#Qing dynasty#William Alexander#portraits#sketches#civil servants#art#men#laborers#soldiers#professions#british museum#history#1816#1800s#Georgian#Regency#costumes#(in the sense of outfits)#children#watercolors#watercolours#1810s
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In 323 BCE, Alexander the Great begins to fear.
Fearing the destruction of his pothos â his longing for life, ambition, and eternal conquest â from old age, Alexander embarks on a quest for the elusive Water of Life while accompanied by his wisest, most trustworthy Servant.
As they experience a series of countless fabulous wonders, including glass submarines, naked philosophers, Amazonians, and talking prophetic trees, Alexander confronts his complex legacy and reflects on the life and deeds that will cement his transformation into one of the most unforgettable figures in world history. READ MORE
#webcomic#comics#comic art#cartoonist cooperative#comic artist#cartoonist#comic books#webcomics#comic recommendations#indie comics#alexander the servant and the water of life#alexander the great#greek history#ancient greece#Reimena Yee
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Cleopatra's Feast
Artist: Jacob Jordaens  (Flemish, 1593â1678)
Depicted People: Cleopatra, Mark Anthony
Date: 1653
Medium: Oil on Canvas
Collection: Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg
Jordaens. Cleopatra (68-30 BC), Queen of Egypt, was famed not only for her intelligence and her beauty, but also for her extravagant behaviour. Once, seeking to amaze with her wealth her beloved, the Roman commander Mark Antony, she dissolved a large pearl in a glass of vinegar, and then drank it down to the very last. Jordaens depicted the moment when Cleopatra drops the pearl earring into the vessel, while Mark Antony, his companion and a negro servant freeze in silent amazement, experiencing a mixture of envy, regret and admiration. Only the court jester shows with the gesture of his right hand and his grotesque grin the ridiculous nature of Cleopatra's wastefulness. The allegorical composition was seen as a judgment on Pride or Vanity, and this didactic subtext was typical of the Flemish school.
#jacob jordaens#cleopatra#feast#mark anthony#queen of egypt#17th century art#flemish painter#egypt#servant#pearl earring vessel#pride#vanity#ancient history
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I couldâve swore I reblogged something about this but since I canât find it, Iâll post it myself
Allegorical Painting of Two Ladies, English School, 1650s
I adore this painting, itâs one of my favourites from the 17th century overall, as itâs not only a wonderful depiction of an upper class woman of colour in western art, with her shown as an equal to her white counterpart (note the fact that theyâre dressed the same and are physically on the same level) but itâs a fascinating look at pox marks and how someone with darker skin wouldâve worn them, which is why I love it so much
#not a reblog for once#history#art#17th century#thatâs not even getting into the hair oh my god I love it so mmmmuch#Iâm writing something right now and Iâm going the full historical fantasy Bridgerton route so this is very helpful#maybe Iâll talk about that portrait of a lady and her servant next#the 18th century one where people often mistake the black woman as the servant even though sheâs wearing a full black dress (a very#expensive colour at the time) is wearing jewellery unlike the other woman and is literally above her in terms of composition like???
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Joseph Wright of Derby (English, 1734 - 1797) A Conversation between Girls, or Two Girls with their Black Servant, 1770
#Joseph Wright of Derby#art#public domain#classical art#fine art#a conversation between girls#two girls with their black servant#england#spain#germany#portugal#france#greece#geneva#switzerland#holland#scotland#european art#western civilization#world history
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@holymostâ said ;Â ok listen I know they're fictional characters named/based on but every time I see an aztec god's name pop up on ur blog I'm like "??? WHY ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT AZTEC MYTHOLOGY?" and then I remember JHSDGFSJHDFHDS my hispanic ass got my ass once again I simply know nothing abt fate
/Â AOAOAOOAOAOOAOO IORYTOIYUTOY IT- REALLY DO BE LIKE THAT! itâs so cool! and I canât imagine how funny it must be to see one day greek mythology and then boom; Aztec and Maya mythology,,, and then Indian mythology and so on so forth; and to someone who isnât too familiar with f.ate, i can imagine how funny it would be to look at someone uâve read about in books and look at their anime version OITRUTIUORT LIKE;; what do u MEAN Achilles has bright GREEN hair?!?! itâs so silly sometimes, and it has its good and bad things, but iâll always be grateful to f.ate for helping me discover more about history and mythology from all around the world which i love love love reading about!. But talking about my mesoamerican muses, I currently write five (5)!!Â
Moctezuma II: in game they gave him a different name (Izcalli) but thatâs more of a f.ate lore thing and a specific kind of situation that doesnât really have anything to do with Moctezumaâs story so in my portrayal he is directly Moctezuma II the ninth emperor of Aztec empire or more commonly known as the last Aztec emperor (even tho after his reign there were two other more emperors but their reigns were very short so usually its default like that). He was the one who had the first official contact with the europeans amongs more but i wonât get into details because then this will get super long but yes- There are a lot of misconceptions and myths around his figure and quite frankly, not as much information about him, or well; objective information about him; f.ate wise, I got too attached to him and he shakes something in my heart;; maybe something along the lines of being misunderstood, rage, impotence, his story in overall being kind of put to the side, the strong emotional side of humans, expectations, fears and how these affect us all, etc etc. I think his character was not explored much in detail in f.ate and was a little rushed, which in exchange brough a lot of bad opinions about him and as a result, increased my curiosity over him. Thereâs also this thing where in fiction its often discussed the ânegativeâ traits a character has but these tend to linger on the usual ânot too dislikedâ traits, so when a certain side of a character is explored that doesnât really match what we are used to see, it tends to create some sort of rejection towards it. In this case, i think his rage was seen as something petty and only that, which i can understand since not everyone will enjoy all characters but,, that limits his character a lot u know? There is something that hits me when a character has a big dislike ratio (like with constantine) and it made me feel more curious about him and to try to understand him further than what we were shown, which in return has made me grown more attached to him. Its me and mocte against the world frfr đ€â /OK JKJKJKJK! For some reason he lives rent free inside my head and by god there should be more art of him so iâm always drawing him nowadays. I could ramble about his f.ate design endlessly and talk much more about him but iâll cut it here before i go overboard.
Tezcatlipoca: one of the central deities in Aztec religion! he is the god of darkness and night, of conflict, war; characterized by his duality as a desctructive god and creator, the enemy and the merciful of duality itself; associated with hurricanes and obsidian, jaguars. He is an omnipotent, ( the definition being: '(of a deity) having unlimited power; able to do anythingâ) omnipresent, (that can be present everywhere and anywhere at the same time, making him something akin to an invisible being that you canât see but that he is there regardless) and omniscient god (that knows everything; he can see the truth in humanâs hearts). He can also see through the hearts of men! he is also the brother of Quetzalcoatl in some Aztec tellings and the two of them are central to the creation myth, and there is s o much more! very facsinating god. In fate heâs a silly guy, i think in terms of personality; his character was portrayed wonderfully; the duality of Tezca truly shows and its just -chef kiss-
TlĂĄloc-Huitzilopochtli-TenochtitlĂĄn: now this character is kind of confusing if you are not too familiar with f.ate, and even to me itâs still kind of ??? as her spirit originâs story is mostly tied to f.go lore, but basically, in fate she is the personification of the city of TenochtitlĂĄn but she presents herself as TlĂĄloc or Huitzilopochtli, as she mentions that by enshrining these two gods, Tenochtitlan (the city, aka her) thrived, and I can kind of understand the general idea they might have tried to go with as it -is- true that these two deities were incredibly important; from the side of TlĂĄloc, he was the god of rain and was turbo mega important and venerated in mesoamerica particularly with the agricultural towns, as he had a crucial role in favoring the prosperity of harvest. He was so important that there were a lof of festivities and ceremonies held in order to receive his favors (their economy on the side of agriculture demanded for a lot of rainy days as there were long dry seasons so TlĂĄloc was highly praised) and we still have a lot of items related to him in museums! I wish i could emphasize more how important TlĂĄloc was but Iâm gonna cut myself here and introduce Huitzilopochtli real quick;; he is the solar deity in Aztec religion and heâs tied to war and sacrifice as well (like tezca as well) he was like the patron god of the capital city of Tenochtitlan so you get the idea of just how important he was as well
KukulkĂĄn: in fate, kukulkĂĄn also has some kind of odd story tied in that takes place in the f.ate universe, but my kuku is mostly- well; kukulkĂĄn, or known as the plumed serpent whoâs origins mostly trace back to the Maya most specifically around the classic period. To some researchers, KukulkĂĄn is the same as Quetzalcoatl which is why in f.ate, KukulkĂĄn and Quetz are more like sisters to say; kuku being technically the eldest between the two even though she looks up to Quetz a lot. Kuku was considered a creator god and was associated with the winds and rain as it was said they brough them in the first place. a lil curious note; when the weather gets moody, clouds tend to have this sort of serpent-like shape which is from where the association comes from. Funnily enough, in f.ate she claims to be quite an airhead which im not sure if its a reference to her ties with the wind or not but if that was the case, it would be indeed a funny lil detail.
Camazotz: the Maya bat god from Popol Vuh! a god that dwells in the underworld (Xibalba) and is at the service of the lords of the underworld. Xibalba is packed with tests and trials, and if attempting to enter the underworld in the first place wasnât already difficult, it keeps getting even more tricky! there are five houses and Camazotz rules over the house of the bats, where there is constant squeaking and shrieking. In the Popol Vuh, the hero twins must be able to spend the night in the house of bats (whose snouts are like blades that they use to attack) in order to pass the test, and they almost do it flawlessly until Hunanpu, (one of the brothers), by attempting to take a peak from the blowgun they were hiding inside of, tries to see if dawn has come, which ends up with his head getting decapitated by a bat. To this, other events pass by and heâs able to come back to life and with his brother they defeat the lords of Xibalba at the end. Popol Vuh aside, the bat as an animal had a lot of associtations such as with death, decapitation (from observing bats flying and snatching fruit from trees), night (even day! as they linger in caves but can also be seen flying in daytime across the skies), sacrifice (linked to the previously mentioned decapitation + blood), the underworld (as caves were a gateway to the underworld), etc, etc. Not to mention how important they are for agriculture as they help pollinate crops as well as help in controling over abundance of insects like mosquitoes. In any case, Camazotz is really cool and i love his design in fate!
#;ooc#ooc#tw: long post#holymost#;c.amazotz#;k.ukulkan#;t.laloc#;m.octezuma ii#;t.ezcatlipoca#to me f.ate has and is important to me bc it has helped my lil heart in a way?#i've always felt like i was excluded of 'the big topics' like anything related to history even though my interests were very big!#but i've learned so much since those times; and its something i enjoy a lot and always have; history is fascinatinggggggg#and who would have thought that some anime pngs would have brought me comfort too?#about characters and stories i prob would've never had an idea of?#ITS SILLY BUT ITS A LOT OF FUN#i think thats very important#also me thinks that there must be at least one (1) character out of all the 9847598475897458945 servants there are that is made just for u#kind of like when people have their fav p.okemon#but in ur case its green haired achilles OIETUROIJTR#it also scratches so hard my love for drawing and illustrations; it combines two things i love which is art and history#*and character design#so its like BOOM hyperfixation#now that i look back on this; why did i write all of this OIETROIUTRT do n o t mind the hyperfixation okokko
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Young woman with a servant
#black history#art#art history#hint#the lady standing isnât the servant#look her her jewels#young woman with a servant
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I have issues with Fate/Genshin for a multitude of reasons but man
I really enjoy the fashion I love the patterns and color palettes
Om Om good food
#also i still consume genshin#and i dont play fgo but i like looking at the art#but its a lil harder for me to consume the content since some of the indian servants are kinda eh?#like earlier on they not only white washed hut they didnt look Indian#genshin sumeru characters may be wjite washed byt they srill contain indian textile and patterns and stuff#wow i cant believe im talking about white washing like its a scale#BOTH ARE BAD#but fate has gotten better at melanin characters for the indian cast#also while i love fate/extra#im yalling too much#MY HAND PAIN FUCK IM SUPPOSED TO RELAX#ill talk more sbout jt later#tldr: you can consume and still be critically!!!!!#ahem like fate wtf is there so much pedophilic content huuugh#also my dislike of fate increased as a lover of classical history and literature fate fans will act like know it alls#or make l#crude/lewd jokes ;-;
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2006 was a long year
#art of teyvians#system history#eye contact cw#art of deidal#art of sy#art of dj#art of kie#art of solitaire#art of renata#art of servant#art of vee#art of mousie#art of thirteen#art of equalizer#long post#fire cw#knives cw#2006#skeletons cw
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thinking about how the silmarillion starts with a creator god who loves making things so much that he sings other beings into creation just so they can make stuff with him. thinking about how his first god-son craves ownership over creation and that is his destruction. thinking about how the god-sonâs second-in-command is also a creator spirit, one who loves art and craftsmanship so much that he longs to create something perfect and lasting, and breaks the world and himself in pursuit of it.
thinking about how the most important elf in history was a craftsman who built things of such beauty and splendor that even the god and his servant coveted them. thinking about how this elf was married to a sculptor who created statues so perfect they seemed alive. thinking about how their seven sons were driven to madness and doom trying to reclaim their fatherâs stolen creation. thinking about how one of those sons had a baby boy who became, like his grandparents, a smith. thinking about how the demi-god coveted the smithâs skills and would ultimately kill him in rage and greed.
thinking about how the hobbit follows a bloodline cursed by their greed. thinking about how the lord of the rings follows men who buckled and broke under the weight of their lust for the one ring, and how even the most good and true and noble people struggled to bear its weight well. thinking about how all the doom in the world stemmed from artistic hubris and how it is only conquered in the end by the act of unselfish love.
thinking about how the tolkien legendarium is a love letter to artists and the very act of creation, but also a cautionary tale against hoarding the riches of beauty and imagination. thinking about how love is the truest art, and how the art is meant to be shared.
#yeah#i fucking love these books#the silmarillion#the lord of the rings#the hobbit#tolkien#lotr#trop#the rings of power#this is of course very simplified but i cannot get it out of my head. art is salvation and terror and creation and destruction đ”âđ«#fae speaks
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The Guard Dog
Written for @studioghibelli Writing Challenge themed around History and Art History.
Plot: Sent to your uncle's bleak castle in the north of England, you expect only a dreary existence until you meet his groundskeeper, a scarred, frightening Spaniard. But love in the Victorian era is not easy and life doesn't follow straight paths.
Groundskeeper!Pero x Reader
Warnings: this is mainly all fluff with a bit of angst. Some of that casual racism and predjucde of the period rears its ugly head though. I've tried to keep the reader as blank as possible, but it's Victorian England and she's a lady so I have to presume she doesn't speak Spanish and has fair skin. No use of y/n.
Word count: 18k (yeah, I know....)
The ancestral home of your uncleâs family, Yotes Castle, was not a place that made people feel comfortable or welcome. Built on the ruins of an old thirteenth century castle, some of the old rooms still part of the house, it cast a forlorn gloom on the surrounding landscape. The long drive up to the house, the ancient portcullis cutting visitors off from the outside world, and the dark granite stone, it all made the place look as bleak as something out of a penny dreadful. The one forgiving feature was the big park surrounding the house, sprawling and wild with endless pathways curving through the trees and shrubs to small hidden glens and meadows. This is where youâd often taken refuge when you were allowed, and it was where youâd first met him, the groundskeeper. Â
Youâd arrived at the house the previous autumn, just as the weather turned cold; heavy rains and thick fog rolling in from the nearby Irish Sea. Your father had passed away long before you could remember him, and for most of your life, your mother had raised you with the help of a governess and her maid in the London house. But your motherâs health was never what it should be, and when she too passed, her brother became your legal guardian. And rather than let you stay in London, he gave you a choice; to come and work as his childrenâs governess at Yotes, or stay in London and be cut off once your motherâs meagre fortune ran out. You had no choice but to pack your bags and make the long journey north. Â
Youâd never been to Yotes Castle, only heard your motherâs stories about it and how much sheâd detested it growing up; dark, lonely, stifling. Sheâd married your father and left for London as soon as she could, and sheâd never returned to the north.
