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hanasnx · 1 year

Text

"the angel in the garden."

MINORS DNI 18+

series chapter two | chapter three | chapter four WC: 5k | CHARACTERS: hayden christensen x f!reader

SUMMARY: hayden is the gardener to the grounds of the estate you reside. the wayward home for girls is meant to straighten you out, however hayden has other plans for you. NOTES: inspired by virgin territory, hayden’s character lorenzo di lamberti in virgin territory, & pride and prejudice. both movies’ settings 1400-1700 esque WARNINGS: f!reader | eventual smut | friends to lovers | mild sexism of time period | mild religious themes | y/n used

PREVIOUSLY: hayden had come across your abandoned flats and let you know to pick them up. after seeing he’d left them out for you, a part of you wondered if he’d done that to avoid seeing you. that night, your ill-timed back talk to mrs. daulta made her insist you bring the gardener his dinner, and a dread set in at the thought of seeing him. His quarters came into view, and your eyes glued to the spot he’d left your shoes from before. There was a fire going inside that you could see through the hazy windows, and you upped the steps. You couldn’t face him. You set the tray down onto the floor where he had left your flats, and you returned to the dinner hall.

“Oh, wouldn’t it be a dream?” Marguerite exclaimed as she clasped your hands. “I can’t believe Lord Devereux is throwing such a party!” Her noises of excitement delighted you, and she twirled the room. “I finally have reason to wear my favorite— you know the blue one?” Grinning from ear to ear as she fell onto the bed.

“The blue one? I was partial to the red, with the long bow on the back,” you said, sitting down opposite to her on the edge of the mattress. She glanced up at you through her brows.

“You can wear that one if you’d like,”

“I haven’t decided,”

“Oh, I’m so excited, (y/n)!” She rolled over, and crept to you on her knees so she could gather your hands in hers again, shaking them.

At mealtime, the headmaster had announced the informal ball as a test. An opportunity for the girls to show what they’d learned, socialize and hear about the world around them. It was also thought of as a reward. In the back of your mind, you suspected that this was a good time for the staff to rifle through the rooms again, check for contraband and the like, the act disguised as “tidying the rooms.”

You shared Marguerite’s enthusiasm nonetheless, encouraging her to be giddy. You laughed when she threw her arms around you and hugged you tightly.

Carriages were arriving at the front, and it was nearly time to depart for the gathering. You and your sisters had spent time preparing each other, helping get dressed and borrowing clothes. You’d enjoyed watching your sisters dance with each other to help everyone remember how to. Marguerite had been kind enough to fix your hair for you, the top half pinned up in a ponytail, cascading down the rest of your mane. Your bangs framed your face flatteringly, thanks to Marguerite’s curlers. The color of the dress was a forest green, long sleeved. The informal setting didn’t require a fancy dress code, and you liked the comfort this garment possessed. Marguerite’s baby blue dress was layered, with a white sash she’d been lended, trailing down to her feet. Her sleeves were puffed, and she scolded you every time you messed with their shape. Her hair was down, and curled in perfect circlets.

Your fear that your bedroom would be rifled through, caused you to collect Hayden’s clothes from underneath your mattress. The commotion distracted your peers— including your roommate— from noticing you slip outside to the gardener’s quarters. Twilight was upon you, and you had yet to tell if the gardener was home so you intended to leave them at the door like you’d done the dinner tray, and he’d done your shoes. You knelt, and before your hands released the pile, Hayden opened the door.

It startled you, and you jumped up. Wide eyes met his, which were scanning your frame.

“I saw you walk up,” he said, and you heard a breathlessness in his voice.

“Do you spy on me, gardener?”

“It was a coincidence.” he insisted, twitching in a minute shrug. “I suppose you were the one that left my tray at the door. By the time I noticed, it was cold.”

You hadn’t meant that to happen. “I apologize.”

“You could’ve knocked.”

“I could’ve.”

