As the summer heat faded with autumn winds and trees began to shed their leaves, the Baroness was thriving. The success of her Summer Collection added to her brand's popularity. At least ten people on every street in London wore her designs. Every time you ventured through public together, a smug smirk painted her face. But underneath her proud exterior, she had stretched herself thin.
She set her next project for the end of October, her Autumn Ball, essentially an annual costume party. It will take place the week after she releases her Autumn Collection, a tasteful assembly of gowns inspired by the colors of the season. She only has a month to produce twelve genius designs. Mindful of the time crunch she's put herself in, your lady spends every waking hour in her office or the design room. The maids often give you sideways glances as the Baroness' groans of frustration resonate from her working space throughout the estate's vast hallways. Her employment rates are close to the negatives because of her short temper and intolerance for idiocy. All eyes are on you to calm her ladyship before she terminates every staff member she has.
Treading lightly, silver tea tray in hand, you knock on the design room glass doors. The Baroness peeks over her glasses, acknowledging you, before returning her attention to the sketchbooks and stacks of papers on her desk. As you enter the room, her fountain pen scratches swiftly across the thick papers. Placing your tray on the round end table beside her desk, you prepare her tea. You slip the warm tea saucer to the right of her sketchbook. Your lady never glances up from her work, eyes darting back and forth across the page as quickly as her left hand.
Sighing, you approach her from behind. You glance at the glass doors, ensuring there are no peering eyes present, before wrapping your arms around her shoulders and kissing her neck. Her pen stills and silence resonates throughout the design room. A loud sigh penetrates the silence, her ladyship's head dropping slightly. As she reaches for the porcelain teacup, you kiss her temple.
"Chamomile, to help you relax, pretty girl," you whisper against her skin. She nods appreciatively, sipping the steaming beverage. A content moan slips past her lips as the warm herbal liquid coats her tastebuds, sliding down the back of her throat.
Glancing down, you examine the details of her designs. Brilliant reds, oranges, and browns blend, reminding you of the leaves falling outside. The sound of porcelain clinking pulls you out of your trance as the Baroness finishes her tea. She relaxes in your hold, allowing herself a moment of peace before returning to her work. The ornate grandfather clock chimes twice, disrupting the intimate moment. Sighing, the Baroness shoos you away so she can continue sketching without distraction. You abide, swiftly cleaning up the tea tray and leaving the room. As you close the glass doors behind you, you glance at your lady one last time. Her pen scratches against the sketchbook rapidly, and her eyes never leave the page.
Words stretch across the page of your book, but you aren't reading them. Your mind races through concerns for your lady. The previous night, she didn't join you in bed until the early hours of the morning, and you woke to cold sheets. Something you've grown accustomed to, but it still disappoints you every morning. She rarely joins you at mealtimes anymore. You have to beg her to eat, pleading with her as if she were a picky toddler.
A familiar groan and the smashing of porcelain echo throughout the vast estate. Sighing, you mark the page of your book, enclosing your thoughts within the novel. You leave the dimly lit library and make your way to the Baroness' office. Her screams of frustration bounce off the walls, and maids give you sideways glances as you pass. You offer them a polite smile in return, a silent promise that you'll try to extinguish her ladyship's fiery temper.
Once you reach the Baroness' office, you knock three times and call her name. You open her door slowly, avoiding any potential flying objects. Standing in the middle of the room, hair unkempt and chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, the Baroness stares daggers in your direction. Her gaze softens slightly when she realizes it's you entering her office unannounced and not some foolish servant. She straightens out her skirt with a heavy sigh and addresses you.
YOU ARE READING
Someone Competent
Fanfiction*Slow Updates* Baroness von Hellman x Fem reader You're the Baroness' loyal assistant and the only person she can stand to be in a room with for more than 15 seconds. She's slowly starting to warm up to you, and you don't know why. Is it because yo...