Your own first impression of the castle was not promising either. The place had been shrouded by heavy mist, the whole place damp, inside as well as out. Long, dark corridors and staircases confused you as the butler led you to your uncleâs study when you first arrived, his nose turned up at your carpet bag luggage. Your uncle had greeted you like you were a new servant, not his departed sisterâs daughter, and dismissed you after letting you know he expected you to take full responsibility for his two children. You were assigned a room next to the children, but at least you were allowed to eat with the family and not the servants. Although, after a few days, you thought it might be nicer to eat with the servants than suffer the stilted conversation and heavy silence in the family dining room.Â
The housekeeper, Mrs Pluck, might think otherwise though. She viewed you as a servant, and would ignore any requests you made, sending up lunch only for the children, and not you, when your aunt and uncle were out. Making sure you werenât served dinner in the dining room, instead making you go downstairs and explain to the cook why you hadnât eaten. Until one day, Amelia, your ten year old cousin, told your aunt about this, and Mrs Pluck was told to make lunch for you too. After that, Mrs Pluck seemed to view you as her mortal enemy, doing anything she could to trip you up.Â
Amelia, on her hand, had not told her mother out of the goodness of her heart, rather the opposite. She wanted you gone, as did her eight year old brother Albert. In the interim between their old governess leaving and you arriving to take her place, the children had run wild. Your attempt at making them learn at least the basics were met with protests and complaints. To say that your first winter was trying was an understatement.Â
Spring was slow to arrive in these parts, but as the weather dried up, you could at least escape the house while the children had other lessons. The days were still chilly, youâd grown accustomed to breaking the ice on your wash basin in the mornings as your uncle refused to heat the house properly. But despite the cold, you wrapped yourself in layers of wool and escaped into the park, leaving the bleak house behind.Â
You had a favourite spot, right at the end of the wooded area and well out of sight from the house. The path led through a thicket of rhododendrons and curved around a small lake, more like a pond really. On the far side of the pond sat a small cottage where no one seemed to live, covered in dark green ivy and climbing roses, all devoid of leaves this early in the spring. Where the path ended was a bench with a view across the lake and to the cottage. Even on the dreariest of days, the spot seemed bright, the weak sunlight of early spring reflecting in the lakeâs mirrored surface.Â
The first time you saw him, the sound of the cottage front door closing made you jump. The thump echoed across the small lake and you looked up, startled. On the other side a man had just come out of the cottage, a heavy looking axe in one hand. He stopped as he saw you, your eyes meeting briefly before he turned, a deep scowl on his dark face as he stalked away, disappearing from view behind the trees. You lifted your hand to shield your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his retreating back, but his long legs took him into the woods and he vanished in moments. Instead you looked at the cottage, it still seemed abandoned but now you saw the thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney. Whomever he was, it seemed as if he was now living there. Â
You returned to your book, but the man had disturbed your peace, his look at you had been so troubling. It was almost as if he disliked you on sight, while you didnât even know who he was. What could have made him regard you with such aversion?Â
With a sigh you closed your book and stood up, your favourite spot suddenly seemed less welcoming.Â
It was a few days before you saw him again in the park. The weather had turned milder after two days of rain, and youâd left the children with their riding master. Slowly strolling through the copse of beeches at the far end of the park, reading your book, you didnât notice the man leaning on his spade, or the ditch heâd dug.Â
âWatch where youâre going!âÂ
The warning came too late as the ground disappeared from underneath your feet, and with a gasp you stumbled forward, just as a hand closed around your arm, pulling you back.Â
âCuidado!â he snapped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he all but shoved you back from the edge of the ditch, âKeep your eyes on where you are going, girl. I wonât explain a broken neck to your uncle.âÂ
You staggered back, his hand letting go of your arm as the book fell to the ground.Â
âTh-thank you,â you stuttered, finding your balance again as the man shook his head with a scowl.Â
âIf you fall and break your neck or your leg, Iâm without a job, so donât get in my way,â he snarled, snatching the book from the ground and shoving it into your hands, âNow get away from here, go back to your books and keep them indoors.âÂ
Without a backwards glance he turned and grabbed the spade again and jumped into the ditch. You hesitated for a second, but the man stabbed the dirt with the spade with aggression, and began digging without another word.Â
Holding tight to your book, you hurried away. The manâs fingers had left painful imprints on your upper arm, and you rubbed them as you made your way back towards the house, your heart still beating hard in your chest. He had scared you as much as almost falling into the ditch had. The scowl heâd given you had been amplified by dark eyes under his dishevelled mop of black hair and unkempt beard. It made him look foreboding and very dangerous. But what had really frightened you was the scar that marred his face, a wicked looking gash across his left eye. Even to your inexperienced eyes he looked like a man who had fought many battles and lived a hard life. What he did here, working for your uncle, you couldnât even begin to imagine. His accent had been foreign, and heâd used a word you didnât recognise when he first shouted at you. With a shudder you tried to calm yourself as you pulled open the heavy back door to the big house.Â
The kitchen of the house was the only welcoming room in the place, much thanks to the elderly cook, Mrs Robertson, who ran it with a scullion to help her. Now Mrs Robertson greeted you with a smile, looking up from the dough she was kneading.Â
âHello, dear, you look frozen solid, is it still cold outside?âÂ
âHello, Mrs Robertson. No, itâs not too bad, itâs just still cold in the shade,â you replied, unbuttoning your wool coat and hanging it over a chair in the corner.Â
âWell, put the kettle on anyway, itâs time for some tea and you do look as if you could do with some warming up.â
She tucked the dough into a clean bowl and washed her hands while you filled the kettle and put it on the hob, stoking the coals to get it going.Â
âI ran into a man in the park,â you said, taking down the teapot and cups from the cupboard, âdid my uncle take on someone new?âÂ
âTall, dark haired fellow with a nasty looking scar?â Mrs Robertson asked and you nodded. âThatâs Mr Pero Tovar, heâs the groundskeeper. Heâs been away for a bit, he usually is during the winter when thereâs less to do. He mustâve returned recently, I havenât seen him in a bit.âÂ
âI almost fell into a ditch he was digging but he caught me just in time, gave me a terrible fright.âÂ
âHe will do that to you, poor man,â Mrs Robertson replied, âI met him once coming back late from the train, I was just coming up to the main gate, and he stepped out from the small path there. Nearly gave me a heart attack with the way he looked. But he apologised for scaring me and carried my luggage all the way up to the house,â she sat down at the table as you poured the boiling water into the teapot.Â
âHeâs not a wholly disagreeable man, even though heâs foreign,â she added as an afterthought, as she made sure you heated up the pot.Â
âDo you know where heâs from?â you asked, âHe had an accent I couldnât place.âÂ
âSpain, I think. He mentioned it once when I asked why he didnât drink tea. Apparently they prefer coffee there,â she shook her head as if the madness of not drinking tea was too much to imagine.Â
You didnât give the man any more thought, except to keep an eye out to avoid him when you were wandering the park, not wishing to be on the receiving end of one of his scowls again. The weather turned mild and soon daffodils and snowdrops were cropping up and you took the children outside to give them some lessons in botany. They were less than interested, and you soon gave up, letting them play in the stream flowing down towards the small lake while you brought out your sketchbook and began drawing the scene in front of you. The sun was warm, filtering down through the branches that were just starting to show the first hint of green again and you relished being out of doors, away from the house. The weather even felt warm, and you removed your heavy coat, before picking up the sketchbook again.Â
The sound of footsteps crunching on last yearâs dry leaves made you look up towards the path, only to be met by Mr Tovarâs dark eyes. He was all but marching towards you, a heavy looking tool bag in one hand and several long planks over his shoulder. Just as you thought he was about to scold you for some unknown trespass, he marched right by you with barely a nod, and made his way to the small wooden bridge crossing the stream.Â
The bridge was really just a simple row of flat planks attached to logs long since hammered into the mud. The planks were beginning to rot and warp, and youâd kept the children away from it, it didnât look safe. And Tovar proved you right when he knelt down and ripped the first plank away, the wood coming away in pieces in his hands. Soon heâd measured out the right length, and replaced the first plank with a fresh one, moving on to the next.Â
You tried to return to your drawing or keep an eye on the children who were still playing further down the stream, but you kept glancing back at Tovar. Despite his intimidating appearance, or maybe because of it, you were drawn back to watching him as he worked. You werenât unfamiliar with men, even though youâd grown up only with your mother. But this wasnât the curious attraction youâd felt as a stable hand smiled at you. This was something else, something that made your eyes drift back to him, leaving your drawing unfinished as you watched him work.Â
He had his back to you, a well worn black workmanâs shirt stretching tight across his shoulders after heâd shed his jacket. It was mesmerising watching the broad back move and shift as he worked at the stubborn planks, the odd grunt reaching your ears. Hunched down as he was, he seemed to possess immense strength in his large hands, the planks groaning and protesting as he planted his feet wide and pulled. He always won the fight, tossing them behind himself in a careless pile. With an impatient movement he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve and straightened up. As you watched, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left hand and began rolling the shirt up over his forearms, exposing tanned skin dusted with dark hair. Done with one, he rolled up the other one before bending and grabbing the nearest loose plank, throwing it over his shoulder.Â
As he turned he suddenly caught your eyes on him, and for a few seconds you were caught in his dark stare, unable to move. Slowly the scowl transformed into a smirk, and you dropped your gaze. From the corner of your eye you could see how he kept staring at you, his mouth pulled into a crooked grin as he seemed to study you in return. You felt your cheeks heat up and you turned away, looking down towards the children. From behind you, you heard him attack the planks again, another one tossed to the pile.Â
Needing to remove yourself from the temptation to glance back at him again, you stood up and made your way down to the children. Albert was busy building a dam while Amelia threw rocks at it, he protested loudly while she laughed.Â
âAmelia, donât do that, let him build his dam,â you told her, knowing full well she would ignore you. She only sniggered and picked up another rock from the bottom of the stream, the hem of her dress soaked through.Â
âAmelia! Stop that!â you snapped at her as she let the rock fly, narrowly missing her brotherâs head as it went over him.Â
âNo!â she laughed, while Albert yelled at her, âI want to make him wet!â
âYouâre ruining it! Albert hollered, as Ameliaâs next rock hit the sticks and splintered his carefully constructed dam. With an angry roar he leaped for her but she easily jumped out of the way, laughing as she took off up the stream towards the bridge with Albert behind her. With a sigh you followed. You at least had to try to make them not kill each other.Â
Pero stood up as the children came racing up the bank, Amelia laughing loudly as Albert yelled at her. When they spotted the tall man scowling at them, they both stumbled to a stop, looking up at him while you caught up behind them. Pero glanced over at you and then back at the children.Â
âYou should listen to your governess,â he said and gave Amelia a stern look, âAnd do not throw rocks at your brother.âÂ
But Amelia was not about to listen to the groundskeeper either. With an arrogant look on her face she put a hand on her hips and sniggered.Â
âMy father says you got that scar in prison. I think it makes you look like Quasimodo,â she smirked, pointing at Mr Tovarâs face as Albert started laughing.Â
âAmelia!â you snapped, horrified at her behaviour. Mr Tovarâs eyebrows shot up to his hairline for a second before returning into a deep scowl.Â
âLittle girl,â he said, his voice low and serious, âyou should not mock strangers.âÂ
âYouâre not a stranger,â Amelia replied as Albert continued to giggle next to her, âyouâre fatherâs groundskeeper, and you have to do as we say or heâll send you back to prison with that ugly scar.âÂ
She was puffing her chest out as much as her scrawny ten year old frame would allow, and you could already see her motherâs haughty manners in the look she was giving Mr Tovar. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes almost hidden under his eyebrows, a dangerous sneer on his lips. Â
âAmelia, that is enough,â you said, grabbing her arm and pulling her around, âyou should be ashamed of yourself, apologise to Mr Tovar right now.âÂ
âNo!â she yelled at you, struggling to pull free from your grip on her arm.Â
âAmelia, you will apologise to Mr Tovar or I will tell your father how you have misbehaved.âÂ
âNo!â she yelled again, and Albert joined in, yelling âNo!â at the top of his lungs as Amelia continued to fight against your grip. Suddenly she lashed out and slapped you right across your cheek, and in shock you let go of her arm. The two children took off at a run, back towards the house, while you stood rooted to the spot, your left cheek stinging.Â
Pero scoffed and came up to you, dropping the plank heâd been holding.Â
âDelightful creatures,â he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he looked down at you. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he took hold of your chin and tilted it to the light, examining the place where the slap had landed.Â
âDoes it hurt?â he asked and you nodded.Â
âIt stings,â you replied and he let go of your chin, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.Â
âCome here,â he said, walking over to the stream and pointing at a flat rock just by the edge. He dipped the kerchief in the water and wrung it out as you sat down on the rock. His touch was gentle when he pressed the folded cloth to your cheek, the cool fabric soothing your skin. He held it to your face while he looked at you, and you realised his dark eyes werenât really black, but a rich brown colour, much warmer than youâd first thought. And when he looked at you now, they even held some sympathy.Â
âWhy do you let them treat you like that?â he asked, the lilting accent in his voice less harsh now as he carefully refolded the kerchief, pressing another cool side to your skin.