“Next time, knock.” You wrinkled your nose at the demand, reminding you of how your headmaster and mistresses beat into your head to listen to a man, and to those older than you.

“I’ll do as I please, gardener,” You shoved his clothes into his abdomen, and he caught them. You turned to leave, and a hand grabbed hold of your upper arm. Curiously, you followed the grip to its owner.

His mouth opened to say something, eyes traveling over your dress and your hair, the instinct to compliment you could not leave his lips. Instead, correcting you again. “It’s Hayden,”

“I know,” You tugged your arm from his grasp and moved to step down. As though you suddenly felt self conscious over how you spoke to him, you glanced behind you, your expression softening, “Hayden,”

Regardless of the time you told him it was inappropriate to refer to him by his first name, you could do it when you were alone, if it meant saving him from that disheartened expression he wore when you called him what he was. A gardener.

Marguerite held your hand in hers, the lace glove catching on your skin uncomfortably, but you let her lead you to the front of the crowd. Those around you clapped and cheered for the line in the center of this great hall, dancing in step with the song. You didn’t know this dance, you weren’t well versed like your sisters. “Sister (y/n), isn’t it stunning?” She grinned at the settings, clasping her hands to her chest, and then grabbing hold of you to bring you to her side. “I have to find a dance partner,” She disappeared back into the throng before you even had a chance to speak. Taking in the sights, you walked. There were grand candle chandeliers, and open-aired wooden bleachers arranged for the guests to sit and mingle, somewhere to drink their wine and gossip. More civil ladies of society wore feathers in their hair, with fabrics of mixed colors in their dresses. You wondered why Marguerite didn’t wear one of hers.

The band played a merry tune, picking up the pace of the dancers, and you saw Marguerite being dragged to the floor by a willing partner, and you shared a smile with her when she made it.

Her giddiness caused you to wish you had a partner, or to have the strength to ask for one. Instead, you melted into the crowd, settling your back against the wall. Perhaps the reason for Marguerite’s outgoing nature today was because of this opportunity. It was few and far in between that parties like this occurred. It meant no difference to you.

“It’s my welcoming party and I still have wallflowers,” A voice sounded to your left, and you straightened off the surface, facing him.

“Lord Devereux,” you greeted, curtsying. He bowed to you in acknowledgement. The Lord was much older than you, with a widow’s peak shaped receding hairline. However, his smile was kind, and crows feet of age at his eyes.

“You and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting,” He rounded you and as he viewed his surroundings, you turned with him.

“No, my Lord, we haven’t. I’m (y/n) (l/n),”

That same smile would not leave his features. “A pleasure, miss (l/n),”

You knew you should say that the pleasure was all yours, instead you stayed silent. If you were lucky he’d rejoin his party. Not that he was unpleasant to be around, you’d rather be alone with your thoughts.

“Are you to dance?”

You raised your brows at him, “No, sir, I haven’t found the right partner yet.”

He hummed, his fist meeting his chin. “That is troubling.”

“Very much so,”

You tensed as he approached you, standing to your side as he examined the specimens his party had to offer. “Him?” His hand leveled with your vision, pointing to a drunkard who swayed in his seat.

“No,”

“What about him? Does he suit you?” An officer in uniform stood positively erect, jaw held high over his peers. The look of him displeased you.

“No, sir,”

“If you approached him I bet he’d ask you to dance,” One last point to a man with red hair who gazed at the group he mingled in with a glint in his eye. You recognized it to be intrigue, and your curiosity questioned what they could be talking about to act so enthralled.

But, you could not overcome your bashfulness. “No, sir, but I thank you for your help,”

The Lord had expected you to smile by now, and he faced you, inhaling through his nose sharply. “Then all hope is truly lost.” he humored, and his expression conveyed pity. “Take care, my dear, I’m sure you’ll find your prince soon. Until then, I should like to see more of you.” A good natured pat on your shoulder, and he excused himself from the conversation. A breath of relief, and you returned to the wall, toying with the hem of your sleeve.

