Seethedawn

Kristoff had genuinely thought he was bringing the youngest daughter of the Lord of Preston to a women’s committee meeting, not the by-election count. He had managed to wrangle her out of there, but not before some men near her had gotten into an altercation, knocking Anna and causing her to hit her head hard against the ground.

By the time he had reached her, the young chauffeur was grateful to see her eyes open, still conscious of her surroundings. The auburn-haired woman had insisted that she was fine on the drive back to the estate.

Even still, they both agree that she needs to clean the gash on her forehead before going to dinner that evening. The last thing she needs is another lecture from her father regarding her opinion on the right to vote.

Anna walks across the motor house toward the chair where Kristoff often takes his breaks to rest. She finds herself lucky that the family chauffeur-turned friend keeps a basin of water nearby for his hands throughout the day.

She watches him as he brings it close to her, placing it onto the straw-covered ground next to her. Shyly the lady manages a smile. “Thank you, I very much appreciate it.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want you gettin’ in trouble on account of me.” He responds, taking the rag and ringing the excess water out into the basin.

“Bjorgman, reall-”

“Kristoff, please.” He corrects, urging her to use his Christian name.

“Kristoff.” She gazes at him, taking the damp cloth into her hands from him. “It’s not your fault, you had no idea what I was doing. I deceived you.”

“But even still, I encouraged this.” He shakes his head, watching as she attempts to press the cloth to her injury, missing every time. “Here, let me.”

The blonde man takes it from the English Lady’s hand, lightly pressing it to the wound. She barely winces at the contact. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, you know.”

“It’s just…” He sighs, withdrawing the rag from her skin. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about all that.” She reassures, cringing as the cloth returns to her injury with slightly more pressure than previously. Anna watches the Irishman’s features as he tends to her wound, noticing how his eyes crinkle as they focus on the task at hand as well as how his brows furrow.

Momentarily he pulls away the rag to check the gash, noticing how the redness around it slowly fades. He purses his lips, dipping the rag into the basin to wash out the blood. He glances up at her with a polite smile.

In that moment she is unable to help herself, she leans forward, pressing her lips against his. The rag drops from his hand, surprised at the action thought it is most welcome. His hand comes to cup her cheek, leaning into the embrace.

He withdraws first, panic instilling into his chest, standing abruptly from the ground and turning from her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She responds, her brows knitting together in confusion. Anna stands from the chair, inching closer to the chauffeur.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He clarifies, walking back toward the car as if to do maintenance on the vehicle.

“Nobody will know, at least not fro-”

“You should be returning back to the house.” He cuts her off, unbuttoning the jacket of his uniform. He couldn’t bear to look back to see the look of hurt and shame crossing her features.