The Diary of Cozette (22 page)

He dropped first to his knees and then sprawled on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, allowing his magnificent body to be worshipped by the sun.

Once more, I found that I was cautious that Betsy would appear at any moment and I would need to explain my presence, but after a few moments, it was apparent that François and I were quite alone. I took a deep breath, quelling my concern that my desires were not those of a mere young girl with an infatuation. Indeed, it is my conviction that these desires could only be those of a woman fully aware of them. With that in my bosom, I stepped through the grass, my gaze ever vigilant of trespassers to our lover’s den. His eyes were closed when at last I stood over him, blocking the sun with my body.

“Good afternoon, Lord Deavereux.”

One eye peeked open as if I’d disturbed his slumber. He rose to his elbows and his gaze raked me over from head to toe. I cannot explain the twin sensations of lust and love that swirled inside of me. Should I seduce him first and tell him of my feelings after? Or tell him now and fall into his welcoming arms, consummating our mutual love?

“Cozette?”

“Have I caught you sleeping, milord?”

“I have just had a satisfactory swim, the water is fine. You should try it yourself.”

I looked over my shoulder briefly. “Perhaps I shall, later.” I gave him a wicked grin and was blessed with one in return. In a gesture so bold, knowing once I made it there would be no turning back, I stepped one foot over his hip and stood above him.

“Have you missed me, milord?” I raised my skirts to my knee, swirling them flirtatiously. He gave no resistance to my musings, but eyed me with a most wicked look in his eye.

“Cozette, you are a most surprising young lady. You are well, then?”

Indeed, I sensed he was asking of my health since we were last together.

“Fit as a fiddle.” I smiled brightly, trying not to notice the twinge in my heart.

“That’s splendid.”

“And your travels, were they agreeable with you, sir?”

“Indeed, quite agreeable.”

“That is splendid to hear.”

The drawers I wore most especially for this occasion were split to allow freedom of access to my peach. Already they were drenched just being in his presence.

The thought of François declaring his love for me even as I gave myself most willingly to him caused my heart to beat rampantly against my chest.

“Would you fancy seeing for yourself, milord?”

Fire burned in his dark orbs, as his hands smoothed upward over my calves, across the back of my knee, drawing me forward, until I sat with a plop on his broad chest.

“I think you may be more comfortable seated, my dear.”

Together with him, I lifted my skirts and spread my legs, the long grass tickled my calves. I delighted in seeing the spark of lust in his expression.

“Sweet flower that opens for my pleasure,” he whispered, drawing me close until his mouth latched on to me, drawing and sucking as his fingers caressed my thighs.

I braced my hands on his thighs and closed my eyes, my face turned toward the sun, the heat warming my flesh and François’s tongue warming my quiver. I believe there is no greater love than ours. This is a passion not easily quenched. Despite our social differences, the passion that erupts like wildfire between us cannot be ignored.

Need clawed at my lower belly, its sensual tendrils curling over my flesh, sending shivers where the breeze touched it.

He reached for my breasts and through my frock cupped them, weighing them in his masterful hands, drawing my taut nubs forth with his fingers.

The sensation sent a delicious shiver through me, heightening my arousal.

“Milord, there is…” My breath caught in a gasp. I grabbed his thighs, holding myself back from my release.

“I do love it when you call me that,” he spoke huskily from beneath my skirts.

“There is something I wish to share with you.”

My skirts had shifted his face covered, but it had not distracted the sweet ministrations of his tongue.

He lifted the skirt and offered me his charming smile as he inserted one and then another of his formidable fingers inside of me.

“More than you have already, my pet?”

I rocked my hips against his every stroke, sinking deeper, taunting my rose to succumb to his ardent attention. Higher and higher, I soared as my body shattered, stopping my scream with my fist as my body welcomed each delicious spasm. He could summon me to life every time. He had the first night and every time after. How could I go on and not with joy confess my feelings for him?

I reached down and pulled him upright, straddled in his lap as I took his face in my hands and kissed him fully on the mouth. His erection stood proud between his legs, anticipating my arrival, but I wanted first to confess my regard to make our joining complete.

There was no hesitation in my heart as I drew back and held his gaze, my breathing labored still from the intensity of passion.

“I am compelled to tell you a secret, milord.”

His brow twitched ever-so-slightly and for the briefest of moments I nearly backed away from my confession, thinking it to be ill-timed.

In that exact moment, another scream, more pronounced and sounding very much like Lady Archibald, echoed clear through the glen. Without hesitation, François toppled me from his lap and began to shove his naked legs into his breeches. Dizzy still from the euphoric moment, my gaze rested on the chiseled curve of his buttocks and I watched as the object of my yearning disappeared, cruelly covered by his summer woolens. It was then I realized that I might lose my only chance to tell Lord Deavereux of my true regard.

The scream came again, more of a hurtful cry than of anger. François’s head jerked up, riveted by the sound.

“François?” I hadn’t ever called him by his familiar name and yet was compelled to garner his attention. “I must reveal to you this which has burned for so long inside me, ever since you last left my bed.”

His gaze whipped around and his brows knit tight together with a sternness I had never seen before on his face.

“Cozette, it is Mistress Archibald, we must not delay. Quick now, gather yourself. Whatever you must say can wait, can it not?”

He drew his arms into his shirt and began to fasten the buttons with nimble fingers. He stopped suddenly, his body rigid as he held my gaze. His pallor went from sun-kissed to ashen in the blink of an eye.

“François? Are you well?” It was not that I would not have told him most assuredly, but it was apparent there was already one urgent matter to attend to and I had no wish to have a second.

“Oh, dear girl, tell me that I did not leave you with child. Quick now, the truth.”