“You spoke with him? What was it like?” Marguerite asked in wonder. The two of you had taken refuge underneath the open-aired stands. Sitting against the wood supports with your legs propped up, you were opposite each other. The cover of darkness allowing you to spy on the guests of the party.

“He tried to find me a dance partner,” you replied, shrugging. A coy curl to your lips only added to her interest.

“Was he successful?”

“Of course not, you know how repulsive I can be.”

She giggled, nudging your knee, “Oh, stop it, (y/n),”

“He’s charming, I’ll give him that, but he couldn’t hold my attention.”

“No, I’m sure he couldn’t.” she agreed, shaking her head with a knowing smile. “I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to dance.”

“He’s so tall I can’t imagine he’d want to. Leap at the wrong time and the rest of his hair’d catch fire on the chandelier—“

Marguerite’s mouth fell open, and she went to cover it to muffle her surprised laughter as you snickered. However, at the familiar voice of someone else coming into ear shot, the two of you shushed the other.

“… He couldn’t have,” One of your sister’s spoke to Anastasia in disbelief, and you and Marguerite locked eyes while you eavesdropped.

“We did!” she interjected, and grinned at her companion.

“What about the Earl?”

Anastasia waved her hand, “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Both Marguerite’s and your eyes widened at each other to hear her say that. So, there really was an Earl, and she supposedly cared not for his affections.

“Still, Anastasia… the gardener?”

You looked through the stands at Anastasia. What about the gardener?

“It was just a kiss!” she defended, grabbing hold of the hands of girls on either side of her. “Besides, I didn’t even want it, really. He came onto me,” She shrugged her shoulder, releasing them to twirl in place. “Oh, but it was magical anyways…” she sighed.

Marguerite watched you cautiously. It was clear to her how your demeanor changed, how this affected you, how your smile faded. Your vision was unfaltering, staring at Anastasia as the gears in your head turned.

It shouldn’t upset you, but it did. How despairing it was to be right. The suspicions you had were confirmed. Hayden did think she was beautiful, beautiful enough to confess his feelings with a kiss. A kiss she didn’t even want. Was she to toy with him? As she’s toying with this northern Earl? Your eyebrows knit together, pivoting your head to stare at your wringing fingers in your lap. Marguerite leaned over to rest her gloved hand over yours.

The contact didn’t register with you, the conversations around you blurring together as you retreated within yourself to think. Your jealousy toward Anastasia reared its ugly head, and you still had yet to even formally meet her.

Of course he kissed her.

It drowned out Marguerite calling out to you.

The evening was over for you, and you escaped the bleachers in a hurry, hiking up your skirt so you could rush out of the building for some fresh air.

You laid in bed in your nightgown, unmoving. Mind was running a thousand miles a minute, the pit in your stomach practically painful. Marguerite had propped herself up on her elbow behind you, her nimble hand coming to stroke your hair soothingly. “You haven’t said much since the party. We can talk about anything,” she reassured you, her soft voice was barely above a whisper, and you hugged yourself tighter.

“There’s too much going on in my head.”

“You can relieve yourself by spitting some of it out,”

“I can’t,”

“You can. I can keep any secrets you have, my dear (y/n),”

“I… did something- that I wasn’t supposed to- with- the gardener,” your sentence was cracked and awkward as you struggled to gather your thoughts.

“The gardener… (y/n),” Marguerite's voice hardened, “did he kiss you too?”

You turned so you could pivot your head in her direction, “No, no of course not. Nothing like that,” Something like that.

“What then?”

You exhaled, “I can’t say, I worry you’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out what I did, or that you knew.”

She swallowed, and laid down next to you. You raised yourself to blow out the candle.

The skies were particularly gray the next day, and you neglected to return to your spot at the loft window. In that seat you had a nasty habit of watching the gardener as he tended, and you couldn’t bear to see his face.