âI have no power over them, and they know it. My aunt and uncle detest that Iâm here, that they had to take me in. But I have nowhere else to go, so I put up with them until I can find some other family to work for.âÂ
âThey will grow up into nasty adults,â he replied, âI hope you find a new family soon.âÂ
Pero dipped the kerchief in the water again and placed it back on your cheek, his hand still holding it in place and he was very close, closer than youâd ever been to any man that wasnât in your family. You found you had to drop your eyes from his face, it was too intimidating to have him look at you like that.Â
âThank you, I can hold it myself,â you said, lifting your hand to take the kerchief. But he shook his head.Â
âIâm keeping pressure on it so that it wonât swell up too much, although it will be tender for a few days.âÂ
He continued to keep his hand on your cheek, folding the cloth again and placing the cool side to your cheek. You glanced up at him, his face still close to yours, and found that he looked less scary now. The scar still added a grim element to his face, but despite the serious set of his mouth, his scowl had disappeared.Â
âHow do you know my name?â he asked, dipping the kerchief in the stream again.Â
âMrs Robertson told me, she told me youâve recently returned as my uncleâs groundskeeper,â you replied, and his lips curled up in a small smile.Â
âShe is a good woman,â he said, âand sheâs right. I returned a few weeks ago. I was away for the winter.âÂ
You wanted to ask where heâd been, if Amelia was right about him being in prison, but you didnât want to break the spell of the moment. Instead you glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Tovar was crouched in front of you, and you saw how his trousers were worn and patched not only over the knees. His boots were mended and patched too, and the collar of his shirt was frayed. You realised as you took in the details of the man, that it looked as if he was living, or at least had lived, a hard and poor life.Â
Pero dipped the cloth again, but this time he handed it to you.Â
âHere, keep it pressed to your cheek while you go back to the house. And see if Mrs Robertson can give you some ice.âÂ
He stood up as you took the cloth, and then he held out his hand for you, to help you to your feet. You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him as he stood towering above you, with his hand out. He raised his eyebrows in question, and you found yourself again, putting your hand in his and letting him pull you up. He let go as soon as you were steady, but the warmth of his hand lingered in yours, the rough calluses of his palm imprinted on your skin and you realised it was not an unpleasant feeling.Â
âThank you, Mr Tovar,â you said, giving him a small smile, âIâll make sure you get your kerchief back soon.âÂ
Tovar gave you a small nod, his dark eyes burning your cheeks as the corner of his mouth pulled up in smirk.Â
âMy pleasure, señorita.âÂ
You felt his hand in yours the whole way back to the house, it was a strange feeling. He was a coarse and angry man, he frightened you a little, although not as much as before. But yet the way his hand had felt on your chin, the way his eyes had been such a warm, brown colour up close, it seemed to linger in your mind.Â
Mrs Robertson only rolled her eyes when you told her what had happened, giving you ice from the cold storage for your cheek.Â
âAnd thereâs no use telling your uncle about Miss Ameliaâs behaviour,â she added, shaking her head, âShe has him wrapped around her little finger.âÂ
You agreed with her, and said nothing to your aunt or uncle. But you didnât take the children out into the garden any more. Instead you took refuge there yourself when you had time. More often than not, you went down to the bench by the small lake opposite his cottage. You hoped youâd see Mr Tovar, but he never seemed to be there. Instead you saw him from a distance as he went about various jobs in the park, always too far away to say something and he never looked in your direction.Â
Until one day.Â
Weeks had passed and summer had arrived and you had more time on your hands than what you knew what to do with. The family had left the house and travelled to the south of France for the summer. You had been told you would not be allowed to go, something that suited you well, even though your aunt expected you to be deeply upset by this. Both she and Amelia had hinted that you would be missing out on a world of amusements, but you didnât have it in you to care. To be away from the family, to not have to deal with the children, that would be your holiday.Â
Mrs Pluck had made it her mission to make your life in the house as miserable as possible and to escape her, you disappeared into the gardens for hours. On rainy days you asked Mrs Robinson to enlist you in the kitchen so that Mrs Pluck couldnât accuse you of shying away from work. But it was a fine summer and most days you found a nook in the garden and read or drew.Â
He found you down by the stream one day. The air was warm, especially for England, and youâd unlaced your boots and sat down on the bridge heâd repaired. With your feet in the cool, peaty, water youâd disappeared into your book, Mr Darcy declaring his love to Elisabeth for probably the twentieth time.Â
Unbeknownst to you, Pero paused at the edge of the clearing as he spotted you, stopping in his stride to take in the peaceful scene youâd created in one of his favourite spots. The dappled sunlight danced across the stream, the gentle babble of the flowing water disguising the sound of his footsteps and he paused by the last tree of woods, the scene too tranquil to disturb. As he watched, you turned a page in the heavy book and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at whatever you were reading.Â
Pero would be the last person to admit it, even to himself, but heâd spent too much time thinking about your smile in the past few weeks. He was a man used to being on his own and didnât pay much attention to the world around him unless it was threatening him or presenting an opportunity. The smiles of pretty women was not something he lingered on, mainly because the only women who smiled at him were the kind he had to pay to get. He knew his appearance, not just the scar, but his darker skin and guarded face, put off the women he met, and not just the women. So heâd arranged his features into a scowl that kept them all at bay, unless they needed him for a job.Â
And this governess, heâd seen how youâd been frightened by him when you nearly stumbled into the ditch, and heâd dismissed you as one of the many women who took one look at him and baulked. But then heâd sensed your eyes on him as he worked on the bridge, seen your shy, awkward gaze when he caught you looking at him, no fear in your eyes. And the children were as cruel to you as to him, but you had to put up with them to keep your place in the house, to keep a roof over your head. You were a better person then he was, he wouldâve struck the girl and thrown her into the stream. Instead, youâd stood there in shock as the children ran off, your hand on your stinging cheek. And heâd suddenly found himself pitying you, a creature too gentle to fit into the family of vipers that ruled the house.Â
Before heâd even really considered it, heâd taken out his handkerchief and taken upon himself to soothe your swollen cheek. Your eyes had looked up at him with surprise and trepidation, but like the lamb, youâd followed him to the edge of the stream and sat down when he told you to. You really were too gentle and trusting for this world he thought, too innocent. He wouldâve, shouldâve, dismissed you easily, you were not his responsibility, not someone he needed to consider at all. Â
But then youâd taken his hand and smiled as you thanked him, and he found, painfully, that you were not easy to dismiss, no matter how hard he tried. Instead your smile lingered in his mind, the spark it brought to your eyes, and how soft it made your features, matched only by the way your hand felt in his for the brief moment you held it. Heâd never felt the urge to protect anyone else but himself before, but like a wolf turned guard dog, he suddenly felt the need to shield you, stay by your side and keep you safe. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and heâd pushed it aside, burying it deep inside.Â
The next day heâd found his kerchief wrapped in a brown paper package on his doorstep. Clean and ironed, with a small sprig of lavender tucked between its folds. It was somehow now the prettiest thing he owned, and he couldnât bring himself to use it again. Instead it stayed on his dresser, the lavender spreading its delicate scent around the room where it rested on the neatly folded fabric. Whenever he walked past the lavender shrubs in the garden, he thought of you, your smile seemed to live on at the forefront of his mind.Â
He didnât like how you made him feel, he didnât want to feel like he needed to protect anyone but himself. If you were that weak and feeble, let you fend for yourself like he always had. It had made him strong and hard, he had no need for anyone and no one would treat him like those children had treated you. He avoided the lavender shrubs, and the spots where you often sat, making sure to never acknowledge you when he saw you in the distance. But he couldnât seem to stop himself from glancing across the pond every morning when he left the cottage, only to find the bench empty. You never seemed to return to that spot. Â
But now he stood at the edge of the woods, watching you turn another page, and smile again. He didnât want to disturb you, didnât want to see you smile at him again, didnât want to see the softness of your eyes as they locked on to him and made his heart rage against anyone who hurt you. And at the same time, he knew he wanted you to notice him, to turn your head and smile at him instead of that book, to bring him to his knees and make him feel needed by you. He would be your guard dog for the rest of his miserable life if you only smiled at him.Â
He felt it all battle inside him as he stood by the sturdy tree, a hand on its rough bark, one foot twitching to move forward, the jerk of the other to turn back. And maybe he made a twig snap, loud enough to make you lift your head from the book and turn, meeting his eyes as he tried to decide what to do.Â
âMr Tovar,â you said, and youâd made the decision for him. He felt his feet move, towards the bridge, before heâd decide anything.Â
âI hope you donât mind, but I left the kerchief by your door,â you said, looking at him as he stopped by the edge of the bridge.Â
âI found it,â Pero replied, his large hands twitching by his side, âYou didnât need to clean it, but thank you.âÂ
He shifted his weight, testing the new planks heâd laid down, pretending to inspect them while you continued to look up at him.Â
âHowâs the-â he started just as you spoke.Â
âThank you again fo-âÂ
âSorry,â you immediately apologised, âyou first, Mr Tovar.âÂ
âYou donât need to thank me,â he replied, âHow is your cheek?âÂ
His voice was gruff, but his scowl was less this morning as he looked at your cheek. The skin had bruised but the swelling had disappeared after just a day. You put your hand on your cheek as if to feel the texture of the skin.Â
âItâs fine, the bruise has disappeared and there is no pain, probably thanks to your quick thinking.âÂ
âI bet the little lady had no punishment for her actions,â he growled, bending his knees and dropping onto his haunches. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, just like had the day it happened, and tilted your head to the side, inspecting the flawless skin.Â
âNo, I never told her uncle anything,â you replied, âWhat would be the point? It would probably only get me into trouble instead.âÂ
Pero dropped his hand from your chin, your eyes werenât on him anymore and he chided himself for acting on the impulse to touch you again. He could feel the guard dog in him bristle at your words, at the way youâd so easily let Miss Amelia get away with her actions. He would not have let her even speak to you the way she did, let alone strike you.Â
You dropped your gaze back to the open book in your hands, your feet still dangling in the cool water. Pero knew he should stand up, go back to his cottage, and continue to stay away, to push any thought of you to the back of his mind. Tell the guard dog in his chest to ignore the woman in front of him, you were not his to protect.Â
But instead he found his voice and spoke.Â
âWhat are you reading, señorita?âÂ
You looked at him in surprise, why was he interested in your book? But the gaze that met yours was curious, despite the serious set his jaw still held.Â
âPride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen,â you replied, showing him the spine of the book. It was a well worn copy, a gift from your mother many years ago, âHave you read it?âÂ
âNo,â came his swift reply, almost as if he was scoffing at the thought of reading such a book.Â
âWell, itâs very good, itâs probably my favourite,â you said, looking back down at the book, stroking the front cover with a gentle touch, âIâve read it many times."
âWhy?â he asked and as you looked up at him, his eyebrows pulled together in a questioning look, incredulous even.Â
âWhy not?â you retorted, âItâs a good story, I enjoy the characters, and every time I read it I discover something new, a detail I hadnât thought about. Have you never re-read a good book?âÂ
âNever,â he said, and this time he did scoff and you wrinkled your nose at him, looking back at your book and opening it up to the page youâd been on.Â
âWell, maybe you should try it sometime, itâs a good experience to revisit things you like.âÂ
Pero could sense heâd offended you in some way, and yet again he was drawn in two directions by his mind, he should stand up, leave you to your book.Â
âI never learnt how to read,â he said instead, regretting the words the second they came out of his treacherous mouth. He felt heat rise up his neck as he cursed himself. Heâd never admitted to anyone that he couldnât read, even though heâd learned a whole new language as an adult. Just repeat what others said, it was easy. Interpreting the little symbols on pages, whether in Spanish or in English, proved impossible in both languages. But so desperate was his mind to stay connected to you, that not even his deepest secrets seemed safe when he was in your presence.Â
Now it was your turn to look surprised as you closed the book again. The scowl on his face was back, like he was expecting your mockery as his neck flushed a deep crimson.Â
âThatâs a shame,â you said, your voice small. You felt as if he would be very angry with you if you pitied him or accidentally made him feel inferior, his deep scowl still frightened you as he waited for your reaction to his confession.Â
âReading makes me very happy, and it opens up new worlds,â you continued carefully, âThere are some great stories by incredible writers, they really make me see what they are describing and make me feel so much. I hope you can experience that some day, if you learn to read.âÂ
Pero dropped his gaze, down to his hands, and sank down onto the bridge, sitting down next to you as he shook his head. He saw the softness in you again, that gentleness that made the guard dog in him spring to life. He wanted to protect you, even against himself, didnât want to frighten you. So he looked at his large hands, dirty from the soil and rough with callouses and tried to make his voice less harsh, his features less abrasive.
âIâm too old to learn how to read now, I was never able to do it in Spanish or English, what use is it to try now? Just tell me what your incredible book is about.âÂ
âIâm sure you could learn if you had a good teacher, Mr Tovar,â you said, but he just rubbed at the dirt on his hands and furrowed his brow as he shook his head in response.Â
âBetter you tell me what your book is about, then I donât have to learn how to read,â he replied, keeping his voice low. What was he doing? He should not talk to you, he could already feel his heart pounding in an unfamiliar way, small tendrils reaching out towards you.Â
âItâsâŠitâs about a woman called Elizabeth Bennet. Her family wants her to marry a man for his money, but she wants to marry only for love. But to her, all the men she meets are fools, none are worthy of her. Then she meets Mr Darcy, and sheâs too prejudiced against men to see that he would be a good match for her. And he, on his end, is too proud to admit that a woman of a lower class than him could provide him with the kind of marriage that would make him happy. Both of them are bound by social expectations and restraints. But it has a happy ending,â you smiled at Mr Tovar who was watching you speak with curiosity, âI know it has a happy ending but Iâm still nervous every time I read it.âÂ
âDo you wish to marry for love?â he asked, âIs that why itâs your favourite story?âÂ
His gaze made your cheeks heat up, it wasnât the question youâd expected, and his deep brown eyes seemed to see through to your soul and see the true answer that lay there.Â
You shrugged, looking down at the water rushing over your feet, to hide yourself from his eyes.Â
âI very much doubt Iâll ever marry, for love or not. Iâm a governess, I have no money and wonât inherit any either. If someone would want to marry me, theyâd get nothing for it anyway. And whatâs to say that he is someone I want to marry? Then Iâd rather be like Lizzy and not marry at all, because I doubt there is a Mrd Darcy waiting for me.âÂ
Pero watched you, as you watched the water slip around your bare feet, the guard dog growling in his chest.Â
âAny man would be fortunate to marry you, señorita,â he said, âjust make sure you love him before you say yes to him.âÂ
He stood up suddenly, it almost made you jump it was so sudden, and was halfway across the small bridge before you had the sense to speak up.Â
âMr Tovar, will you let me teach you how to read?âÂ
He stopped in his tracks, turning back to you with a look that confused you and almost made you regret your spur of the moment question. His jaw ticked to the side, he glanced back down the path where he was heading, and his fingers twitched. But his eyes looked almost hopeful, like a light had been lit inside him. But then he sighed and closed his eyes, his head dropping down on his chest with a muttered string of words you didnât understand, you knew heâd say no to your offer.Â
âSeñorita, if you want to waste your time on a hopeless case, who am I to say no?âÂ
âReally?âÂ
His reply surprised you so much that the book almost slipped from your hand, and you quickly placed it on the bridge behind you as he took a few steps back to you and nodded.Â
âWho else is going to offer to teach me? Iâd be a fool to turn you down, even though I doubt you can even teach this dog to read.âÂ
âDonât say that about yourself, Mr Tovar,â you gently scolded him, âIâm sure weâll get you reading in no time.âÂ
âPero,â he said, a small smile softening his features as he held out his hand to you. âDonât call me âMr Tovarâ if youâre to teach me, señorita.âÂ
âPero,â you replied, trying to roll the name around your tongue the way he did. It felt nice, unfamiliar in the way it sounded, but it suited him, and the way his harsh features changed when he smiled, was reward enough for your attempt.Â
âMaybe Iâll teach you Spanish while you teach me to read,â he chuckled, a warm sound from him as you took his outstretched hand and shook it.
