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kometqh · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝

Pt 1, Part 2, Pt 3, Pt4. Viscount!Captain Rex x Maid!F!Reader The Viscount is a renowned bachelor, known for his kindness, his wits and his charm. Ladies from across the planet swoon over him, visit him, are denied by him. He is a respectable, well-known man. What nobody seems to know is his knack for venturing out into the night, returning home with treasures, jewels, drinks, and most of all, ladies of the night. What does one do when they are caught red-handed, by none other than a lowly maid? Word Count: 4,385 Warnings: none from what I can recall A/N: This is a bit more of a filler chapter, it's much needed to move the story forward and introduce new characters (one included in this) for later on ^^

You didn’t sleep well that night. Nor the night after.

Just hours after the Viscount had informed you of your change in positions, you’d been forced to move to the upper levels of the mansion. You had been gracefully gifted with a slightly larger room, in the furthest corner of the second floor. Your bed looked slightly bigger, felt slightly more luxurious, spacious, even.

By the time you awoke, your back felt stiffer, and your sheets warmer. Your mind felt hazy and disoriented, and the new room hadn’t quite felt like home yet. Your body itched to return to your small closet, the one place you found yourself craving after a long day’s worth of work.

But those fantasies and mind-puzzles could be saved for later. You had to focus on the ‘now’.

As soon as she had been informed, Mrs Opal wasted no time in assigning new tasks to you. Each morning, you and the Steward were to wake the Viscount, you were to prepare his clothing and follow him around as the Steward explained the proceedings of the day before disappearing off to someplace. You were to be a personal barber, daily personal assistant and sometimes caretaker. Not your typical Valet, but you realised there was little you could do.

The Viscount was insistent on keeping you close at all times.

And so, the next time you had crossed the Viscount, he took you by surprise. He hadn’t done so much as even acknowledge your presence. Whether that was for the better, or, for the worse, you couldn’t quite tell yet. The stiffness in your back prevented any more than a few simple thoughts.

Maybe it was typical to do so.

Either way, you were relieved. You did not need the entire staff to see the phantom interactions between you and the Viscount. But no matter what you did, it seemed that the entire household had eyes on the backs of their heads.

That first morning, you had almost received a lashing for simply looking at the Viscount. Apparently, it was in your job description to keep your head low and your voice lower. You were not to utter a word.

At least around the Steward.

Your eyes remained trained on the sharp slope of his jaw, the long blade clutched between your fingers feeling threatening with each precise incision along the tender skin.

Your breathing was steady, your fingers trembling, and your eyes focused as you ignored the burning gaze of the Viscount. He was definitely trying to mess with you. Make you slip up. At this point, you felt like simple game to him. An unsuspecting, grazing fawn.

He watched you with an eager curiosity, studying every inch of your face, like a little toddler exploring nature. This was probably the most intimate he was with a woman without the presence of sexual need or desire.

A curt, relieved sigh escaped you as your fingers carried out the last stroke, leaving the Viscount with a neat, freshly shaven face. You reached for the wet cloth beside you, wrenching the water from it before you gently wiped at his face, removing all excess foam. His eyelids finally fell, separating the two of you, and you allowed your eyes to stray a little, watching drops of water cascading down the expanse of his jaw and throat, before they connected with the towel wrapped neatly around his collarbone and shoulders.

You felt a tinge of pride as the Viscount was visibly relaxed.

You turned away for a moment, towards the chimney. A lone towel had been hung close to it, to ensure it was dry and warm. You observed the flickering, amber flames for a moment, before you returned to the Viscount. You wished to reach out, to feel the sunlight-like warmth of the fire on your skin. Instead, you confided in the burning comfort of the towel.

A soft sigh escaped the Viscount as you pressed the material against his skin. As you moved to wrap it around his face, you were promptly stopped.

“Don’t.” He muttered out, raising a single hand. His eyelids remained closed, and yet you felt more watched now than ever.

Your heart dropped, and the false sense of calm you had managed to conjure up had shattered into a million pieces. A cold sweat bloomed over your skin, your hands paused in mid-air.

“Don’t…?” You repeated, unsurely.

The Viscount took a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t wrap it around my face. Just… Stick to pressing.” Was all he said, his hand dropping back to the armrest.