He’d done nothing wrong, neither had your sister Anastasia— Well, she’d done nothing wrong by you. Her Earl would be a different matter. When your cruel mind involuntarily pictured their kiss, your heart lurched at what could’ve been if you weren’t such a big coward. Clutching the book tighter in your hands, your steps creaked the wood of the boardwalk as you went to the bathhouse. Hot water would relax you, clear your mind, free you from the confines you’ve placed on yourself by comparing every detail between Anastasia and you. You were exhausted, and you had done it to yourself.

You entered, the heavy wooden door echoing through the hall as you shut it, and when you turned to walk down the corridor you collided with something hard. The book dropped to the stone floor, and you regained your footing. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was…” you murmured, combing your hair out of your face to see a glistening chest in front of you. The gardener, fresh from the bathroom, held a towel over his hips. “go… going.” Those intense eyes of his stared you down, and he bent down to retrieve your book. You clenched your jaw, a lump in your throat forming at the sight of him. All day you’ve avoided exactly this. Once he’d straightened, he examined the cover.

“The Decameron? I’ve never heard of this one,” He furrowed his eyebrows at it, like he was unaware of the fact he stood in front of you barely clothed and dripping with water. You averted your gaze, and chewed your lip to save him from responding in anger: “Oh, the gardener can read?”

You flared your nostrils, and said instead, “It’s assigned reading. I’m having a terrible time with it. Now give it back.” You reached for it, but he moved it out of your way.

“Tell me about it,”

Did he exist to torment you? It was growing more difficult by the second to not take out your frustrations on him, the reminder he’d done nothing to wrong you could only rescue him from so much. “I can’t, I’m in a hurry,” You reached for it again, and he pulled it straight out behind him. You met his gaze.

“You know, I miss our little talks, like when you sat by my fire.” He was trying to get under your skin, to provoke more conversation from you, it had almost worked, forcing yourself to ignore the instinct to tell him to shut his trap. Huffing, you remained silent. “What? Now you bite your tongue? Where’s that sharp wit gone?” You channeled your exasperation into fighting him for your book back so you could move on. Rounding him, and he expertly kept it from you. When he held it over your head, you took the bait like a goat-headed ninny and jumped up for it.

“Stop this! You know we can’t talk here,”

As if to confirm your comment, one of your sisters called from down the hall. “Gardener!” The two of you turned your attentions to the noise, and his arm relaxed. While distracted, you snagged the book from his grip. The action caused him to watch you walk away from him. You hugged it to your chest to calm your nerves of the encounter.

All Hayden could think about was how you specified that you couldn’t talk here.

So far, nothing had eased your troubled mind. The bath and the altercation at the bathhouse had worsened you. He had teased you so carelessly. Did he know that you knew? How could he be so playful with you when he had kissed another? Why was he fighting for your time anyway?

Marguerite came back from fetching water. She set the pitcher and bowl at the vanity, and pinned her wild hair back. “I haven’t painted in a while, not since my watercolors were damaged, do you think if I asked the headmaster he might lend me some supplies?”

“I’d say try, but if I were you I’d expect him to assign me extra chores for it.”

She scoffed, “They’re already working me to the bone already,”

They did not treat her kinder than the others just because she was frail. “Who knows? Perhaps luck’ll smile down on you. You deserve some easy chores.”

Marguerite poured the water into the bowl. “I do, don’t I?” she agreed fondly, and cupped the liquid in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut to rinse her face with it. You slumped into the bed, propping your head up onto your palm as your fingers toyed with the sheets.

It was yet another night you anticipated to be sleepless. A movement caught your eye and you jumped up at the sight, “Oh!” Hayden’s cheeky smile greeted you from behind your window panes.

Your sudden noise had startled Marguerite and she halted, turning in your direction, water dripping from her face onto the floor. “What? What?” she asked, blind to what was happening because she couldn’t open her eyes. Rushing her back to the bowl, you fixed her hair over her shoulders.

“Nothing, sister, I scared myself,” you comforted.