âTomorrow at ten, at the bench by your cottage?â you asked and he nodded in agreement.Â
âTomorrow at ten.âÂ
Meeting Mr Tovar, no, Pero, you corrected yourself, quickly became the favourite part of your day. The summer was fine and most days dry, so you brought your books to the bench every morning at ten, and remained with him until you had to go back to the house for lunch and he had to take care of his groundskeeper duties.Â
It quickly became clear to you that Peroâs biggest obstacle was his own belief that he wasnât able to learn how to read. Once heâd cracked the code, he seemed to rehearse the alphabet every chance he got and soon he made his way through your easiest book. He read out loud, his finger following along in the text and he sounded out every letter before he put them into words, but he was reading for the first time. It was also the first time you saw him smile properly, a wide grin on his face as he correctly sounded out and deciphered his first word on the page without your help.Â
Seeing Pero slowly gain confidence in his new found skill made you happy and satisfied and for a while you pretended that was the only reason you enjoyed your lessons with him. But you knew, because of the way your heart felt when you saw him, that that wasnât the only reason you enjoyed teaching him. Far from it you had to admit. The lessons had been only an hour at first, you knew that it became hard for any pupil to focus after an hour. And at first youâd said your goodbyes and left when that hour was up. But then Pero offered to teach you some Spanish, and soon your hour had stretched into three while he asked you about your life, and he slowly told you about his. The man who had seemed so frightening at first, so angry and intimidating, was now the one thing that made your life at Yotes Castle bearable, even enjoyable.Â
Little by little you saw more of the man behind the facade heâd held in place for so long. Carefully you asked questions about the things that seemed to shape the way he was now, and his eyes would go black, painful memories forcing themselves to the surface. But he always seemed to overcome it, choosing to share even the more grim parts of his life with you when it didnât make you pull back from him in revulsion.Â
âI was a good soldier,â he said, âbut the only reward for a good soldier is to stay alive and be sent into battle again. I made as little money as the man driving carriages in the streets and less than the man who sold groceries to the army. So when I could, I left the army and sought work as a mercenary. There is no honour in it, but at least it kept my belly full and I could choose my own master and make a bit of money.âÂ
Pero shrugged, hunched over with his arms on his knees, his shoulders by his ears and looking out over the small lake in front of the bench, while you looked at his strong profile, the light hitting the scar across his face. It used to look nasty and mean to you, now it seemed to be a part of him as much as his dark brown eyes, just a mark of the hard life heâd lived before coming here.Â
âI did things as a mercenary that Iâm not proud of,â he said, his eyes still on the lake, âIâve killed more men than I can remember. Most of them I just forget in the heat of the battle, othersâŠthey stay with me and I can see their faces sometimes. But I did it to stay alive, it was me or them, and someone was going to make that gold and it might as well be me. Better I kill the men who needed killing and let some poor boy from London keep his sanity and his life while I make the gold.âÂ
He turned his head and looked up at your face, half expecting you to be grimacing in distaste at his greed, but you just met his eyes with a concerned look.Â
âYouâve seen so many terrible things, Pero. It makes me worry for you.âÂ
âWorry for how I sleep at night?â he asked, quirking his eyebrows at you with a slightly mocking tone. But you shook your head.Â
âMaybe, but I worry about how you think the world always sees you. Those you meet here donât know about your background, and donât judge you for what they donât know, yet you assume they do, and scowl at us all even when we-âÂ
âEven when youâre just a lonely governess trying to be polite?â Pero interrupted and you had to smile at him.Â
âYes, even when that. I was frightened of you after our first meeting, you looked so menacing and seemed very angry with me.âÂ
âQuerida, I was never angry with you,â he said, his voice low and smiling as he sat up straight again and turned to you.Â
âI know that now,â you smiled back at him, âbut thatâs what worries me about you. Maybe you are missing out on friendship when your past always makes you think that the world will judge you harshly.âÂ
âYou became friends with me,â he replied, âmaybe thatâs all I need?âÂ
âYou need only me as a friend? Youâre settling for very little, Pero,â you scoffed, but still smiling at him.Â
Pero shook his head, âQuerida, youâre selling yourself for very little if you think that your friendship isnât worth everything.âÂ
His words made your cheeks heat up, and for a few long moments you felt lost in the way he was still looking at you, his face serious and his dark eyes locked on yours. When you finally managed to pull yourself away, you looked down at your hands, rubbing at an ink stain on your thumb. Beside you Pero shifted, suddenly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he stood up.Â
âIâll see you tomorrow, mi amorcita.âÂ
The kiss lingered long after heâd disappeared, your fingers finding the spot as you walked back to the house. You wished heâd continued, but you werenât sure with what.Â
âI was never in prison,â he told you one day, âwell, not a real prison anyway,â he added with a smirk. âI was in China, working as a mercenary, and there was a misunderstanding. They put me in a cell but another mercenary got me out, he was good friends with the General, luckily.âÂ
âYouâve seen so much of the world, Pero, Iâve only ever been to London and here,â you replied, âWhat was China like?âÂ
âInteresting, and very different. Their language is very different from both English and Spanish. With English, I can recognise some of the words, with Chinese, nothing made sense,â he took the pencil from your hand and drew a strange symbol in the notebook.Â
âThat is the sign for gunpowder, I learnt it while I was there, important to know so that you donât accidentally light a pipe next to it.âÂ
âThat says âgunpowderâ?â you asked incredulously as you looked at the seemingly disorganised lines heâd jotted on the page and Pero nodded.Â
âThey write words with pictures instead of letters, one of them explained it to me. And even I could tell the difference between our letters and their symbols. And my friend, who could read, couldn't interpret it at all, he said it looked nothing like anything he could read.âÂ
âI can see why,â you said, tracing the lines with your finger, âI see no similarity with our letters at all.âÂ
âI hope you get the opportunity to see more of the world one day, señorita, there is a lot more to it than just London and this miserable castle,â Pero huffed. The more youâd told him about your life, the more his anger had grown at the way your uncle was treating you, and letting his children and wife treat you. It made no difference of course, Pero was just the groundskeeper, and a foreigner at that. But it was nice to have someone on your side, someone as strong and intimidating looking as Pero, to tell you that it wasnât supposed to be like this.Â
âMaybe you can show me some day, Pero,â you said, the words slipping out before youâd fully considered them and you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash. Pero gave you a quick grin.Â
âYou wish to travel with the ill-famed Spaniard, a mercenary and dirty foreigner?â he laughed, âWhat would your uncle say?âÂ
âTo hell with my uncle,â you giggled, it felt deliciously reckless to say it out loud, âTo hell with him!â
Pero smiled at your glee, it was good to see you happy and dreaming of something other than your life at Yotes Castle.Â
Two fat drops of water suddenly splashed down onto the page and you both looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had gathered above and now it was starting to come down hard, the first two drops quickly joined by many others. With a groan you realised youâd be soaked by the time you got back to the house, you had no umbrella with you, and your thin summer coat would not withstand this downpour. But Pero had already sprung into action with other plans, with a few quick movements he gathered up the books and notes from your lesson and held his hand out to you.Â
âCome, quickly, weâll run to my cottage until this is over.â
Without thinking, you took his warm hand and it closed around yours as he pulled you along at a brisk pace around the small lake. He kicked the door open and ushered you inside just as the downpour really started. Standing together at the entrance of his cottage, you watched the world turn liquid and grey in seconds.Â
âWell, I guess thatâs the end of summer then,â you said, peering into the gloom.Â
âIt will clear soon,â Pero replied, âbut it will be wet for a while. Let me hang your coat up to dry, querida.âÂ
Youâd told Pero your name, but he rarely used it, instead heâd continued to call you âseñoritaâ and explained what it meant. But as your lessons continued, heâd slipped into calling you âqueridaâ instead and you hadnât yet had the bravery to ask him what it meant. It felt more intimate than miss, his choice to use it seemed to correlate with the deepening of your friendship, when reading lessons turned into longer conversations about your lives. Just giving him lessons, spending time alone with an unmarried man in secluded corners of the park, felt exhilaratingly dangerous. You hadnât even told Mrs Robertson about it. But to acknowledge that you had more than just cordial feelings towards him, or that he might even have them too, that was an even more frightening thought that you shoved to the back of your mind and refused to entertain. It was an impossible scenario, your uncle would never allow his groundskeeper to court his niece. Â
It was hard to keep that thought at bay here though. When he helped you shrug out of your coat, his fingertips brushed over the back of your neck as he took your scarf too, the gentle touch burning your skin. His touch seemed to linger a few more moments than needed, but you thought youâd happily stand still in his small hallway for days, if it meant you could continue to feel the warmth from his hands on your skin.
And Pero felt it too, the velvety smoothness of your skin, the warmth of your body as he stood just a little bit too close for just a little bit too long. He inhaled quietly, catching the scent of your soap, and took a reluctant step back, taking the coat with him.Â
He hadnât lit the fire this morning, but now he hung your coat over a rack and busied himself with the kindling while you looked around the modest house. The cottage was old, the stone walls thick, and you could tell not many of the items here belonged to Pero. You moved among the few items as the fire came to life, its crackling filling the room. You let your fingers brush over the sprig of lavender that lay on top of the still neatly folded handkerchief, a comb lying next to it along with a small sharp knife that you guessed he used to trim his hair and beard.Â
A photograph caught your attention and you moved to stand in front of it. It stood propped up against the wall on the dresser, a simple portrait of two men. They were dressed in uniforms and looked with serious faces into the camera. You recognised a much younger Pero, his face smooth but still covered by his patchy beard, and no scar across his eye. The other man looked older and was light haired and as tall as Pero.Â
âMy friend William,â Pero said, coming up behind you and seeing what had caught your attention, âWe were friends and mercenaries together, heâs the one who saved me in China.âÂ
âWhere is he now?â you asked, picking up the photograph and studying the fair haired man.
âHe met a woman and settled down, took a job with her father, helping them run the farm,â Pero replied, and yet again he was standing so close behind you that you felt the heat from his body through the layers of your own clothes.Â
âItâs a good job for an old mercenary, he seemed very happy when I last saw him.âÂ
âWould you rather be a farmer than a groundskeeper?â you asked and Pero nodded.Â
âYes, if I found a woman who had a farm I could help run. But like your Elizabeth Bennett, I wouldnât want to marry just for convenience.âÂ
âYou want to marry for love?â you turned around surprised, looking up at him. Heâd never struck you as a romantic. His demeanour towards you may have softened slightly, but his outer layer was still very much that of the scowling, dark minded man whoâd rather the world just left him alone. Seeing him as someone who wished to marry a woman for love made you see him in a new light, maybe another crack in the facade he was slowly letting you through.Â
Pero gave you a shrug and shook his head.Â
âI donât know, I donât think Iâd ever be fortunate to marry for love so I never considered marrying at all.âÂ
âBut if you fell in love, youâd want to marry?â you asked and Pero gave you a humourless laugh.Â
âSeñorita, does it even matter if Iâd want to marry at all? For love or for convenience, no one will marry an old mercenary, a piss poor old soldier, who thoroughly dislikes and distrusts the world.â
His face pulled up in a twisted grimace of a smile as he turned away from you and picked up the kettle on the clean scrubbed table.Â
âDo you dislike me too?â you asked, placing the photo of Pero and his friend back on the dresser and moving over to the fire, âAnd distrust me?â
âQuerida, no, of course not,â he replied, his eyebrows shooting up in concern, âI didnât mean you, Iâm sorry if you thought that.âÂ
He came to stand next to you by the fire, his dark eyes suddenly more concerned than youâd seen them before, searching yours to make sure he hadnât inadvertently made you regret the friendship that the two of you had built up over the past few weeks.Â
âIâd hate for you to think that I donât trust you,â he said, âIâm glad youâre my friend and I hope you donât regret the time youâve spent teaching this old soldier to read.âÂ
You shook your head and without thinking, put your hand out and took his, stroking your thumb over the rough knuckles.Â
âI donât regret it at all, and Iâm glad you trust me. Youâre the first friend Iâve made since I came here and youâve made this summer much better than I could ever have hoped. How could I regret the time Iâve spent with you?âÂ
Relief seemed to flood his features, his dark eyes turning warm in the glow of the fire light as he smiled and wrapped his fingers around yours.Â
âIâm pleased to hear it, querida, our lessons are the best part of my day.âÂ
You smiled back at him, his hand, calloused and rough as it was, sent a delighted shiver through your limbs, fighting back the urge to step closer to him, to envelop more of yourself in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him.Â
âCan I confess something, Pero?â you asked with a small smile and Pero nodded in reply, one eyebrow lifted in question, âMy favourite part isnât the lesson, but the time we spend talking about everything else afterwards. All your stories make me feel like Iâve seen more of the world because of you.âÂ
âI wish I could show you all of it,â he smiled in response, âmaybe one day Iâll come back with a fortune and be able to take you with me on my travels,â he was smiling and he didnât let go of your hand, still holding on, and now he was the one stroking your fingers, letting his thumb trace your knuckles, gliding up so that he felt the faint thrum of your pulse under the thin skin of your wrist.Â
But you felt your heart twist at his words, you hadnât even considered that he would leave.Â
âYouâre leaving?â you asked, the small moment of standing close to him, alone in his cottage shattered, and you pulled your hand from his. He had no obligation to you, no commitment, but it suddenly felt like he was breaking a promise.Â
âAfter the summer, yes,â he said, the smile falling from his face when you let go of his hand, he reached out for yours for a split second, as if he wanted to stop you from pulling away, but thought better of it, âThereâs not enough work for me through the winter so your uncle wonât pay to keep me on. I go south and find what work I can.âÂ
âDo you always come back in the spring?â you asked, the very thought of spending winter here without Pero making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. Last winter had been torturous, the only thing making you not dread the coming winter was the thought of Pero and continuing to meet him.Â
âI come back if I have to,â Pero replied, regret lacing his voice, âIf I canât find better work over the warm season, I come up here. Your uncle prefers hiring someone he already knows, and heâs prepared to pay a bit extra for it, so the wage is decent.âÂ
âBut you might not come back next spring? And youâll be away all winter?âÂ
Pero felt his treasonous heart clench when he saw the disappointment in your eyes. Heâd tried very hard to see you as the teacher, a teacher whoâd become his friend. Convincing himself that the guard dog that growled in his chest was only raising its hackles because a friend was being treated badly by the family that employed you both. Not because he had any deeper feelings for you, any feeling of love, he did not fall in love he told himself, he kept his heart from feeling anything more than friendship.Â
But now his heart ached at the dismay he saw in your eyes, and he clenched his fists, digging his broken, dirty, nails in to his palms to stop himself from pulling you back to him, pulling you into his arms and telling you he wouldnât leave, not without taking you with him.Â
âQueridaâŠâ he mumbled, âI simply donât know if Iâll be back next spring. But I promise, if youâre still here, I will do my best to return.âÂ
âIâll miss you,â you said quietly as Pero carefully reached out and took your hand in his again, a small gesture of consolation, âLast winter was dreary and miserable but it will be worse now when this summer has been so nice.âÂ
You looked down at your hand in his, his golden, tanned fingers wrapping around yours, the back of his hand criss crossed by small scars. Youâd seen them before and asked him about them, heâd let you trace your fingertips over them, seeing the evidence of the hard life heâd lived as a mercenary, while heâd kept his eyes on you. Now you did the same again, memorising each line, committing to memory how his skin felt under your fingers, the warmth, the sparse dark hairs that made his hands look so different to your own.Â
Pero watched how you caressed his rough hands, hands he knew had been covered by more blood and grime that he wished to remember. So many lives ended by the movements they could perform. You knew about it all, youâd made him speak openly about the darkest memories his mind held, you knew these hands were capable of unimaginable violence. Yet you ran your soft fingers over the scars again, not pulling back from the man he was, no longer frightened by his violence, his scowl, the facade he knew he kept between himself and everyone. The way you looked at him, open, smiling, it made his heart do things he didnât think were possible, feel light and buoyant, a small crack opening up.Â
His hand moved without his consent, carefully coming up to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across it as you lifted your head and looked at him.Â
âIâll miss you too,â he whispered, barely recognising his own voice, his hand still softly caressing your cheek as you leaned your head against his palm, your eyes closing with a soft exhale.Â
His heart soared in his chest. Â
He thinks he moved first, but the warmth of your body was pressed against him before the thought had crossed his mind, your mouth so close and turned up towards him. When his lips touched yours, a small sigh escaped you, the warm air brushing over his bristly moustache. Your hand closed tight around his, holding onto him as if to stop him from leaving, but Pero knew nothing could make him step back now. He pulled you closer instead and pressed himself to you, a low, satisfied growl coming from deep inside his tight chest.
His lips were warm and tender against yours, the sensation so much softer than youâd ever imagined. He gently caressed your cheek, moving his lips against yours as you took in the sensation of being pressed so close to him. With your eyes closed, every movement and sound seemed heightened to your senses; the light scratch of Peroâs moustache, the calluses on his hand rough against your cheek, his other hand moving, wrapping around your waist, warm and firm against the small of your back as he held you close, the small gasp of breath from you when he left your lips for a moment to angle his head and capture them again, deepening the kiss.
Youâd never been kissed like this, only experiencing chaste, dry kisses pressed to your cheek by your mother. Now Pero moved his lips against yours, gentle and firm, in ways youâd never felt before. He held you close, your whole body pressed against him as he took your bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug. It pulled a whimper from you, heat shooting through your body, and you felt your knees buckle as the sensation overwhelmed your senses. Pero tightened his grip on you, but pulled back a little, looking down at your closed eyes, your lips parted as you caught your breath.Â
âMi vidaâŠâ he breathed softly, âopen your eyes.âÂ
You looked up at him, his dark brown gaze so permissive, more tender and open than youâd ever seen him before.Â
âThe rain has stopped,â he said, his voice still low, âyou should go before they send someone to find you.â He didnât think anyone would come looking for you for hours yet, but his grip on propriety was weakening.
