Chapter 2: Chapter 2
A/N: Hello and welcome back.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.
*Sentences in italics mean that the characters are speaking Dutch.*
Chapter 2
'There is a kind of beauty in imperfection.'
~Conrad Hall
There is no rain, but the extreme humidity is soaking her clothes and making her bones ache. Her feet are strong as she uses them to sit up from her kneeling position, but the ground is not helping her move swiftly. In fact, it is weighing her down and making each step a chore. Her task is not that difficult, not really. Helping Thomas and another man, but they need assistance when she is in the middle of something else and that causes her skin to flush with impatience. She is not allowed to work as they do, but she has to be at their beck and call when they need more planks of wood or a flask of water.
She is in the middle of standing up from Thomas' side when her shoulder bumps painfully with a solid and heavily clothed chest. Her eyes widen minutely when the flask is knocked from her hand. Her sudden stumble releases the cap from her head and her hair tumbles irritably forward, brushing against her cheeks and neck and sticking to her sweaty skin. Huffing, she pushes it back with a dirty hand and then looks up.
Dark brown collides with honey brown and for a moment she is stunned into stillness. The cocked eyebrow of her master is enough to send her backwards as if burned. The man's eyes study her. From her four inches deep in mud skirt, to her apron and corset underneath, only to stop at the exposed skin of her collarbones. The thin scarf around her neck doesn't do much to cover her tattered dress and she tugs at it shamefully.
Leaning down, the Earl catches the flask and regards it with an obvious look of disgust. It's covered in dirt. Just like his boots. She wonders why he always wears that expression on his face. He has such fine features. He reminds her of her father when he was young. He was just as handsome, yet he always smiled…Back home.
Holding it between a few of his fingers, he presses it against her stomach with a scowl.
"Be careful. You never know what's in this horrid mud." He mutters, but she only understands the first two words. The rest are just a jumbled mess of syllables inside her head. She fights with the urge to click her tongue. She needs to intensify her efforts to learn the language. Heer Rochester doesn't seem as patient as Thomas. No. In fact, he is looking at her with barely disguised boredom.
"Continue with…" His eyes sweep her form and she swallows hard, "whatever it is you're doing." He looks away from her and shoots a glance at the other workmen. They are staring at her and her over-spilling bosom.
His nose curls in distaste. Doesn't she own a dress her size? She looks utterly ridiculous. His lip follows his nose and he can see that he is making the little milkmaid uncomfortable. Good. She ought to be.
His eyes lock with hers for a moment and he smirks. Hell, he can barely make out her skin underneath all the grime and sweat. Nevertheless, she provides much needed distraction and amusement for him while he is here. Perhaps he ought to be outside all day to watch this supple, round lass fight with his land.
"Thomas!"
The young man's head snaps up at that, "Me Lord?"
"How does it look?" he asks as he brushes her aside and moves forward.
Leentje watches with increasing panic as he steps on her previously clean cap. She releases a small noise of indignation and watches Rochester's back with slightly narrowed eyes.
He simply smirks a bit to himself, fully aware of his rude deed, but focuses his attention on the boy.
"We need more hands, me Lord. And more planks. These won't hold another flood." Thomas doesn't dare to look away from the Earl though he is aware of the distressed female behind him.
"I'll see to that. For now gather the others." Rochester looks up and scowls, "Looks like another storm is coming."
Thomas nods and pushes his shovel deep into the ground before he stands up.
Leentje releases a shaky breath, her eyes still on her cap and on the Earl's expensive boot, but she makes no sound. She simply turns to walk away. A snort causes her to falter and then she feels something poking her thigh. Looking down with wide eyes, she sees the long walking stick. For a moment she is confused, but then Thomas calls her name. She slowly turns around again. Thomas looks amused and ready to chuckle while the Earl is eyeing her with a quirked eyebrow and a look of utter hilarity and condescension; all at her expense. He is rhythmically tapping his foot against the mushy ground, the tip of his boot just by her mucky cap.
Flushing with embarrassment and mild anger, she swiftly leans down and snatches the cloth, presenting both men with the generous amount of skin displayed from her cleavage.
Rochester's eyebrow travels even higher up his forehead and he smirks while Thomas clears his throat awkwardly.
Leentje straightens and raises her eyes to Rochester. Instead of ducking her head, she slowly shakes her head at him and the smirk falls right off his face. All amusement is gone when he notices her critical expression and he is for a moment overthrown by the severe look in her brown eyes; eyes that are similar to his own and have never before in his entire life caught such a great deal of his attention. Never.
Odd.
She mutters something under her breath, judgmental look still in place and Rochester feels rebuked without even understanding the words. Is it possible to feel that way with a single look?