“Yes, my Lord.” You muttered, giving a slight, courteous nod, even if the Viscount couldn’t see it. The moment felt like an eternity as you gently pressed the towel against his face, making sure it didn’t cover his mouth or nose. The Viscount didn’t protest, and so you assumed that was the most he’d tolerate.

You couldn’t slip up.

You had seen the state of the other girls who had.

Their wounds, if not treated, would quickly become infected. They’d fall ill and were forced to leave. And if they were treated, the scars would run deep into their skin, like valleys that weren’t ever meant to be there. Some would say they still hurt from time to time, even if their last lashing was years prior.

“That’s all, my Lord.” You softly spoke as you stepped away, collecting all the essentials. He took a moment to open his eyes, but when he did, he didn’t leave the seat. His gaze was trained on the fire before him, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. Instantaneously, your body went into full alert. You cleared your throat, attempting to gain his attention.

The Viscount didn’t even turn his head at the sound.

“M- My Lord? Are you feeling unwell?” You asked, keeping your distance. Whatever it was, you weren’t keen on getting involved in it.

After a moment of silence, you heard him sharply take in a breath.

“You’re dismissed.” His tone was ice cold, quiet as he hummed the words out.

You blinked in surprise. Were you supposed to argue? Remind him of his duties? Or leave him be until it was time to leave?

“Y- Yes my Lord.” You uttered, taking all your equipment. As you opened the door, you looked back, giving a slight bow of your head. The Viscount was still staring at the fire, unmoving even as the door slid shut with a soft thump.

Confusion prickled at the back of your head as you headed down the staircase, heading for the washrooms. Skilfully, you ignored the curious stares and mocking whispers as you kept your head down.

You were used to fellow servants gossiping about the daily lives of their employers, and occasionally you’d lend a listening ear. But you certainly did not enjoy feeling like the centre of the attention.

There were more important matters on your mind.

The Viscount was certainly odd; that went without saying.

It was strange, his behaviour. One moment he was intimidating and charming, the next he was oddly distant and quiet. His eyes would haze over with a fog, as if he was miles away in the past.

Whatever it was, you needed him to wake up from it. He had a ball to attend to that evening, and you needed him to feel ready and excited, after all, this year he was intending on marrying. You’d decided you would do anything to gain his trust and help him, although he didn’t need much help in the way of looks and charm…

A familiar voice reached your ears as you rounded the corner

“I don’t know what that girl did, but I do know one thing,” The voice spoke, and you quietened your steps so as to not betray your presence.

“And what’s that, Opal?” A masculine voice replied. It was the Butler, Mr Karr.

“Nothing good will come of this. She knows something that the Viscount doesn’t want anyone to know about, but sooner or later, the entire house staff and town will hear of it,” She paused, and you could hear the heavy sigh escaping her lips, “One way or another.”

You carefully peeked round the corner, looking Mrs Opal and the Butler up and down. Both had busied themselves with washing and drying some glasses.

It seemed as though they also enjoyed indulging themselves in a little bit of gossip.

However, you knew Mrs Opal was right. One way or another, this entire situation would turn sour, and you would be the sole victim of it.

You ducked out of sight and leaned your entire body against the wall. Just wait a little bit, or else I’m going to look suspicious, you thought to yourself. Your arms were slowly beginning to feel uncomfortable, the towels and shaving items were heavy, but you did not want to raise suspicions. Mrs Opal seemed to be the only person in this house that was trying to help you, to some degree at least.

The two didn’t say anything else, settling instead for a comfortable silence, and after a few more moments, you made your way into the washrooms.

You made your presence known as you stepped down into the lowered room, avoiding as many puddles as you could. The Butler glanced to you, acknowledging you with a curt nod.

“I have brought the Viscounts’ trimming essentials, Mrs Opal.” You quietly stated and stifled a laugh as the woman flinched and clutched at her chest.

“Goodness me, Y/n! You do not sneak up on others like this!” She exclaimed, half-heartedly whacking you with a rag on your bottom. A yelp left your lips as you hopped out of the way, narrowly missing a slip up.

“Apologies, Mrs Opal, I didn’t mean to!” You said quickly, “The Viscount dismissed me, it seems like he needed a moment alone, so I’ve brought his towels and tools to be cleaned.” You explained, setting the basket down on the floor. Mrs Ophelia looked towards you and with a nod, returned to her tasks.