“You scared me, (y/n),” she scolded, picking up where she left off rinsing her face. It was a relief she hadn’t spotted him, and the sloshing of water masked the sound of you opening the window to whisper to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I’m here to talk,” he replied, a mischievous grin adorning his handsome features. It jellied your legs.

You panicked, “So you came here?”

“I came to ask you to walk with me tonight,”

“I…” You glance over your shoulder to see Marguerite flicking the water off her hands, having finished washing her face. “You have to go, she’ll see you,”

Hayden raised further up the vine, and his sudden close proximity made you eye his lips. “I’ll not leave til you agree.” he promised, his voice a sultry tone that made your mouth run dry.

This man was nothing if not persistent, and your incredulous look only spurred him on.

“Fine, fine. After she falls asleep. Go,” Your hands rested atop his shoulders, urging him to climb down and he obeyed. One last flash of his smile, and you closed the windows. Marguerite was patting her face dry, and when she discarded the cloth into the bowl haphazardly, you knew she didn’t suspect anything.

You snuck out after you were sure Marguerite was sound asleep, and you spotted Hayden perched onto your beloved loft seat. At the sight of you, he pushed off, tossing an apple in his hand to catch it.

“Brought you something. A peace offering,” He handed the fruit to you, and answered your quizzical expression. “You’d given me one the other day, figured I should return the favor.” Your countenance shifted, and your fingertips brushed your mouth from the memory.

The indirect kiss. You pressed your lips together, and pocketed the apple. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Walk with me,”

The stroll was quiet. So quiet you were forced to watch your surroundings. It was a lot like the night he’d helped you, what’s more is this is what you yearned for that night. As if the moon had granted your wish, you strode alongside the gardener on route to the pond.

You could not think of what to say.

He didn’t seem to notice. You eyed him curiously, and he reflected your indifference in physicality. The need to know what was going on inside his head propelled you. “Do you ask girls to walk with you at night because you fear the dark?” you questioned, fidgeting with your fingers.

He acknowledged you, “Terrified of it. It’s the only reason I wait for daylight to work in the fields.” You scoffed, and he seemed to take pride in that. But he’d also evaded your question.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I do owe you,” you replied, hoping to drown out the silence with conversation so your mind didn’t constantly remind you of Anastasia and what she’d said about him.

“You do, don’t you?” his tone was sly as he turned, walking backwards in front of you. “You know, you’ve been unbelievably hard to track down.”

“And I’m supposed to make it easy for you?”

“It’d be considerate if you tried.”

Another scoff from you and your lips curled. “Forgive me if it’s been that difficult. I thought something as important as your interest would be in other things.” The snide comment faded his smile, brows furrowing.

“What do you mean by that?”

“From where I stand it looks like I’m not the only one you’ve invited to your private quarters,” The anger within you stirred, manifesting itself into the sentences you wrought. Hayden halted, and since he stood in your way you were forced to stop as well.

“Am I to understand your quarrel with me is based on that?”

You raised your head high, as if to seize any opportunity to look down on him. “I see no other reason why else.”

The accusation left Hayden bewildered, and the overwhelmed gardener glanced away to gather himself. “I didn’t realize you’d jump to conclusions so quickly when you’re so prone to tripping.” his statement humbled you, recalling the scene when he’d caught you staring at him, and in your distraction stumbled upon a raised board. You swallowed, opening your mouth to say something when he interrupted you. “I’m sure you’ll find your way back, (y/n). Good evening,” He nodded his head, and continued onwards to the pond without you.

Your offense was immeasurable. “Pardon me,” you spoke, bunching up your skirt so you could hasten your strides after him. “You drag me outside during the ungodly hours of the night, torment me for days, and now you bid me goodnight?” If you could see his face, you’d deduce his trick on you, his handsome grin stretched onto his lips as he didn’t slow for you.

He hid it well when he called over his shoulder, “There’s nothing further to discuss, my lady. You’re so independent I believed it an insult to ask to escort you back to your room.”