"What did you say?" His voice is loud and he is not certain if he sounds authoritative or simply offended. He would loathe it if it was the latter. She is just a girl; a mousy, dark haired little peasant girl with dirty skin and too many curves to be pleasing to the eye; especially his eye.
The girl looks up and without removing her gaze from his narrowed eyes, slowly repeats the words.
"Slechte meester." Abruptly and with slightly wounded eyes, she turns and walks away along with the rest of the men.
Rochester's eyes follow her until she is too far away for him to actually see her. Tightening his hold on his walking stick, he turns to the younger man, his scowl firmly in place.
"What did she say?" he asks through slightly clenched teeth and Thomas gulps a little.
"Eh…she…"
"That was not a question. It was a command, lad." He warns darkly and Thomas shifts nervously, "You do know what she said, don't deny it. Speak."
The lad sighs, "She said bad master." He replies at last, wincing when Rochester's head swivels sharply towards the direction of the stables.
"How do you know her tongue?" The Earl murmurs, his features stretched in intrigue and yet the irritation is still firmly settled in his eyes.
"My mother was from Holland, Sir."
Rochester's mouth twitches when he hears female laughter coming from behind the stables and he is pretty certain that her amusement has something to do with the horses.
"What's her name?" His eyes do not move from the direction of her voice and Thomas blinks, his gut weighing him down with dread.
"Er…Magdalena, sir. But everybody calls her Leentje." He speaks with caution because he can already see the interest growing in his master's eyes. The infamous poet never busies himself with anything but beauties and yet…here he is, eyes aflame for a foreign peasant woman.
"Is that so?" Rochester licks his bottom lip before he finally looks at the boy, "Which cabin is hers?"
Thomas' eyes widen and Rochester laughs, "Keep your wits about, lad. I have no intentions of sullying your protégé's honour. Especially if she's always that dirty." His lip curls slightly at the mere thought and Thomas blinks in confusion.
"Then why do you-…?"
"Answer the question."
"She resides with Maria, sir. Just behind the stables. Second cabin." His response is laced with reluctance and when the Earl smirks and turns to stomp away, Thomas speaks.
"Don't dismiss her, sir. She's loyal. Ain't got a single spare piece of clothing on her back. That cap you stomped on is the only thing she owns."
Rochester pauses, eyebrow cocked in further intrigue.
Without turning to look at the servant, he languidly twirls the handle of his walking stick between his long fingers, mouth pursed in slyness.
"The dress is borrowed from Maria." The lad is closer to him now and the Earl tries hard not to roll his eyes at the drama.
"Walked all the way from London she did, sir. The Countess, your mother, was the only one who agreed to hire her…After Lady Elizabeth's intervention of course." Thomas adds and Rochester sneers as he faces the large manor.
Of course. Elizabeth is a saint.
"Don't start crying on me now, lad." He turns to look at the youth from over his shoulder, "I have no intention of dismissing Miss…"
"Bakker."
He resists the urge to chuckle in wicked triumph. The boy is too easy to manipulate.
Wonderful. And he was wondering what he could do to relieve the awful boredom of the country.
"Yes, indeed. I have no intentions of dismissing Ms. Bakker. Now, off you go. You look awful."
He can literally hear the lad's sigh of relief as he resumes his suave saunter towards the manor and he cannot help the hoarse amused chuckle that escapes his throat.
Magdalena Bakker. The little nit who thought it wise to offend him in a language he cannot understand. How…rude and inferior.
Like her birth. His inner voice adds and he grins a bit. It doesn't matter. Her kind is always more fun.
He pauses momentarily as an idea flashes and roots itself deep inside his mind, "Before you go, fetch me my horse." He thunders and Thomas hurries to oblige, oblivious of the Earl's dark glimmering eyes.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
"It is of no great consequence if you take it."
The familiar female voice causes her to whirl around. Facing away from her meagre laundry, she tightens the borrowed shawl around her shoulders, her expression curious as Maria approaches her with a pot of food.
"The shawl." she clarifies in Leentje's native tongue and watches as the other woman smiles in gratitude, but shakes her head.
"Thank you, but no." Dark hair falls in front of her eyes as the round from child woman comes and places the pot of food on a low wooden stool by the door.
"Eat it while it's still warm…" Maria motions towards the food and Leentje smiles, "I shall bring milk later. The Countess feels generous today…"
"Why is that?"
Maria sighs, "The King's commission arrived today…I think that means Lord Rochester has been good." Maria snickers and Leentje frowns in remembrance.
"He is vile."
Maria's laughter stops, "You think so?"
"Yes. Arrogant, cruel and vile." Her gaze falls on her slightly ripped cap that is hanging on the string to dry and Maria sighs.