“I’ll have a scullery maid take care of it. Now go back, you aren’t to be away from the Viscount for long.” She quickly dismissed you, and with a curt nod, you made your way out.

“That’s the maid?” The Butler was quick to ask as soon as you had disappeared out of sight.

“Careful! She might hear!” Mrs Opal scolded, and as you got further away, her voice became fainter and fainter until it blended in with the other background noises of the mansion.

It only had been a couple of days, but you felt yourself warming up to the woman. Previously, you had known her as a stone-cold, strict housekeeper, but now, now you felt there was more to her stony exterior than she let on.

Or maybe you were tricking yourself.

Maybe she was just gossiping and wasn’t looking out for you. Maybe she was as selfish as many of the others, after all, the life of a servant was anything but pleasant. Who could blame her?

However, there was that small inkling of hope within you; maybe she’d help you when you’d need it the most.

Those thoughts could be saved for another time, though. For now, you needed to return to the Viscount.

You feared what the Steward, Mr Owens, would do were you to ‘neglect’ your duties for too long.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached your earshot, and you slowly turned your head to check out what was happening. You steadied yourself with a hand on the grand staircase, and quirked a brow as Mrs Opal came into view.

“Y/n, wait!” She exclaimed, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced around. It seemed that she not only caught your attention, but also everyone else’s.

“Yes, ma’am?” You inquired, twisting your body to face her.

“I forgot to mention it to you earlier,” She paused, catching her breath. “I’ll be taking you to the village today, as ordered by the Viscount. Be ready and waiting by five o’clock.” She said as she closed the distance between the two of you, looking up at you with a strange seriousness.

“We’ll be going to the village? Whatever for?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” She said, glancing sideways at the tuned in onlookers, “It seems like we have found ourselves an audience. Scram!” She suddenly exclaimed; your body flinched in response. She really knew how to raise her voice.

It seemed to work though as the scullery maids and footmen dispersed, leaving the grand staircase as empty and quiet as it was meant to be. It wasn’t common for staff to linger around the area.

“I’ll let you get going now.” She waved you off, descending the stairs.

“Yes ma’am.” You muttered, resuming your climb up.

How strange.

You’d never been tasked with duties that were to take place outside of the manor. What was so important the Viscount was willing to let you go into the village?

You bunched your skirts in your palms, lifting them just enough to not risk tripping. When did climbing stairs become so daunting?

Though your exhaustion was shadowed over by the awe you felt as you looked around the hallways.

Creamy white tapestries, golden accents on railings and paintings expertly placed everywhere. Navy blue curtains were drawn at every window, and you noticed they almost touched the ceiling as you craned your neck. Ruby pink and white roses were perfectly spaced, following the edge of the wall. They lead to different rooms and windows like a path of crumbs in a forest.

You wondered whether that was the Viscount’s influence or someone else’s.

You paused in your steps.

A figure stood atop the staircase caught your attention. You recognised him.

Lord Wolffe, one of the Viscount’s older brothers.

What was he doing here? As far as you were aware, he was always hiding away in his study, or disappearing for drinks late at night.

And now, he was watching you. His gaze scorned your skin, like a blaster bullet.

Maybe he’d be gone by the time you reached the top.

But with each step, and each glance up, he wasn’t budging. His stare was solely focused on you. You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you reached the last step.

“My Lord?” You asked, keeping your head low. You did not wish to upset another one of your employers.

You ensured to keep an appropriate distance between the two of you. You were close enough to signal to him that you needed to pass, but far enough to not invade his personal space, or make it seem as though you held no respect for him. But the Lord didn’t move.

“Yes?” He asked. You could feel his glare on you.

“May I pass by, my Lord?” You asked, keeping your focus concentrated on his shiny polished shoes.

There was no hesitation in his response.

“You may not.”

Your head raised faster than your mind could comprehend his response.

“Why n- not?” A small gasp escaped you, and your skirts dropped as you clamped a hand over your mouth. A slip up.

“M- My apologies, my Lord. I did not mean to be disrespectful.” You said quickly, bowing your head back down. You could feel your heart thundering against your chest, so quickly and strongly it almost hurt.

He did not respond. Instead, his feet moved, and his fingers cupped your chin.