You nodded, but neither of you made a move to break apart, Peroâs arm was still holding you firmly pressed to his solid body, his hand on your cheek. Your hands had entwined in his shirt, holding it as if it kept you from falling.Â
âI donât want you to leave,â you murmured, your eyes slipping to his lips, wanting to feel him on you again.Â
âIâm not leaving for many weeks yet, querida,â he replied, his hand leaving your cheek to push a strand of hair away from your face, âAnd many things can happen between now and next spring.âÂ
âPlease kiss me again,â you asked, âJust in case,â and your cheeks heated up at your boldness, as he smiled at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a grin.Â
âAnytime, mi amorcita.âÂ
He sent you on your way after another long, lingering kiss. Heâd parted his lips, let his tongue come out to carefully taste you, his hand on your jaw prompting you to slowly open your mouth and taste him in return. The sensation was strange, almost too intimate, your already burning cheeks heated up even more and it made you shy, stilling your kiss. Pero had pulled back, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and smiled at you again.Â
âYour kisses are like the sweetest wine, querida,â he said, slowly letting you go, âand a hundred times more addictive.â Â
Your heart beat a new rhythm as you walked back to the house, thrumming in your chest, as your lips felt hot and tender, still imprinted by Peroâs kisses. Whatever measures youâd taken to protect your heart had proven worthless, the man who only a few weeks ago had seemed so intimidating and frightening, had become your friend through the lessons. After the afternoonâs events...your heart seemed to both ache and soar when you thought of him. This was an impossible situation, an impossible man to fall for, yet you knew it was too late to pretend, to hide the truth from yourself.Â
You were hopelessly in love with Pero.Â
But Pero felt fear grip his heart as he watched you walk away from his cottage. The guard dog in his chest growled and clawed at his innards, making them sting with guilt and dread. This was foolish, the most foolish idea, why had he let it go this far? Why had he kissed you, not once, but twice? Why had he not tempered his heart to this weeks ago? But your presence in his cottage, your upset when realised heâd be leaving and may not return, confessing that youâd miss him, it had broken down all of his carefully laid plans to only be your friend. It was reckless to kiss you, a severe lapse in judgement. To let himself taste your lips, feel you so close to him, the softness under his hands, to feel for just a few minutes how it would be if you were his. But he had nothing to offer, and even if he did, you were impossibly out of his reach. This would only end with heartbreak if he let it continue. And he knew his heart would recover and harden when told you it couldnât continue, but he might break yours for good.Â
Pero was already by the bench when you came there the next day, but he wasnât sitting on it as he usually did. Instead he stood next to it, his large hands twitching with nerves as they hung by his thighs.Â
You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the serious set of his face, and he didnât return your smile.Â
âSeñorita,â he said, his voice low and heavy as he nodded to you, âI apologise for my behaviour yesterday, I shouldnât have kissed you. I wish to remain your friend and continue our lessons, but no more, I will not let myself go any further.âÂ
Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach, the fantasy youâd been nursing since yesterday afternoon shattering as Pero kept his eyes off you, looking at a spot on the ground between the two of you. You knew it was a silly dream, imagining a life where you and Pero could marry, be together and create a life for the two of you. But youâd held on to it, bolstered by Peroâs words that a lot could happen between now and next spring.Â
But now here he stood, not meeting your eyes, his hands seemingly trying to keep something at bay with the way they kept moving, never stilling. He must know what he was doing to you, the pain his words caused, and you could see the struggle in him. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark under his deeply furrowed brows and you felt yourself breaking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and quickly you turned and sat down on the bench, opening your bag to take out the books while you shook your head.Â
âIt was nothing, Mr Tovar, and youâre right, we shouldnât have done it. Letâs continue our lessons as friends.âÂ
You didnât look at him, but you felt the bench shift as he sat down at the other end, and you handed him the book heâd been reading from.Â
âFrom page ten, Mr Tovar, please.âÂ
âSeñoritaâŠâ he replied, his voice doing a bad job at hiding the pain he felt at your cold demeanour, even though heâd been the one to break your heart, he knows it, he can see it in the way your eyes are filled to the brim with tears, âplease call me Pero, you are still my friend.âÂ
âI think it might be best if we continue with titles, Mr Tovar. Please, page ten if you wish to continue our lessons.âÂ
He opened the book to the page, biting back all the things he would rather say, but heâs made a decision. He knew heâd hurt you, he knew this would hurt, but what he was foolish enough to start yesterday, has to end as quickly as possible. So he focused on the first word of the page, and tried to remember how to interpret the illegible markings that face him.Â
He read from the book, you corrected him and helped him when he got stuck, just as youâve done through all the lessons. But you donât smile at him, and you donât sit close to him. When the hour is up, you told him to practise a passage tonight, and then gathered your things and stood up.Â
âSame time tomorrow, Mr Tovar,â you said, a statement rather than a question, and he can only nod in agreement. You gave him a short nod too, and walked away, quickly disappearing into the woods.Â
The tears began to flow as soon as your back was turned to him, silently, holding back the sob that had been lodged in your throat for the past hour. You rushed through the small woods, not towards the house, but towards the winding maze of rhododendrons that offered a thicket of sheltered pathways under their heavy boughs. There, in the centre of the labyrinth, you sank down on the worn stone bench under the thickest trunks. Their season was long gone, a reminder how late the summer was getting, their bright petals turning brown on the forest floor. Covering your face with your hands, you gave into the grief that was squeezing your heart, whimpering as tears began to flow in earnest. It was so much worse than if he simply didnât love you in return, you know he does, he couldnât hide the pain on his own face as he told you it could go no further. But he pushed you away anyway because he realised it was a hopeless dream and it crushed you under the weight of how bleak it was.Â
âI wish Iâd never met him,â you whimpered, gripping the cool stone, digging your nails into the unyielding surface, âI wish Iâd never met him.âÂ
Pero held onto the branch of the rhododendron bush so hard it might break under his iron grip. The guard dog in his chest was threatening to spring forward, to wrap itself around your broken form on the stone bench, to hold you, tell you it would all be fine, heâd find a way, protect you from everything, even himself. It was a mistake to follow you when you left, but his determination to not let the love between you go any further did not stand a chance against the urge in his chest to protect you from the world. Even if he would not let himself come close to you again, the guard dog still pushed him to follow you, the despondent shape of your shoulders, the quiet sobs pulling him just as much.Â
When you whimpered, your wish to never have met him, he felt as if youâd slid a blade into his heart, and he only deserved it. He deserved as much pain as what he could hear in your voice, more even, heâd take it all from you if it wasnât for the fact that he was the one causing it.Â
You didnât hear the careful crunch of his boots as he turned and walked away.Â
Even though your heart was breaking, and sat in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight every morning when you woke up, you still continued to see Pero almost every day. You both knew it probably wouldâve been wisest to not continue the lessons, that it would make it all that much harder, keeping the pain fresh every day. But it wasnât something either of you were prepared to give up, so you met on the bench by his cottage and you kept Pero at a distance, and he did the same with you. Always sitting at the far end of the bench, reading the passage you assigned him diligently, but never moving closer.Â
Your one concession, the thing you found you couldnât be without, was to extend the hour and stay even though the lesson was over. Listening to Peroâs stories of his life before he came to England, his childhood in Spain, his adventures as he travelled the world as a mercenary. But he kept his facade up, never letting it fall the way it had before, never letting you in again like he had.
He does teach you some Spanish though, teaching you how to pronounce his name the way he does and smiling when you greet him in Spanish every morning, telling him what a beautiful day it is, no matter how dreary the weather is. He tells himself he can live like this, have you as a friend in this place, someone who will make him come back next spring. He might even believe it.Â
You count down the days to the end of the summer with growing dread, the ache in your heart doesnât lessen. Rather it grows, rips through you when he smiles at your successful attempt at asking him how old he is. The Spanish heâs teaching you becomes your link to him, the one thing youâll have left when he leaves, and you hoard the words in your mind, asking him to translate every word you can think of.Â
But he never calls you mi amorcita again, and you never ask what it means.Â
No summer is endless, and one day you returned from the lesson to find the house in uproar. Rooms being opened up, aired out, sheets pulled from the furniture as Yotes Castle was prepared for the return of the family.Â
You saw their carriage coming up the drive as you left the house the next morning, and you hurried away, ducking out of sight. The horrid day of the children returning to their lessons is already here, and you wish to keep it at bay as long as possible.Â
When you arrived at the bench by the cottage, Pero wasn't there yet. Heâs usually first, he only walks over from his cottage, but now you sit and wait for him for what feels like an age. Finally he arrived, coming down the path from the big house, not his cottage.
âBuenas dĂas, Señor Tovar, quĂ© lindo dĂa,â you greeted him and he nodded but didnât smile.Â
âThe family is back at the house,â he said, stopping by the bench, but didn't sit down as usual.Â
âI know, the house was turned upside down for their return yesterday and I saw their carriage as I walked down here,â you replied, taking in his face, a deep scowl pulling at his eyebrows, âDid something happen?âÂ
âI spoke with your uncle, my contract will run out in four weeks, Iâm to leave at the end of the month.âÂ
âOh.âÂ
It was all you could say, a small puff of air escaping you as you looked at each other, so much unspoken over the past few weeks, the events of the afternoon in the cottage suddenly sitting between you as if it had just happened. Â
âIâŠIâll miss you,â Pero said eventually, the silence stretching out for too long, âIâll come back next spring, I promise.âÂ
You didn't reply, dropping your gaze to your hands, a lump in your throat had formed at his words. The very thought of him leaving, of spending the long dark winter without himâŠit clawed at your heart, forced tears into your eyes as the reality that youâd been trying to push back made itself known.Â
âQueridaâŠâ he said, his voice low, pleading, âIâll come back. But we still canâtâŠâ he trailed off as you inhaled deeply, your shoulders shaking as you bit your lip.Â
âQueridaâŠâ he tried again, stepping closer to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but pulling back before his hand reached you, âIf things were different, but a man like me shouldnât court a woman like you, itâs not right. IâmâŠIâm notâŠ.âÂ
He didnât finish his sentence, instead he just stood next to you, his fingers trembling as he watched your shoulders heave in another deep inhale.Â
âPeroâŠâ you mumbled, your voice watery and his heart ached, you hadnât called him Pero since the day you kissed and heâd never gotten used to you calling him Mr Tovar again.Â
âDonât come back next year if thatâs all you see for us,â you forced out, your jaw clenched tight to hold back tears, âDonât tell me who I should let court me. If I didnât want it to be you, do you think I wouldâve continued our lessons?âÂ
You looked up at him, your lashes heavy with tears and Pero sighed, dropping his head rather than to see the pain so clear on your face.Â
âQueridaâŠâ he breathed out, a third time, and you let out a hollow laugh, a wretched snort with no mirth at all.Â
âIs that all you have to say, Pero? âQueridaâ? What does that even mean, just an empty word when youâre too much of a coward to actually mean it?âÂ
You didnât see the frustration that flashed across Peroâs face as you stood up, rubbing your hands over your face to wipe at the hot, angry tears that were slipping over your cheeks, turning to leave him. But Pero growled, a low noise coming from him as his hand shot out to grab your arm, closing tight around the fabric of your coat. When you looked back at him, his face was set in hard lines, his dark eyes boring into you under the sharp demarcation of his eyebrows pulled tight together.
âIâm no coward, I mean it when I call you âqueridaâ, he scowled, âBut I know what I am, and that I have nothing to offer you but a life fighting to keep poverty at bay as I drift from job to job. Donât call me a coward when you have seen nothing of the life outside of this house and your motherâs household. Iâve slept in hedgerows, Iâve gone hungry for days, walked my shoes to threads. It is not the life I want for you.âÂ
âI didnât realise we were already married,â you spat out, your eyes as dark as his, as anger coursed through you at his presumption, âYouâre not my husband, you do not decide over my life. Unfortunately, that privilege still lies with my uncle. And I never thought you and him would like to lock me up in the same cage.âÂ
âI donât want you locked up, I hate seeing the way youâre treated by them!â Pero raised his voice, stepping closer to you, his hand tight around your arm as he pulled you in, âI would pull down every brick in this place to set you free if I could. Do you really think I donât know how painful it will be to spend this winter apart? Away from you? All I want is to take you away from here and protect you from them, from anyone whoâs not as good to you as you deserve. Hay un puto perro guardiĂĄn dentro de mĂ! Carajo, cĂłmo te amo!â
He shouted the last words, rage flaring up inside him as frustration burned through his body, your eyes wide as he gripped both your arms and almost pushed you away from him, but not letting go.Â
âDonât you understand? If I loved you less, I might be able to speak about it more, but I love you too much and I canât let you live the way I do!â Â
His face suddenly fell, the air seeming to escape him as he deflated, his fingers digging into your flesh loosened their grip and he sighed deeply as the rage that had flared in him died down.
âIâŠWeâŠhave no choice. Stay here this winter, only one winter, and I will come for you next spring and weâll leave together,â he moved his hand, cupping your cheek gently, his face pleading, begging you to understand. It was ripping his heart in two, the very thought of leaving you here to suffer through another winter of the childrenâs abuse, your uncleâs neglect and your auntâs disdain. But the option was to risk everything if he couldnât find a job for the winter down south, âPlease, mi querida, I promise Iâll come back and Iâll have money for us to leave and be together.âÂ
His face was pained as he looked at you, waiting for your answer, his hand still cupping your cheek as his thumb softly wiped at the tears that still trickled down from your eyes.Â
âIâŠI love you too, PeroâŠâ you stammered, the words sinking in as his tirade of words ebbed out, âI was scared you didnât.âÂ
âMi amorcita,â he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, âmy little love, I tried not to, but itâs impossible not to love you.âÂ
You closed the last small gap between you, kissing him without hesitation, his warm mouth opening in surprise as you pressed your lips to his. His hand left your arm and wrapped around your back as you moved together, your body pressed against his, his strong arm holding you very close to him just like he had the last time. A whimper escaped you as you felt him deepen the kiss, curling himself around you, caressing your cheek as all the pieces seemed to slot into place. Your hips against his, your arms around his body, the tickle of his moustache against your lips and his fingers tugging on the back of your coat, lifting you to your toes as he pulled you impossibly closer.Â
The lack of oxygen at length made you both pull back just a little, Pero mumbling softly under his breath as he caressed your cheeks, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before he looked down at you.Â
âI promise, just one winter, mi vida. Can we survive that if we spend the next four weeks just like this?âÂ
âYouâll really come back?â you whispered into his neck, the steady thrum of his pulse just under your lips as he gently caressed the back of your neck, you could feel his fingers in the strands of hair that had slipped from your bun.Â
âI promise, I promise,â he assured you, his lips pressing against your head between each word, âI was always going to come back, no matter what you said.âÂ
âI shouldâve taught you how to write too,â you said, âa whole winter with no word from you will be torture, but if I know youâre coming back, I can bear it. But Iâll miss you every minute.âÂ
âWe have four weeks, teach me how to write too, la maestra,â he chuckled, leaning back a little so that he could see your face, still tear streaked and red eyed, his thumbs coming back to stroke your cheeks, âMi amorcita, donât cry any more. It wonât be easy, but if you really want this old soldier with no prospects, you can have him.âÂ
âI really do, Pero,â you said, closing the short distance between you again and finding his warm lips.
There wasnât much of a lesson that day, Pero pulled you down onto his lap, sitting on the bench, making up for lost weeks. Your lips were swollen and red by the time you had to pull yourself away and return to the house, Pero to the duties he still had left as groundskeeper. Your heart was still heavy with the knowledge that he would soon leave, but you held on to the light that was his love, his promise to return so that you could leave together next spring.Â
So wrapped up in your thoughts of Pero were you, that you didnât notice the smug smile of Mrs Pluck, the housekeeper, as you approached the kitchen door.Â
âThere you are,â she greeted you, her self satisfied smirk stretching her jowls as she grinned like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse.Â
âGood afternoon, Mrs Pluck,â you replied, moving to the side to pass her, but she held up her hand and grabbed your jaw, pinching it painfully as she pulled your face around to peer at your lips. You yelped in surprise at her harsh treatment.