“This could not have been the subject you wished to talk with me about!” The grass was getting longer the further you traveled, brambles catching your skirt that you tugged out of its grips. “The nature of the conversation was to be my opinion of you? How vain.”

“Vain is how you pretend to know everything about me, and you haven’t asked me one question since we spent that night together.” You caught up with him, panting. Once he’d faced you, did you notice the prideful glint in his eye.

It was a vulnerable statement, one that reassessed the way you’ve been treating him so coldly. How controversial compared to the feelings within you that desired nothing other than to be close to him. The gardener had given you every opportunity, and you were so afraid of him you had iced him out.

The two of you exchanged a heated look, and you gulped. It was clear he refused to say anything else until he heard your response to his observation.

You didn’t know what he wanted to hear. What did people always want to hear? Pleasantries, compliments, good stories… You had none of those things, and the realization that you could potentially bore this companion to death arised anxiety in you.

This was the one time you felt ungrateful for being set aside a time to speak for yourself. “How have you been? Since the storm, I mean,”

Hayden raised his brows, looking through them to you. It wasn’t what he was expecting from you. “I’ve been fine, thank you. Lots of work to be done but I’ll never complain about earning good pay. How about you, (y/n)? You haven’t caught anything from the cold, I trust?”

Your mouth was dry and you shook your head. “No, of course not, thanks to you.” Had you expressed enough gratitude to him for conveniencing you then? “Thank you,” you hasted to say, the addition awkward.

The small smile you receiving in return made it worth it. “It was my pleasure,” He began to walk, slower this time. You heard your heart in your chest, idling behind him for a second.

“The pleasure is all mine,” you whispered, and came to his side to stroll alongside.

“At first I thought I had offended you, but I realized that was not the case,” he confided, side eyeing you, the grass crunching underneath his boots.

“You mean because of the lack of propriety? Changing in front of a man I barely know?” Needless to say you were amused by his notion. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You’ve a much sharper tongue against those that have offended you.” His hands came to clasp behind his back, and the trail of the pond met your feet, guiding the pair of you.

“I daresay I’m losing my touch then,”

He laughed at your joke and it surprised you.

“No, I know I didn’t offend you.”

“What effect did you have on me then, g—“ The habit to call him his profession died, and you corrected yourself because you were alone with him. “—Hayden?”

“I think I scared you,”

It struck you, and you tensed.

He continued on, “Of course I’d noticed how afraid you were to approach me before, but it carried on even after I thought we had a perfect reason to be closer. I was confused, that you didn’t come to me more often after that.”

“You mean you expected my friendship because you did me a service?”

“I mean, I hoped for your friendship because you felt the same connection I did,” His deduction sent your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, but they were weighed down with the miserable pit inside that carried the knowledge: he had kissed Anastasia. These words should be for her. “I thought, perhaps, you were afraid that I would not be open to you so I made a great fool out of myself in hopes it’d remind you of my humanity. To draw you back to me so I could gain your trust.”

His words had fallen on your deaf ears, and when something certain shined through, you called upon that. “And what is my trust to you? What value could you have in my friendship?”

The puzzled expression he wore remained as he scratched the back of his neck. Your suspicious nature had always been hard for people to get around, and it seemed Hayden was running into the same trouble. “Do you find me repulsive?”

“Not at all,”

“Do you take joy in watching me evade your obstacles?”

“No,”

“Then,” He clapped his hands together, and grinned at you. “it’s settled! You should have no problem accepting my friendship—“ he rambled, ignoring your protests. He picked up his pace along the trail, going off of it.

“— What? Hayden—!”

“—I’ll be back tomorrow for another stroll, and wear something pretty, I have something planned for us.” He escaped, taking advantage of the environment and his exceptionally long legs to outrun you.

“‘Planned’?”

“Don’t forget! Same time tomorrow!” Near the pond is where you stayed, watching him leave you.

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