“Look at me.” His tone was sharp yet gentle, like a blade, falsely comforting until you applied enough pressure to cut. Hesitantly, you allowed him to angle your face until it met his, but your gaze concentrated on the wall behind him. You did not wish to anger the Lord.

“M- My Lord?”

He studied your features with a scolding stare, causing heat to rush up to your face and shivers down your spine. What could he want from you, a lowly servant?

“You’re an obedient one, aren’t you?” He questioned, his hold on your chin tightening. Were you supposed to grant him a response or nod your head or remain quiet? Mrs Opal did not prepare you for this type of situation. You weren’t even sure she herself had ever encountered such one. You weren’t even sure this man before you wasn’t crazy.

You opted for the obvious; remain quiet.

He leaned a tad forward, just enough for you to feel the coldness of his presence on your skin. Your shoulders stiffened, almost shrinking back into your body. A lump formed in your throat and you fought hard to swallow it. You felt trapped, and in all honesty, you were.

He studied your features like an open book, his gaze dragging over each blemish and dip with clear precision, as if he did this kind of thing often.

You’d definitely have bruises on your chin if his nails added on any more pressure.

But his tone held more hostility than his touch ever could.

“What do you know? You’ve had my brother stressing all morning, ad’ika.” He hissed out, squinting at your figure. Maybe his cybernetic eye can read minds, you thought. Maybe it could see the quickening of your pulse or the dilation of your pupils.

Did he find this amusing? Certainly. But you were officially shitting yourself. Trembling in his hold. What did he want from you? Why was he so strange?

“I- I don’t know My Lord I-“

“Ah ah,” He tutted, easing his grip on you, “Don’t forget your manners, we only talk when talked to.” He taunted, abandoning your chin with a harsh tug. His knuckles moved to the side of your face, gently dragging over the skin before cupping it in his palm.

The contrast between his touch and his tone was giving you whiplash.

His face neared yours, until you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over the shell of your ear. Your eyes widened and your hands felt clammy against the soft fabric of your skirts.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard or seen, ad’ika,” He paused, his hand tilting your head until your gaze was locked with his, “But the moment word gets out, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”

“Wolffe?” His own voice called out, but from your far left. You didn’t dare to look away, too afraid he’d snap your neck with the lightest of touches. Gods, what did you get involved in? Why?

Wolffe was quick to retreat, leaving your stunned figure breathless on the staircase.

The Viscounts’ steps were light as he made his way over, eyeing his brother curiously. He was well aware of just how menacing Wolffe could be, and he did not wish for him to scare you so awfully.

“What are you doing, brother?” The Viscount asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Just familiarising myself with your new maid, Rex.” He replied, sending a nonchalant nod your way. The Viscount glanced between the two of you with a raised brow.

“By scaring her shitless, brother?”

“Precisely.”

The Viscount took a long inhale, staring his brother down. Wolffe didn’t back down, and the two remained motionless for what felt like an eternity.

And there you stood, watching like a bystander with tense shoulders and a rattled heart and a running mind. That Wolffe Lord was definitely crazy.

“It’s a good thing I’ve caught you doing this,” He paused, throwing a glance your way, “Or else someone would’ve suffered the consequences.” He continued, walking past his brother. He halted at the top of the staircase, staring down at your frozen figure.

“Let’s go, we’ve got things to do and places to be.” He said directly to you, brushing past you without another word.

Your mind seemed to be frozen as you remained in your place, looking up at the Lord. He returned the stare with a small smirk gracing his lips.

Damn, he was attractive. But awfully strange.

With a flutter of your eyelashes, you threw the Lord one last weary look, your hold on your skirts tightening as you turned and followed the Viscount.

The trek down was quiet, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. You weren’t even sure you should be conversing with the Viscount. Mr Owens would surely have your head for that. But how could he if he wasn’t around to see…?

Your mind kept wondering back to Lord Wolffe.

His character intimidated you, to put it lightly. His stare never relented even when his brother called out his name. He was interrogating you and was so keen and set on getting his questions answered. But you couldn’t. The Viscount would have your head for it.

However, he had impeccable timing, it seemed. Or Lord Wolffe has indeed done this before and the Viscount just knew.