âEnjoyed your time with the groundskeeper did you?â she asked, malice dripping from her question, âI can see he did his best to bruise those rosy lips, making you look like a whore with a lip stain on.âÂ
Nausea forced its way up through your throat, almost making you choke as you tried to pull away from her sharp grip, panic gripping your heart as you saw her glee. The fear in your eyes was showing and her face pulled into an even wider grin as she let go of your jaw, only to grip your arm, her fingers closing like a vice around you.Â
âYou think youâre so clever, sneaking around with him every day, thinking no one would notice? Well, youâre a fool, girl. Iâve known for weeks and now Iâm going to tell your uncle and have you thrown out. Iâve been waiting for this day, I only hope that swarthy tinkerer got you up the pole while he was at it, would serve you just right.â  Â
âPlease, Mrs Pluck, donât tell my uncle, we havenât done anything, weâve just kissed!â you pleaded, âHeâs leaving in four weeks either way.âÂ
âAnd have a hussy like you stay on and teach Miss Amelia?â the housekeeper spat out, now dragging you past Mrs Robinsonâs kitchen. She poked her head out from the pantry and watched in concern as the two of you passed. âYouâre a fool if you think I would allow that while Iâm housekeeper here, maybe thatâs the kind of behaviour your mother allowed you to get away with, the Lord alone knows what goes on in those London houses.âÂ
Your heart was beating out of your chest as Mrs Pluck continued to pull you up the stairs towards your uncle's study. You could feel your legs shaking as the panic at what was about to happen to you, and to Pero, when your uncle found out. Pero would lose his job, there was no doubt about it. You might too, or he would lock you up, keep you from ever seeing Pero again. The very thought forced a sob up through your tight throat, the sound making Mrs Pluck snort again and dig her bony fingers deeper into your arm.Â
The rap of Mrs Pluckâs knuckles on the study door felt like the bells of doom to your reeling mind. You had no excuse, no explanation, no way to plead for his mercy, and you stumbled as the doors opened and the housekeeper pushed you through them.Â
âMâlord, Iâm sorry to disturb you, but I have discovered something that needs your immediate attention,â Mrs Pluck simpered, her countenance suddenly all meek and apologetic. The change would be laughable to you if not for the panic thatâs still coursed through you.Â
âWhat is it?â your uncle asked, looking up from his large dark wood desk.Â
âYour niece and the groundskeeper, Mr Tovar. Iâve discovered that theyâve been having an affair. It seems theyâve been meeting in secret all summer. And only just this morning I saw them together, they were veryâŠintimate.âÂ
Mrs Pluck clasped her hands in front of her and looked the very image of piety as she pursed her lips in disapproval.Â
âIs this true?â your uncle directed the question to you, but he didnât seem to feel the need to meet your eye. Instead his gaze dropped back down to the letter he was composing, continuing to scrape his pen over the paper.Â
âYes, but we only-â you replied, your voice unsteady with nerves and panic, and your uncle cut you off.Â
âMrs Pluck, you saw them being intimate? How?âÂ
âI saw her sneak away from the house most mornings, so I followed. They met by the bench down by the groundskeeperâs cottage. I couldnât tell you how many times they met but this morning they were kissing, and I saw her sitting on his lap for quite some time.âÂ
âThis is unacceptable behaviour for anyone living under my roof, I do not care that you are my sisterâs daughter. I know she raised you to be a lady but she clearly failed,â your uncle said, looking up at you and placing his pen next to the inkwell, âYou are dismissed immediately, I cannot have you tarnish the reputation of this family with this kind of loose behaviour. You will pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning, you will have no reference. Youâll be paid what youâre owed.âÂ
It felt as if the ground opened up underneath you, your breath caught in your throat, and from the corner of your eye you saw Mrs Pluck smirk while she studied your reaction. Without a reference you would not be able to find a new position as a governess, not even as a house maid, finding any kind of work would be all but impossible.Â
âPlease, uncle, I accept that I have to leave, but at least give me a reference, we did nothing wrong, I just love him. And Iâm not with child!â
Your uncle sneered as he returned to his letter, âLove? Foolish child, what other nonsense has he filled your brain with? No, this harsh lesson will be good for you. I'm sure you can find some occupation once youâre back in London where you canât corrupt any young ladies, and certainly not my daughter.âÂ
âAnd the groundskeeper, sir?â Mrs Pluck asked, clearly keen to make sure he wasnât forgotten.Â
âSend one of the footmen for him, Iâll dismiss him immediately. Heâs broken my trust and defiled my family, he cannot stay on another day.âÂ
He looked up at you and Mrs Pluck and waved his hand.Â
âThat will be all, and make sure she is confined to her room, Mrs Pluck. We donât want her running off to that Spaniard.âÂ
Mrs Pluck had a lot to say as she escorted you to your room, her fingers once again digging into your arm. It seemed to be a steady stream of gleeful insults that buzzed in your ears like wasps, your mind too numb to take in what she was saying. The door of your room snapped shut and you heard the key turn as the lock clicked, leaving you standing frozen just inside. Your insides felt like hot lead, the buzzing in your ears was still deafening and it was starting to cloud your brain. Stumbling to the bed, you sank to your knees, grabbing the bed frame before you toppled over onto the scratchy rug.Â
You werenât sure how long you remained on the floor, your head reeling. It felt like you fainted, but you could still see the lurid Persian pattern on the rug in front of your eyes when you pried them open. The room was dark though, hours mustâve passed and you hadnât even noticed. The buzzing had subsided, replaced by a tight knot of fear and worry in your stomach, your heart still racing. Pushing yourself up, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, you managed to light the candle on the bedside table, casting a faint light around the room. There was a tray just inside the door, and the two carpet bags youâd arrived with. Someone, probably Mrs Pluck, had left dinner on the floor, but clearly not cared enough to make sure your still form on the floor was alright. The sight of the congealed stew made your stomach turn and you scrambled for the chamber pot.Â
On shaky legs, moving slowly, you made your way around the room to light the rest of the candles, coming to a stop in front of the small closet that held your clothes. You had no way of contacting Pero until morning, your only hope was that once youâd left the house, you could make your way to the cottage and find him, if he was still there. Your uncle seemed intent on throwing him out immediately, what if he had already left?Â
The thought made panic rise in you again, bile forcing its way up, making you bend double with a whimper. A few hours ago the prospect of spending the winter here without Pero seemed like torture, now you wished that was all you had to face. At least heâd promised to come back next spring. Now heâd been forced to leave and you had no way of finding him if he wasnât at the cottage. And youâd soon be out in the world on your own with no means and no other plan than getting back to London. How youâd survive, you had no idea.Â
The next morning, after a night of very little sleep, you waited sitting on the bed with your two packed bags. You refused to be sad about leaving this house, but you were trembling with nerves at the prospect of soon being outed from the only family youâd known and left to your own devices. Pero was right, you knew nothing of the world outside of this house and your motherâs household. When the lock in the door clicked, you forced your head up high, at least you wouldnât give Mrs Pluck the satisfaction of seeing you broken.Â
The smug smile on the housekeeperâs face made you grit your teeth and straighten your back even more, gripping the handles of your two bags tightly.Â
âTime to go,â Mrs Pluck smirked, opening the door wide and ushering you out. She didnât grab your arm this time, but she followed close behind you, making sure to lead you through the crowded servantâs hall downstairs so that all could see you leave in disgrace. Mrs Robinson gave you a sympathetic smile, and you gave her a weak one in return.Â
Out in the courtyard one of the stable hands was waiting with the wagon. Not looking back, you climbed onto the seat next to him and put your bags in the back. You had no intention of saying goodbye to Mrs Pluck, so you turned your back on her while she instructed the driver.Â
âDrop her at the station, and make sure the groundskeeper isnât anywhere around. Heâs not allowed back here, do you understand?âÂ
âYes, Mrs Pluck,â he replied, gathering the reins and preparing to leave.Â
âHe was sent off yesterday afternoon, heâs halfway to London by now, good riddance,â she huffed. You could hear the contempt in her voice and you were glad you couldnât see her face, evil, vicious woman.Â
With a jerk the wagon began moving, the driver clicking his tongue at the horse. You held on to the side of the seat as the wagon left the big house behind, rolling out onto the long drive down towards the main gate. The young stable hand said nothing as you stared straight ahead, but from the corner of your eye you could see him cast curious glances at you.Â
âWhatcha do?â he asked eventually, âGet knocked up?âÂ
âNo,â you said between tight lips, âNot at all.âÂ
âSteal summit then?âÂ
âAbsolutely not!â you exclaimed and he shook his head.Â
âNo, you donât look like the thieving kind, too fancy for that.âÂ
The wagon rolled down between the trees of the drive in silence for a while before he spoke up again, his curiosity getting the better of him.Â
âSo what did you do?âÂ
âNot that itâs any of your business, but you might as well tell the rest of the servants as theyâll be gossiping either way; I fell in love with the groundskeeper, we kissed, and Mrs Pluck saw us and ratted us out to the lord.âÂ
âYou kissed?â he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise, âThatâs it and you got booted? Mean olâ bitch,â he shook his head, âOnly âcause sheâs an ugly old bat who no one wanted to marry. Sheâs always making life miserable for the housemaids, she had one of âem dismissed for just looking at the delivery boy from the village. Said she knew theyâd been sneaking off together when everyone knew Jenny never would never do anything like that. And believe me, I tried with her and got nuttinâ!âÂ
He suddenly went beet red and cleared his throat, âSorry, probably shouldnât have said that.âÂ
The end of the drive was near and you could see grand pillars on either side of the open gate.Â
âDo you think you could drop me just outside the gate? Iâll walk the rest of the way, you can have a bit of free time before you go back to the house,â you said, Peroâs cottage was near the wall of the estate and not far from the gate.Â
âYou sure? Itâs a fair way down to the station, take you an hour to walk with those bags,â the stable hand said, but you could see he was already eager at the prospect of some free time.Â
âIâm certain, Iâd rather be on my own for a bit too, got a lot of thinking to do,â you said and he pulled on the reins, the horse coming to a halt just outside the gate.Â
âAlright, this is your stop then.âÂ
You thanked him and climbed down, retrieving your bags from the back, and then watched him disappear down the road. There was a pub in the nearby village and odds were heâd head there for a pint before returning to the house. As soon as he was out of sight, you doubled back, finding the small path that followed the wall towards the groundskeeper's cottage. Tucking your bags out of sight behind a shrub, you hurried down the small lane. After a few minutes, you came to the cottage from the back, the small lake on the other side.Â
There was no smoke coming from the chimney and the shutters were closed, making your heart sink. The cottage looked closed and empty without any sign of life. As you stepped into the small garden at the front, you knew he was already gone and a sob forced its way up your throat as you saw what heâd left on the doorstep. Weighed down by a rock, was Peroâs handkerchief, the one heâd used to soothe your stinging cheek after Miss Amelia slapped you. Slowly you walked up to the door and picked it up, the soft fabric smelling of soap and faintly of lavender. The sight of the carefully folded kerchief in your hands brought tears to your eyes, welling up and falling down your cheeks as you realised Pero was gone, and with no means to leave you a message except the kerchief on the doorstep. You never had the time to teach him how to write, and now heâd been forced to leave while you were locked up in your room. Where would he have gone? He only ever said he went south, and found whatever work he could over the winter, but where? You had no idea, and even if he went to London, how would you find him there? The city was made to get lost and hide in. But you had to try, somehow you had to try and find him.Â
Squaring your shoulders you wiped your cheeks and tucked Peroâs kerchief into your coat pocket. The cottage held nothing for you now, and you didnât look back as you retraced your steps back to your bags, and then out through the big gate. Youâd take the train to London, find a cheap, but respectable place to live, maybe youâd be able to find the housekeeper who had worked in your motherâs household, you knew where sheâd moved to and she was always nice.Â
With the big house behind you, you set out to walk the long road down to the station. Pero had said you knew nothing of the world, but youâd need to be a quick learner if you were to survive so that you could find him again.Â
After what felt like an age, your feet swollen and aching, you reached the small town that was serviced by the train to London. It was a relief to put down the bags on a bench inside the station house and stretch your back. The station clerk regarded you with curiosity but was friendly enough when you brought out your small purse and counted the coins needed to purchase a one way ticket.Â
âThe next train to London is in forty minutes, miss,â he told you, âand there are no delays on the line.âÂ
âThank you, Iâll wait on the platform,â you replied, turning to pick up your bags.Â
âIâd wait in here if I were you, miss,â he said, a concerned look on his face, âthereâs a vagrant hanging around the station house. Heâs been here since yesterday evening and I think heâs sleeping on the benches. I was just about to send my boy for the constable so you best wait here until heâs gone.âÂ
âA vagrant?â you asked, a small burst of hope going off in your chest, âWhat does he look like?âÂ
âFrightful! Nasty scar right across his face,â the station clerk said, âDark too and - miss!âÂ
The clerk called after you but you didnât hear, you were out through the door in a flash, turning on the spot, searching up and down the platform.Â
âPero!â you called, spotting the sleeping man on a bench at one end, âPero!âÂ
He jerked awake, on his feet in an instance before heâd even spotted you. You were already running towards him as his eyes widened, and with a few long strides, he was scooping you up, crushing you to him.Â
âMi amorcita,â he mumbled as you threw your arms around his neck, finding his lips, giving no thought to who might see.Â
His arms were lifting you up, one hand cupping the back of your head, holding you tight to his warm mouth and you felt tears begin to stream down your cheeks. You sobbed against him and he pulled back, mumbling a stream of soft words in Spanish that you didnât understand, his hand coming to wipe away the tears, caressing your cheek between kisses.Â
âDonât cry, mi vida, donât cry,â he mumbled, placing another soft kiss on your mouth, âYou found me, you found me.âÂ
âI-I went to the cottage, I found your handkerchief,â you stuttered, âI was going to look for you in London but I was so scared I wouldnât find you.âÂ
âIâve been waiting, I was hoping theyâd put you on the train, I couldnât leave without being sure,â he said, loosening his grip on your waist so that he could cup your face with both his hands, his brown eyes dark as he stroked your cheeks and pressed another long kiss to your lips.Â
âBeing sure of what?â you asked as the kiss ended and Pero shook his head.Â
âAnother plan of Mrs Pluck to ruin things for us,â he scowled, rage flashing across his face, âShe told me she was the one that found us out and that sheâd taken you to your uncle. She said you were locked up in your room and that youâd been allowed to stay at Yotes because youâd sworn to your uncle that you didnât love me. That it had only been a foolish crush, thatâs what she called it.âÂ
âOh, PeroâŠ.â you breathed out, fear gripping your heart as you realised how Mrs Pluck had tried to make Pero leave you behind, âYou know that was never true!â
âI know, amor, I know, of course. Youâd only just left with my heart in your hands, I knew she was a lying witch,â he pressed another kiss to your lips, a soft moan escaping you as you felt his strong body wrap around you.Â
âBut what do we do now, Pero?â you asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him, âWeâre both out of work and I guess you got no reference from my uncle either?âÂ
âNo, he didnât, but I have plenty of references from the work Iâve done over the winters, Iâll find work there. ButâŠâ he hesitated as he frowned, lines of worry across his forehead, âI had a plan for next summer, when I came back for you. A plan for how we would start a life away from your uncle and Yotes Castle, but nowâŠI might ask you already even though it is soon.âÂ
âWhat did you plan,â you asked as he let his hands slip from your cheeks, down to hold your hands in his. He paused, looking at his fingers as he entwined them with yours, so large and rough compared to your soft, ink stained ones, before he looked up at you, a small, nervous smile, a rare thing from him, on his face. Â
âTo ask you to marry me, to go to that place in Scotland, and jus-â
âYes!â you cried, louder than you intended, âYes, yes, yes, Pero!âÂ
You pulled your hands from his and wound them around his neck, making him stumble back as you kissed him hard. A surprised grunt came from him as he grabbed your waist to stop you from knocking him to the ground. The grunt soon turned to laughter as he tried to speak between your kisses, you hugged him tight, your body filling with light as you pressed your lips to his.Â
âCĂĄlmatĂ©, mi amor,â he chuckled, taking your hands from around his neck and holding them between his own again, âIt wonât be easy, we donât even belong to the same church, but if youâll have me, that is my plan.âÂ
âYes, Pero,â you said, your voice suddenly unsteady as you felt tears starting to run down your cheeks, your emotions overflowing as you looked into the eyes of the man you thought youâd lost until only a few minutes ago, âI want to marry you, everything else, weâll figure it out.âÂ
âI donât even have a ring for you, mi amorcita,â he said, leaning forward to kiss first one tear stained cheek, and then the other, âI want to promise you everything, but I canât give you anything.âÂ
âPero, youâve given me hope,â you whispered, âand love. Thatâs all I ever wanted, to marry for love. And then everything else will be easier.âÂ
âI can give you that at least, and I will keep you safe, no one will ever treat you the way they did again,â he said, his brow furrowing, the scowl creeping back onto his face as he shook his head, âNever again, amor.âÂ
You let your fingers caress his forehead, smoothing out the frown and tracing the line of the scar across his eye. You touched your lips to it as he closed his eyes, a feather light kiss to the feature so many feared him for.Â
âMy guard dog,â you smiled, â âmi perro guardiĂĄnâ, wasnât that what you called yourself yesterday?âÂ
He nodded, his eyes still closed as you continued to kiss his face, touching your lips to every mark as if to map it with your mouth.Â
âTĂș perro guardiĂĄn,â he mumbled, âI will protect you, amor.âÂ
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then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, âthough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,â i said, âart sure no craven,"
chapter ii
Davos Blackwood x Bracken OC Davos is the eldest son of Lord Samwell of House Blackwood and the scourge of all the knights and squires of House Bracken. Though he thinks himself a knight and concerned with duty and honor, he spends most of his free time with his own squires, tormenting all the Brackens that they happen upon. Celeste Feathers is the bastard daughter born of Amos Bracken and a Summer Isle whore. At the chance of a higher dowry for her daughter, the baby was sent to live with her father in the wet and windy Riverlands until a husband was chosen for her. Though the two had a chance encounter as children, they have only heard stories about each other in the meantime until one fateful day near the boundary line in the forest. wc: 7.4k/11.5k chapter: 2/?
tw: nsfw (sex!), mentions of sa
It took Celeste the night, and the next night, day, and day after that to get her thoughts clear. She could still feel Davos's body on hers, and she wondered if anyone could see the scourge of her betrayal on her face, on her wrists where he had grabbed her. She had considered that, by day two, everything coercing her thoughts into horrible actions was fueled by lust but on the day that she was meant to meet him, she started to consider that she really wanted to see him. And he her. He had agreed, and she had made no promise of what would happen, but she was excited. Celeste was determined that she would stand her ground and say a million and one things that the boy would have no rebuttal to, or maybe they would talk about history or... perhaps he wouldn't even show. She shook her head. That wasn't an option.