"I told you not to wear it-…"
"It brings me good luck. It was mother's." Leentje gasps horrified, "She will be angry."
Maria looks at her hesitantly, "She is dead…"
Leentje shakes her head and pulls the shawl tighter around her, "The people we love never leave us…" Her eyes drop to the ground and when she looks up there is a smile on her lips, "She brought me here."
Maria laughs, "Great deal of good that did you. Did my brother ask about me?"
Leentje shakes her head in the negative.
"Foolish lad…I better get back. Tend to the fire or we won't catch any sleep tonight again…"
Maria walks away and Leentje is left to stare after her. Burrowing closer into the shawl, she turns and heads back inside the small cabin, shutting the door behind her.
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Nightfall has arrived and the air is chilly as she steps outside to gather her dress. It is dry, but extremely cold and she quickly folds it in two, thrusting it underneath her arm as she turns to walk back inside, her face a crease of worry because of Maria's absence.
Just as she moves to shut the light door, horse's hooves cause her to freeze.
Eyes wide, she turns to face the intruder and she whirls around just in time to see none other than the Earl of Rochester himself jumping over the low fence with the help of his strong, muscled stallion.
Frozen in place, Leentje can do nothing but stare at him as he slows down to a light trot, his expression blank, but his eyes dancing.
Scowling, she hugs the dress closer to her thinly clothed form.
He doesn't speak. His eyes take in the workers' cabins, they brush over the stables behind him and finally they move to settle on her stiff form by the door.
His hair is in disarray from the wind and curly locks are clinging to his cheeks and neck, obscuring his eyes in the semi darkness. And yet, she knows that he is studying her.
She feels threatened. She doesn't know why. She feels threatened by this man and she barely knows him. There is something…different about him. Something…dark. His features ought to make him angelic, but they don't. They make him seem devious.
She doesn't speak though. Her manipulation of the English language is not adequate. She only just knows a few words and it would be rather rude of her to break the silence with a very unrefined what. He is the Lord of the county after all.
She doesn't have to make the decision though. He makes it for her. Slowly, and with obviously practiced ease, he raises his hand and beckons her closer with his forefinger and middle finger. As if she's his private chambermaid.
Mask of distrust in place, she takes small, measured footsteps towards his lordship. The way his gaze moves over her is not lost to her however. There is a look of unadulterated surprise on his face the closer she comes to him. Why is he looking at her like that? She has complete knowledge of herself, but still…Men like him don't look at her….Not like that.
Looking down at herself rather self-consciously, she misses the tiny smirk that passes over his features.
No words are spoken when she arrives next to his horse. He doesn't even breathe loudly when he reaches into his pocket and produces a neatly folded cloth. It's white.
Frowning, she watches as he outstretches his hand towards her. His eyes are expectant as she studies his hand like it's the plague itself.
Leentje doesn't move and he rolls his eyes; slowly and mockingly.
He clicks his tongue and she simply knows that he always gets what he wants. Stubbornly, she doesn't move to take his offering. What is it anyway?
Her eyes focus on his hand and she watches as the gold of his ring glimmers in the semi darkness. She cannot even imagine owning such a gem.
He cocks an eyebrow at her stare and his brown eyes move to his ring. Smirking in amusement and secret satisfaction, he clears his throat. As expected, she flushes and the blush brings out the paleness of her skin; the paleness of her very much clean skin. Where is all the...dirt?
His mouth waters at the sight of white skin and supple flesh that is peeking from underneath the mockery of a shawl she has on. His eyes roam her form and he tries not to notice the fullness of her hips, the thickness of her thighs or the roundness of her belly. She is nothing like the women he spends his time with. No…Men wouldn't even turn to look at her twice. However, she chooses this moment to look into his eyes and his last thought is rebuked.
No, they wouldn't. Unless they were to look at that.
The right corner of his mouth curls up in a half smirk and she is startled. Quickly and obviously out of fear, she takes the cloth from his hand.
He lowers his hand upon his thigh and watches her as she curiously studies the offering.
Leentje moves her fingers over the cloth and she is surprised by how soft the fabric feels. It's cotton, for sure, but the trimming is made out of lace.
Eyes wide she thrusts it towards his lap, taking a step back while shaking her head. Accept a gift? From a man like him? Never.
"No."
She uses one of the words she is familiar with and watches as his face gets cloudy.
Expression blank all of a sudden, he leans down and presses the new cap against her chest and she has no option but to clutch it tightly.
Pulling his hand back, his extremely soft hand, he grabs the reins of his horse and heavily pats the stallion's sides.
The black horse neighs softly and the Earl guides it away from her and her small cabin, leaving her to stare after him with increasing dread and confusion.
End of chapter 2
Author's note: Thank you for reading. Liked it? Hated it? Please, let me know.