You observed him, noticing how his blue and white armour hugged his body protectively. Beskar. Pure, expertly forged Beskar. Lord Wolffe was also wearing it. It was a symbol of the Mandalorians, though you weren’t aware of the Viscount and his brothers having any connection to the planet of warriors. What was he doing on the planet of Naboo?

You were the Viscount’s maid, and yet you knew so little about the man.

Where he was from, his age, his past, his favourite foods and favourite activities, even the place you were so urgently needed at right in this moment.

So, against your better judgement, you spoke up.

“My Lord?” Quietly, you asked. No response. Not even a hum.

“My Lord, may I ask where we’re headed to?” You tried again, watching each one of your steps. The Viscount didn’t look back, though his steps slowed.

“The Housekeeper didn’t tell you?”

“Mrs Opal?”

“Yes.” He replied, turning to face you as he stepped on the floor.

“She informed me that her and I would be visiting the village later on.”

“Well, we’re moving it to now. I’ve got other businesses to attend to later,” He was prompt in his response, and proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the mansion, “Inform her of the change of plans, will you?” He turned back to face you once more as the footmen opened the doors.

“B- But my Lord- “

“I’ll be waiting in the carriage.” He said nonchalantly, disappearing through the doors, leaving your gaping form in the hallway.

“What the-?” You questioned but shook your head. It seemed that there was a behavioural pattern between The Viscount and his brothers; so far, they all seem to be giving you whiplash. Their words and actions don’t match up, from what you’ve seen from two of them so far.

You were quick to inform Mrs Opal, though you weren’t quick enough to escape her confused frustration.

“He wants to what!?” She asked angrily as she wiped her hands on a dry rag.

“The Viscount insists on leaving for the village now.” You repeated, flinching as she tossed the piece of material to the side.

“That isn’t what we agreed on! He’ll have to wait, I need to change my skirts, I mean look at me!” She exclaimed, straightening her arms out and down, pointing at her clothing, “I’m drenched from head to toe.”

She let out a frustrated huff, before stomping out of the washrooms.

“Inform him he’ll have to wait; I cannot leave looking like this.” She sent you off with a glare, though you knew it wasn’t truly aimed at you. She knew you were just the messenger.

“Yes ma’am.”

With hurried steps you made your way back to the Viscount. The sun was shining brightly, the breeze cool against the humidity of the day. The sky was crystal clear, the grass an inviting lime green, and the carriage stood out like a scarecrow in a farmers field. It was a tall, mahogany brown thing with purple curtains and two horses. It was a bit too fancy to head to the village in, but it wasn’t up to you to decide.

The Viscount had a reputation to uphold, after all.

As you neared the carriage, you were ready to open the door to it yourself.

But the carriage driver beat you to it, and aided you inside with a practiced perfection. He did this on a daily basis, and yet it still took you by surprise when he asked to hold your hand, letting you use him as support to climb in.

The Viscount was already there and waiting, reading over some sort of pamphlet. His eyebrows were furrowed and eyes focused even when the soft click of the carriage door closing reached his ears.

“So?” He popped the question without ever drawing his gaze away from the words on the page.

“She said we’ll have to wait, my Lord. Mrs Opal was in the middle of washing up the cutlery when I told her.” Your voice was hushed, controlled as your body sunk into the seat, trying to take up as little leg room as possible.

The Viscount sighed loudly and placed the pamphlet down with a whack.

He knocked on the door; impatience clear as a vein popped out in his temple.

“Let’s go now!” His voice was raised, and a few moments later, the carriage slowly began taking off.

“My Lord? Aren’t we going to wait?” You asked, lifting from your seat. You moved the curtains away, peeking through the window and allowing some light to flood the carriage.

“No, I’ve got other businesses to attend to and I need you to be presentable by evening.”

“But what about Mrs Opal?” You paused, furrowing your brows, “I need to be presentable? Whatever for, my Lord?” You questioned again, this time turning your attention to the Viscount. His statement, once processed clearly, had caught you off guard.

With another sigh, he looked up at your staring figure.

“You’re my maid, you’re with me at all times,” He paused, raising his brows and tilting his head, “That means you will be accompanying me to the capital city, and to balls.”

“Oh.”

“And that means you need… New attire.” He continued, looking you up and down to emphasise his point.

“So, we’re going to a boutique, my Lord?”

“Yes, we are.”

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