She was overwhelmed with the thought that he was across the river, waiting for her and thinking of her. Her annoying and conceited enemy, likely stroking himself to her insults. It was enough to giggle about, but she maintained her composure. Celeste knew it was wrong for multiple reasons: she wasn't meant to venture from the castle by herself nor was she meant to fraternize at all unless her maidenhood be called into question. Especially not with a Blackwood. But he had been oddly gentle with her... as if she was someone that he could take care of.Â
Celeste had always thought that the two houses could find their way out of war, and she surmised that maybe, in his youthful pliability, she could get Davos to hear her side.Â
Though she had set the time aside to think, her thoughts had not settled on one single opinion. She had promised to meet him however, and her word was her bond.Â
After supper on the second night, Celeste trekked into the forest, trying to find the same spot that she had met Davos before. It was around a fifteen minute walk, and she was sure that she had overshot it before she caught a glimpse of the boy's red cloak. Scoping the scene before she let a branch crunch beneath her weight, she approached him silently, her hand behind her back.Â
"I brought you a gift. A peace offering."
Davos had spent the past two nights eagerly anticipating her arrival. He had tried to occupy himself with training, drinking and whoring to pass the time, but every hour of the night, his mind would flit back to the image of her, pressed up against the tree, her body writhing against his.Â
When she finally crept out of the woods, he felt his heart begin to thump faster in his chest. But, he hid his excitement behind a cocky grin as he watched her approach.
"A gift, eh?" He mused, raising an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"
She removed her hand from behind her back to reveal a linen, a pastry inside with a berry and cheese custard. A desert that she had taken before the remains returned to the kitchen for the servants.Â
"Dessert," Celeste said. "My gift for granting me safe travels when last we saw each other. I know asking you to refrain from debauchery comes at a cost, sweet Lord."Â
She handed the linen and pastry over to Davos and took a few steps back. "You can keep the linen. It's one of the few without my house's sigil knitted into its fabric."
Davos chuckled softly as he accepted the gift from her, holding it delicately in his hands.Â
"Safe travels?" He echoed with a smirk. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. I was rather tempted to have my way with you, right there against the tree."
He looked down at the package, his grin widening when he saw that it was a pastry. He wasn't one for sweets usually, but something about the fact that it was a gift from her made it more enticing.
"I guess you do truly like me."
"It could be poisoned," she said quickly with a shrug, her cloak flowing in the wind.
Davos chuckled again as she shrugged and mentioned the possibility of the pastry being poisoned. He raised his eyes to meet hers, his smirk unwavering.
"I doubt you would go through all this trouble just to kill me, little vixen." He said, holding the pastry up for a moment. "Besides, I'd rather risk some poison if it means a chance to lick your berry custard from my lips."
Celeste frowned and rolled her eyes, briefly reminded that Davos was just a boy and his jokes were senseless. "It's hard to imagine that you're highborn and educated when you speak like an Iron Islands jailer... give it a taste, why don't you?" She pointed to the pastry in his hands.
As she frowned and rolled her eyes, Davos couldn't help but grin wider. He enjoyed getting a rise out of her, watching her try and maintain her composure beneath that cold exterior.Â
"Iron Islands jailer?" He repeated, his smirk turning into a sly smirk. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"
He looked down at the pastry again, holding it up towards his mouth.
"I don't know... what if it is poisoned and you just want to watch me die from it, all because I won't... what was the phrase.. refrain from debauchery."
"We can have it together," Celeste suggested, walking towards Davos and placing her hands within his. She tore a corner off the dessert and placed it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact from him.Â
"It's worthy of you. I've built up a resistance to the poison within the berries, but you should be fine. A bout of dysentery is usually all that men will suffer," she smiled, a bit of berry staining her teeth before she licked them and smiled, nodding at the dessert, insisting he try it once more.
Davos raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, watching her as she approached him and placed her hands atop his. The feel of her skin against his sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself holding his breath for a moment.
When she leaned in and tore off a corner of the pastry, he watched with a mixture of fascination and trepidation as she put it into her mouth. Her words about the berry's potential poisoning made him hesitate for a moment, but the sight of her stain her teeth in berry juice pushed him over the edge.
"Well, if you say so," he murmured.
She grasped his hands again and moved them slowly, still holding the dessert, to his mouth until the pastry grazed his lips and he had hardly no other decision than to bite into it.Â
"This is the part where you bite, puppy."
As her slender fingers guided his hands towards his mouth, Davos felt a stirring in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was excitement or trepidation, but he found himself unable to tear his gaze from hers as she moved his hands closer and closer to his mouth.
When the pastry finally made contact with his lips, he couldn't help but grin at her comment. "Puppy, eh?" He murmured before taking a bite.
The taste of berry custard flooded his mouth, and he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor before swallowing.
"Was that so bad?" Celeste asked, stepping away after she'd lowered her hands from the boy's.Â
She returned to her former spot, a higher vantage point in the wood, above a dry ravine. She sat on the ground, her knees close to her chest as she looked up at the young man, the evening sun playing on his hair as the trees shimmied above them.Â
"Must I anticipate an ambush or did you come here alone?"
Davos watched as she stepped away, taking her place on the edge of the ravine. The sight of her, knelt down, her knees drawn up to her chest, was almost enough to send his thoughts spiraling in all kinds of directions. He cleared his throat and shook his head, reminding himself to concentrate.
"No ambush, little vixen," he replied, his eyes never leaving her. "I came alone, just as you asked."
Celeste began again: "I asked you for nothing other than to join me once more," she said emphatically. "Which you did. Why?"
Davos chuckled as she corrected him, his smirk returning to his face. "Fair enough, you didn't ask for anything else. But I came, didn't I?"
He stepped closer to the edge of the ravine, looking down at her. "As to why I came, well... I suppose I had to see you again. There was a debt to be settled between us, remember?"
She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him. "I owe you nothing. You know that."
He chuckled again, his smirk growing wider. "Oh, but you do, little vixen. You owe me for my good behavior that day. If I hadn't been on my best behavior, you might have ended up with a few... bruises."
Grinding her teeth, Celeste looked over her shoulders and at the tree she had, not long before, been pinned against. She wasn't sure if sorrow became or irritation, but she knew she wouldn't let him put her in that position again. She had come willingly.
"I wonder," she said, hoping he would implore her on what was on her mind.
He noticed the way her gaze flitted towards the tree, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. A sly smile crept across his face, and he decided to indulge her.
"Wonder what, sweetling?â He asked, taking a step closer to her. âDo you wonder what might have happened if I wasn't so good to you? What I might have done to you if I had just let myself take what I wanted?"
"No," Celeste shook her head, leaning back onto her elbows, making sure to convey to him that she was not afraid and did not have to guard herself.
Before she spoke, she wished away the migraine that was moving behind her eyes. He was startlingly full of himself.
"I wonder: are you so often rejected by the maids that you think the only way to bed a woman is to force her hand?"
Celeste sucked her teeth, as if to spit on him if he lunged at her. She had built him up in her thoughts during his absence, but she saw him for what he was. A criminal with a title.
"You told me that I was the one that no one wanted. Are we here again to revel like two damaged dolls thrown into the trash?"
As she spoke, Davos felt his smirk falter for a moment. Her words were like a punch to the gut, hitting him right where it hurt. He had never really thought of himself as being rejected when it came to the maids - he had always seen it as just... a game, a challenge. But her words brought him up short. Was it really true? Did he really have to resort to force because he couldn't win a maiden's affections?
He shook his head adamantly. "That's not true," he protested. "I could have any woman I wanted, whenever I wanted."
"Perhaps that's true, and perhaps the most fun part of it for the maidens is to act as if they don't want it. To act like they don't enjoy being pressed against a surface by someone much stronger than them while they fight against them and beg them to stop because the maidens know that without their dignity, their virginity intact, they're worthless, but deep down, they really want it, and they're hoping someone like Lord Davos Blackwood comes and takes it from them, ruining them for all other men," she said this all in flaming spite before jumping, taller than a man because of her place on the ravine.
Davos felt a pang of something deep in his chest as he listened to her words, her voice dripping with spite. He couldn't quite place what it was - anger, perhaps, or defiance - but he didn't like the feeling.
He clenched his fists by his side as he looked up at her, his mouth set in a hard line. "You don't know anything about women," he shot back, his tone harsh. "Or about me. I don't need to force myself on women. They come to me willingly."
"You don't force yourself? That's rich. What was two nights ago? Or your threats to hurt me today? Just for fun? Just a game?"
Stepping closer to him so that the sun would be hidden behind her, she began her diatribe. Possibly an attack on all knights, or maybe simply Davos, but he had made her sick to her stomach. Had they not shared a glint of something special the night before? She shook her head with deep scorn.
"You're small and not worthy of my time. Or a Lord's high seat. More than this, I don't think you would be able to handle a woman seeing you for how pathetic you truly are, so you debase her first. You're a bully and bad at it, Davos."
As she stepped forward and began her tirade, Davos felt a surge of anger and frustration coursing through him. He clenched his fists tighter and gritted his teeth, his body tensing as she continued to pour out her venom.
Her words stung deep, and he felt his pride and honor being trampled under her feet. He didn't like being called weak, especially by her. He wanted to reach out and shake her, to knock her off her high horse and show her who was really in charge.
"You don't know me," he snapped back. "You don't know anything about me."
Celeste moved close enough to the boy that her cloak lapped at his own in the wind. She squatted down, nearly at eye level with him, though a little lower. "Do you have your wicked way with women, Davos, or was I special? Is the future Lord Blackwood just a petty criminal taking what isn't his?"
As she moved closer, Davos could feel the heat radiating off her body, her cloak mingling with his own in the cool evening air. He clenched his jaw as she squatted down, their heads now at eye level with each other. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as she uttered her words, her voice dripping with scorn.
He wanted to lash out at her, to grab her and shake some sense into her, but he knew better. He couldn't let her see how her words were cutting into him.
"You're not special," he snarled, his voice low.
Celeste smiled, her heart sinking in her chest. "No, I didn't think so," she said, standing slowly and wiping her hands off on the tights beneath her tunic. She turned to walk away.
Davos felt a pang of guilt as he watched her turn away from him. He felt as though he had said too much, lost control of the situation. He took a step forward, almost involuntarily, as if to reach out and stop her.
"Wait." The words came out before he had fully thought them through, and he cursed himself for sounding so desperate.
Celeste stopped walking but did not turn around to face him. She had no desire to-- if he wanted to say anything, now was his chance, or she would leave with a worse taste in her mouth than she'd had before.
Davos took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions within him. He knew he had to say something, anything, to make her stay, to repair the damage that had been done.
He stepped closer to her, until he was standing directly behind her. He could feel her body tensing, as if she was prepared to bolt. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently, almost hesitantly.
"I didn't mean it," he said softly. "You are special. I was just... being a fool."
She turned her head ninety degrees, making note of Davos in her peripheral and sighed. "Being the member of a great house is a heavy burden, Davos. We cannot continue to squander what we've been given just as our fathers and our fathers before them. These small, petty things diminish us.. our character. I want to live in peace eventually... you can't go around hurting your lieges. Those women have fathers and brothers who fight for you and are willing to die for you," she finally turned to face him entirely. "The repayment you give them is poor."
Davos felt a pang of shame as she spoke, her words hitting him like a blow to the gut. He knew she was right, and it pained him to admit it. He was the eldest son, the future lord of his house, and he couldn't just go around acting rashly, like a spoiled child.
He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers as she turned to face him fully. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it stung him more than he cared to admit.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I can't help myself sometimes."
"Then you're impetuous like a child," Celeste said with a shrug. "What can be done with you? Mad dogs have their necks broken," she said, tilting her head.
Davos gritted his teeth at her words, his pride smarting at her description of him as an impetuous child. He wanted to argue, to defend himself against her accusation, but he knew that she was right.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to keep his temper in check. He knew that he couldn't let her see how much her words were affecting him.
"I'm not a mad dog," he ground out, his voice low and dangerous.
"Then you must do better for yourself and for the people that serve you," she wrung her hands and stepped away from him again, but only to size him up. For the first time, she was no longer scared of him. "I had no misgivings about your tendencies, I knew you were a villain, but I had thought before that perhaps we were kindred spirits which was folly in and of itself. You are my sworn enemy, but for a second when we last spoke and you told me about what you had heard about me in passing," Celeste looked away wistfully. "I was mistaken, I'm afraid. We shouldn't have met again."
Davos felt a pang of disappointment as she stepped away from him, her eyes studying him as if he was some sort of exhibit in a cage. He wanted to reach out and grab her, to hold her close and make her see that he wasn't the heartless brute she thought he was.
Her words about kindred spirits struck a chord in him, and the memory of their last conversation came rushing back. He remembered how vulnerable they had been with each other for a mere moment. He did not want to let the fear that he would never have that again begin to grow in his chest.
"I'm not your enemy," he blurted out, his voice desperate.
Looking at the linen still in the young man's hand, Celeste frowned and shrugged. "I cannot tell east from west with you, Davos. What do we do here now? We are not enemies, but I cannot call us friends, and I fear the treatment you'd give me as a maid. Perhaps there is nothing for us."
Davos looked down at the linen in his hand, his mind racing as he tried to think of a response to her words. She was right, he knew that. They were not enemies, but they were certainly not friends either.
He clenched his jaw, his pride telling him to just let her go, to forget about this whole encounter. But there was something inside him that wouldn't let her leave, something that wanted to hold on to the chance that she might change her mind about him.
"We could... be friends," he said finally, the words coming out weakly.
Celeste sighed, calming her cloak in the wind. "Can I trust you?"
Davos felt a pang of guilt at her question. He knew he had not earned her trust, not in any sense of the word. But for some reason, the thought of her not trusting him made his stomach twist into knots. He wanted her trust, more than he cared to admit.
"Yes," he said firmly, looking at her with a serious expression. "Yes, you can trust me. I won't hurt you. I swear it."
Celeste took a weary step towards the boy, reaching for his hand to shake, as if to guarantee their truce but the shake became a slow grasping of arms as if it were to become a hug, but she allowed herself to be wrapped up in his arms once more, hugging him tightly as though they had just avoided their greatest battle: losing something so new and fragile so early. She listened to his heart beat.
Davos was surprised when she stepped closer to him, reaching out to take his hand for what he had assumed would be a handshake to seal their truce. But to his even greater surprise, she instead pulled him into an embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around him. He could feel her breath on his neck, her body pressed against his, and he found himself closing his eyes and holding her tightly.
He could feel his heart racing in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears. For a moment, everything else faded away, and all he could focus on was the feeling of her in his arms.
They held each other for a few seconds before Celeste looked up at the young man, her chin in his chest as she looked into his eyes and impatiently and irrationally, she hoped he would kiss her. In a depraved way, she envied the girls he must have taken advantage of, because at least they had had him. She could only imagine what his plump lips would feel like against her own or on parts of her body, and though she tried to push this desire deep down, she couldn't, but was it her fault? He had been the one to ignite her desire.
Davos looked down at Celeste, his eyes meeting hers as she looked up at him with an expression that he couldn't quite read. He could feel her body pressed against his, and he found himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
He could see the desire in her eyes, the way she looked at him, and it stirred something deep inside him. He wanted her, he knew that much. And he couldn't deny the way his own body was reacting to her closeness.
Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned down and brought his lips to hers, in a gentle, exploratory kiss.
It was a contrast to how he had treated her the day before. He held her tightly but kissed her lightly, almost the way one would kiss the forehead of a child to sleep. Perhaps she would ruin it all, the innocence of that pink and blue sunset, and perhaps she was impatient, but Celeste quickly placed her hands on the sides of Davos's face and kissed him deeply, fiercely and with a hunger that was not friendly.
Davos felt a pang of surprise as Celeste suddenly grabbed his face and deepened the kiss, her lips pressing against his with a hunger that he had not been prepared for. He pulled away abruptly and looked the girl up and down, incredulously.Â
âWhy denounce me then pull me in like some sorceress,â he pulled his face from the clutch of her hands, his brow dressed in confusion. She was beautiful but he could see the cunning energy behind her eyes and could not stand to be manipulated for even a minute more. âWhy come back if you think me a miscreant, Celeste?â
"Your threats felt more like invitations, you don't think?" They had both come back, hadnât they?
"An invitation, you say? And what kind of invitation would that be?" He pressed himself closer to her. "Perhaps one to play a game of cat and mouse?"
âIf you be the mouse, my lord.â
âToday you bite and I run, you take it?â
They stared at each other for a few seconds before he let go of her gently and took a step back, extending his hand towards her. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards a deeper part of the forest.Â
She wasn't sure why she did it, but she did. Celeste took the boy's hand and followed after his long strides. He was a villain, a menace, an enemy to her house, but at times he could seem quite gentle. She was coy, acting oblivious to what could happen but followed after him quickly as they retreated further into the woods, past the spot she was familiar with.
They came to a clearing and Davos turned back to her, pulling her closer to him, his body pressing against hers as he tasted her, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her. He could feel the heat radiating between them, a fire that threatened to consume them both.
His hands cupped her face, as he spoke between feverish kisses: "I had every right to you, Celeste. You were on my family's land, and I was merely protecting what is mine, but I did not come here to argue with you today about propriety or dignity," he said, his voice growing softer.
âThen what,â she began, flushed. âSurely you did not think I would give so easily,â but this was in contrast to what her hands were doing. She had begun to undo her cloak and release her hair from her braids. âSuch as a common whore.â
âA common whore,â the boy laughed, taking a step back from the young woman as her cloak dropped to her feet. âYouâve acted as one. Running around the woods with no knights to protect you, then you talk about honor. No respectable lady would have been here in the first place, and even a first class whore wouldn't have come back after being shown the danger of it,â he sighed with a chuckle before beginning to undo his own cloak and casting it on the ground for the two to lay upon.
âYou say this in jest,â Celeste muttered, half-serious and half-offended.
âOf course,â Davos said, sympathetically, remembering that the viper, herself, was capable of offense. He crossed his arms, still feeling the pressure of her lips on his. âI do believe you want this, Celeste. I will make it gentle for you.â
She bit her lips in trepidation, unsure of what to do as her heart raced.Â
"Help me," she asked, placing his hands on the strings of the back of her gown, a thin corset that he could undo quicker than her.
Davos felt a pang of excitement as he realized what she was asking him to do. He gently placed his hands on the strings of the back of her gown, his fingers working quickly to undo them as she had requested.
He could feel the heat radiating off her body, and his own heart was pounding in his chest as he pulled the strings loose, the fabric of her gown loosening around her body. He couldn't help but let out a soft, appreciative noise as he saw the bare skin beneath the fabric.
As he removed his hands from her back, Celeste looked down as the dress fell down around her feet atop the cloak. She still had on a thin undergarment, but beneath that, she was naked. The boy knelt down, his face resting on her torso as he undid the less of her tights and pulled them down roughly but without injury, as one would do having not practiced decorum before.
Celeste knelt down in front of him, a quiet wind whistling through the forest. She didn't know where things would go from there, but something in her wanted to show Davos what it felt like to be wanted, and she did want him. She thought that he must have wanted her to, the way his eyes searched her body.Â
He couldn't help but stare at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her, the curve of her hips, the gentle slope of her neck, the heat radiating between them. He ached to touch her, to run his hands over her skin and feel the softness beneath his fingers.
"I'm not sure now," she said, placing her hands on his arms. Her nipples hardened in the chilling air, and she knew she didn't have much time to spend with him. "I've never done this before."
Davos felt a pang of realization when she spoke, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and it dawned on him that this was uncharted territory for her.
Falling back into his thighs, he put his hands on his waist and allowed his eyes to meet hers once again. He wanted to take care of her. "It's okay," he said softly, his voice low. "I won't hurt you."
Celeste bit her lip and nodded, holding onto him tightly as they kissed again, his hands trailing over her body before they slipped underneath her garment and landed around her round butt. He made small circles with his hands around each perfectly crafted cheek. After a few seconds, one of his hands slipped forward, caressing the outer lips of her precious spot. He felt her shiver underneath him. Pulling away from the kiss, he searched her eyes.
âHave you never been touched?â
Celeste shook her head. Davos moved his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers generously before touching her again, this time from in front, allowing his fingers to slide past her lips and onto her ripening pearl. Her hands were on his shoulders, and he felt her tense up when he touched her. They stared at each other in silence before the boy began to make generous circles around her sensitive spot to which she whimpered.
âDo you like that?â
The girl nodded shyly. Davos used his other hand to touch her chest before moving his hand to her neck, feeling the warmth grow as her entire body blushed. He returned to a position erect on his knees. Slowly, he pulled her undergarment over her head, revealing her smooth skin and soft body. Only her boots remained, but they would stay, it would take too much time to remove them.
âYouâre beautiful,â he murmured, his eyes taking in every inch of her body. He began to kiss her neck, his hands roaming over her curves before he moved to lay her down on the cloak. He kissed her ear and whispered abruptly: âYouâre being very brave.â
Celeste rolled her eyes and smiled, before a sudden feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She hadn't expected to give in so easily, but she could not clear her thoughts. He was right. Why was she there if it wasn't because she wanted to feel his hands once more upon her body and his gentle weight atop hers.
Davos could sense her hesitation, but he was determined to make her feel comfortable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his hand moving to cup her breast as he did so. "Relax," he whispered against her lips. "I won't hurt you."
He trailed kisses down her neck and chest, taking his time to explore every inch of her body. He moved his hand down between her legs, teasing her gently with his fingers.
Celeste felt Davos's hands between her legs, a rush of electricity going up her back. The feeling was new to her, and the sudden wave of pleasure made her frown in embarrassment, her entire body growing red.
"Yes," she whispered, almost shrinking into herself as his fingers circled her clit before they made entrance to her moistening hole. Celeste clenched tightly, still unsure of the new sensation and suddenly disappointed that she had waited so long to be pleasured. She broke eye contact with the boy, her eyes rolling backwards.
Davos could sense her embarrassment, but he didn't want her to feel ashamed. He continued to tease her with his fingers, moving them in and out of her slowly as he watched her reaction. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.
He continued to pleasure her until she was gasping for breath, her body writhing beneath him. He leaned down to kiss her again, his hand still moving between her legs. "Do you want more?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.
Celeste kissed the boy back, bringing his bottom lip into her mouth and sucking gently as she allowed her arms to move around him, pulling him closer. She had never been this close with anyone before in her life, and a sense of trust washed over her. She stopped for a second, a burning in her chest and wondered how many other women must he have bedded, deflowered? She couldn't reconcile her fear with her lust and dramatically exhaled, pulling away from the kiss, her head flopping on the ground as she searched his lustful eyes. He asked her a question.
"What do you mean?"
She felt the girl pull away from their kiss, and he dropped his head into the nape of her neck, slightly annoyed but patient. She seemed to be done with his fingers inside her, but when he moved them back to her throbbing clit, he quickly felt her body twitch and knew she was still in the mood for... something.
She moaned out a question and he looked her over, her breasts, then her soft belly and the uncut down above her womanly parts. Truly a woman, in all senses of the word.
He moved his hand from her wet parts and picked her hand up to place atop of his growing bulge, lifting his head to make eye contact with her.Â
"Do you want to feel it, my lady?"
Celeste's hands pandered with trepidation over the boy's bulge, unsure of what the correct answer was. She bit her lower lip and nodded, retracting her hand slowly as she saw him begin to remove his belt.
Davos watched Celeste's reaction with a small smile as she hesitantly touched his bulge. He leaned in closer to her and whispered in her ear, "Don't be shy."Â
He continued to remove his belt and pants, revealing his hard member. He took off his tunic and searched the girl's eyes again before taking Celeste's hand and placing it back on his member, guiding her movements as he moaned softly. Davos then moved his hand to Celeste's waist, pulling her close to him as he kissed her again, deeply and passionately.
As the kiss deepened, Davos began to move his hips, grinding against Celeste's hand as he pleasured himself. He broke the kiss and looked at Celeste with lust-filled eyes.Â
"You really haven't done this before, huh?"
Celeste's heart was racing as the two kissed, she could feel the blood pulsing through his cock, and she could only imagine what it would feel like inside of her. He was bigger than she had expected, but after all, what had she expected? She began to feel the boy pushing himself in and out of the grip of her small hand, pleasant moans escaping his lips.
When he broke their kiss, she pulled away in surprise. "No, am I doing something wrong?"
Davos chuckled and shook his head, "No, no. You're fine." He leaned in to kiss her again, his hands roaming over her body as he did.Â
As they kissed, Davos moved his hand back down to the girl's wetness, feeling that she was even more soaked than before. He couldn't take it. He broke the kiss again, looking at her with desire in his eyes as he whispered, "I want you. Do you want me too?"Â
He waited for her response, his fingers tracing circles on her inner thigh.
"Yes, yes," Celeste nodded, still feeling his stiffened member in her hand.
Davos leaned in to kiss her again, his hand moving back to her wetness. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, eliciting a moan from her lips. He laid back onto the cloak, the girl hovering above him. He grasped at her breasts once more, softly but surely.
"I want you to ride me. It wonât be difficult,â he led the girl up and onto his hips, rubbing his hand down her side. âIâll help you, okay?â
His cock was at attention as he watched Celeste straddle him. He guided himself inside of her, groaning as she took him in. He could tell by the look in her eyes that he would have to take her slowly. She placed her hands on his chest and did her best to find a rhythm, but she was a novice, he knew this. Though it was difficult to concentrate with how wet and tight she was, Davos managed to guide the girl's hips up and down his shaft, her soft weight massaging his balls each time she came down on him again. He caught a few glimpses of her mouth, slightly agape each time she felt him reach inside of her, but he could not watch her for long if he wanted to last more than a few minutes. Moving his hands from her hips to her chest, he allowed Celeste to take control again and though her bounces were shallow, he smirked at how quickly she was learning, her beautiful breasts bouncing lightly.
When he began to toy with her nipples, moans began to escape from her lips. Davos squeezed them tightly before massaging them with his fingers, but it wasnât long before he began to feel himself tense up.
âGo slower,â he told the girl, and she listened. Instead she ground into him deeper and pulled up slower, the only noise around them being the wet sticky snap from her wetness peeling away from his hard cock. Davos pulled her close to him for a kiss, his arms wrapped completely around her as he began to thrust vigorously, the girl moaning them whimpering pathetically into his mouth. Their movements became more frantic, both of them lost in their desire for each other. Davos let out a low growl as he felt his orgasm building.
With a thrust and groan that had been built up, he felt himself release inside of her, his liquids slowly seeping from her and onto his thigh. Davos sighed, shaking, holding the young woman tightly in his arms. He moved his hands to her hair, massaging her scalp as his heartbeat slowed. From the corner of his eye, he saw her orange cape on the ground and shook his head. He couldnât believe that only three days ago, he hadnât even known what her voice sounded like. Now: he had been her first. He felt a sense of pride, but he knew now that things would be different. He would be partial to someone he should have never spoken to.
Davos kissed the girlâs forehead before repositioning himself so that he was spooning her naked body as she lay face down, her eyes closed.
âAre you okay?â
Celeste nodded silently, allowing herself to be caressed by the boy. The birds flew above them. The sun was on the horizon and they hadn't much time.
"When will I see you again?"
He looked down at her as she spoke, his fingers lost in her hair. He knew they didn't have much time left, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there with her removed from all the difficult questions they both had to ask themselves.
"Soon," he said softly. "I'll make sure of it."
Celeste sighed and turned over. She leaned forward quickly, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Of course," she said, rolling her eyes at the vague response. Of course she had been bed, and now she felt as though she would not see the young man again. She grabbed her under garment and tights, standing up to put them on, her back away from the boy.
Davos watched as she stood up and began to dress, her back facing him. He could see the tension in her movements, the way her shoulders were stiff as she pulled on her undergarment and tights.
He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he had caused her frustration with his vague response. He could see the disappointment on her face, and he knew he had failed to reassure her.
He stood up as well, grabbing his own clothes and beginning to dress.
Celeste put on her gown, not worrying to tie it, as she didn't want to ask for help. She fastened her cloak tightly so that the give in her waist wouldn't be apparent if she were to encounter someone she knew. Searching the ground to ensure none of her belongings remained, she hesitated for a second to see if there was anything left to be said between the two.
Davos finished dressing as well, his eyes on her the whole time. He could see the uncertainty in her movements, and he knew she was hesitating, unsure of what to say or do next.
He took a step towards her, his gaze on hers. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, not yet.
"Celeste," he said softly, his voice hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"
"My lord?" she said, the darkness beginning to settle on their faces, their emotions growing harder to read.
Davos took another step towards her, his eyes on hers in the gathering darkness. He took a deep breath, unsure of how she would react to his question.
"Will you meet me again? Somewhere secret? Somewhere we won't be seen."
Celeste looked around her in shock, she wasn't sure if he could see that emotion, however. "I don't know of a place other than this. It wouldn't be safe...' she pandered. "I would fancy seeing you somewhere other than the shade of the forest. I'm not sure how to make this wish apart of our world though." She frowned.
Davos could hear the hesitation in her voice, and he knew that finding a secret place to meet would not be easy. He thought for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a solution.
"I have an idea," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "There's a secluded spot not far from here. It's hidden away, and no one ever goes there. We could meet there."
"Ah,' Celeste said aloud. "On Blackwood land, I'm sure of it." She shook her head. "Then it's not safe for me."
Davos felt a pang of frustration as she rejected his idea. He knew it wasn't safe for her to be on Blackwood land, but he couldn't help the desperation in his voice.
"It's safe," he said firmly. "I can ensure your safety. No one will see you, no one will know. Just trust me."
The sun was set, a few dying embers in the sky, and Celeste knew she would have to guide herself back by the moon. She was lucky, for once, that they hardly looked for her.
"Where shall I meet you? And when?"
Davos felt a sense of relief wash over him as she agreed to meet him again. He smiled, feeling a wave of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again.
"Tomorrow," he said, his voice low. "At midnight. Meet me at the riverbank, not far from here. Do you know where I mean?"
"I know," she responded. "I will meet you,' Celeste promised, stepping towards Davos in the dark. She could not make out his expression but she saw the shape of his face. On the tips of her toes, she grasped his face once more and gave him a parting kiss. "Bed no other maidens in the meantime, my friend,' she joked before slipping away.
He returned her kiss eagerly, feeling her soft lips against his own before she pulled away. He chuckled at her joke, a hint of a grin on his face.
"There are no maidens other than thee," he shouted into her retreating direction. "I'll be waiting for you, Celeste. Midnight, by the river."
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You know who I think about in far too much depth sometimes?
That little clock guy from Beauty and the Beast. Cogsworth.
This scene specifically. He is so proud of himself when he tells this joke. And he's so proud of the castle.
We see pretty explicitly in the film that the castle servants are lonely, and desperate for something new, after 10 years of the curse. But think about what the curse means for someone like Cogsworth, and what this little joke he tells implies.
He's so damn proud of the castle. He's so eager to take Belle on a tour, and tell her all about the castle's history, and not just its history, but its art history. And he's probably not the first of his family to serve in this castle; his family has probably lived and worked in this castle for generations. The heritage of the castle is as much his own family legacy as it is the Prince's.
He was so ready with that joke; it was a polished and rehearsed line. You get the sense this is a practiced tour; he gave it to dignitaries and guests frequently before the curse. And he hadn't had a chance to use it on anyone for ten years.
I dunno, I'm just struck by what it must have felt like for this man, for the curse to not only mean his physical transformation and confinement, and isolation from the outside world, but also to lose the ability to tell the story of his family home to guests from near and far. So much of his purpose was wrapped up in telling the castle's story, and for ten years he couldn't really do thatâwhen all the other guests were transformed into representations of their purpose (brightening a room through entertainment, cleaning up, cooking, etc), all he can do is mark time, unable to tell his defining story.
And then Belle walks in, and he cannot resist but tell the stupidest fucking joke that he's been holding in for 10 years.
#disney#beauty and the beast#cogsworth#I dunno I feel a connection with this sad little man desperate to share his favorite pun#I think we should pay more attention to his character
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