Fear etched on his face, as clear and simply as the truth illuminated my heart. I could not say why I never told François that day how I felt about him. Perhaps instinct, perhaps his expression at the thought of my bearing his child. Most assuredly it was not a look of a man joyful in hearing such news.

I stood. Brushing my skirts straight, plucking the bits of grass from my hem, tucking errant strands of hair where I had it secured at the nape of my neck. “Do not be silly, I would be heavy with child if that were so. I would not burden you with such dreadful news.” I prepared to leave, brushing past him, with a determination to go to the aid of my mistress. Had it not been for her, I would have given the man my
best right hook,
as Mr. Farrington would say.

He grabbed my arm as I passed by and turned me to face him, gripping my shoulders firmly, his gaze intense.

My brow rose, as did my ire. My internal instincts to survive, embedded deep inside me, dormant with the complacency of my new home, surfaced to my aid. I stepped away from his grasp, and so ended my naive thoughts of François whisking me away to his castle in the clouds. “You have no need of concern. There is no child, I assure you.”

His mouth parted with a quiet sigh and his shoulders, before tense, now relaxed. He offered me a brief smile. “You gave me quite a scare, young lady.”

He continued to dress as though what we had done was an everyday occurrence and I realized that his desires were not for me as a partner or mate, but as a whore ready to satisfy him whenever he had the whim. My stomach curdled with the thought that I had been so blind. I did not tarry any longer in his presence, for the mere sight of him sickened me. True it was that I took delight in our carnal pleasures, but I had no one to blame but myself in allowing my heart to be so blindly led astray. “I must go.” I hurried to my mistress.

I found her standing at the carriage in Mr. Coven’s surprised embrace, her face buried in his shoulder. Behind her stood Master Archibald, his expression mildly contrite, but his cheeks blushed crimson. Most assuredly, I quickly surmised, from being caught.

Betsy stood at his side and when she saw me, she smiled and lifted a pointed red nail to the side of her mouth and wiped a spot away. My heart sank as I deduced the situation and I wasted no time boldly confronting Betsy without preamble. “What have you done, Betsy?” I challenged.

She eyed me with a calm demeanor that I wished to slap from her face. Master Archibald looked away.

“You two know each other?” François arrived at my side, his expression revealing his puzzlement.

“I thought perhaps she did not, but it seems that Miss Livengood has not forgotten her roots.” My gaze narrowed on her and I did not hide my displeasure at her hurting my mistress.

“I thought it was you, Cozette. Is it still Miss? Lord Archibald and I were discussing that interesting technique you showed me all those years ago. You remember, don’t you, back in London?”

My eyes grew wide and I stepped toward her, prepared to gouge out her eyes. Her lie about me was inconsequential to the pain suffered by my mistress.

An arm reached out and stopped my stride. When I looked up, past the angry, red haze in my vision, I saw Mr. Coven’s unreadable, but steady gaze holding mine.

“It is apparent that we must get our mistress home. She has suffered a…tremendous shock. Under the circumstances, I suggest that you escort her home.”

His dark eye searched mine, compelling me to see his reason. I would have sooner agreed to tie Master Archibald first to the four horses and quartered him, and follow then with Betsy. A more loving soul I could not imagine had suffered the cruelest of fates. At that moment, between François’s apathy, Betsy’s whoring, and Master Archibald’s indiscretion, I fought his reason with every bit of anger boiling inside me.

“Jensen will see you both home. Go now, your mistress needs you.”

Mr. Coven’s voice of calm diffused my desire at least, to stick Betsy’s hatpin through her tongue.

François, suddenly the noble gentleman, stepped forward ready with his false gallantry which at any other time might have been welcome. “I will assist you both home.”

I was in no mood to look upon his face any more today. “I believe Jensen will be sufficient, thank you Lord Deavereux.” I glanced at him briefly as I placed my arm around my mistress’s shoulder.

“Come Miss Livengood, I think under the circumstances I should see you home to collect your things. There is a train set to depart Petersborough and I think it wise that you be on it,” François stated with a proprietary tone in his voice. For that much I was grateful to him.

I glanced up but briefly as the carriage rocked forward and saw as François took Betsy’s elbow and led her to his carriage. I had to give him that much, at least when it came to Lady Archibald he was able to discern a true lady from a whore.

My concern now was for Lady Archibald, for her unborn child, and selfishly for my future if she should leave the master. I know marriage laws, like most in England, are written to benefit men, presenting the wife as a mere possession and little more. However, I knew that her staff would choose to remain with her regardless of her situation. They are now my family and I will not entertain the thought of leaving.

In the end, Mr. Coven waited with Master Archibald for Jensen to return to bring them home. My mistress went straight to her suite, giving firm instructions that Master Archibald was not permitted to enter. When later I took her a cup of tea, I found my master’s belongings in the hallway.

~A.C.B.

Two days after the picnic, my mistress tragically miscarried and she was cast into a deep depression, allowing no one but me to enter her room.

At Mr. Coven’s insistence, the doctor was called and he prescribed total bed rest for no less than three weeks’ time, and longer if necessary.

I doubt I shall ever be able to forgive Betsy or Master Archibald. My mistress has refused to see him, and he has ordered his belongings be placed in one of the guest rooms across the hall.

It occurred to me that he never interacted with the staff as has my mistress. Therefore his schedule, insofar as we are concerned, hasn’t changed, only his sleeping arrangements. I do not know what my future holds, but as long as my mistress needs me, I am at her service. In the quiet of my room, my thoughts wander to Lord Deavereux. How naive I was in believing he cared for me on equal terms. Though there is a dull ache when I think on him, my determination and goal is to make my mistress well. She has shown me, by her example, that resiliency in a woman is something I admire and hope (one day) to attain.

~A.C.B.

As I write today, my thoughts reflect the change of seasons. In less than two months, I will see my nineteenth birthday and there are days when I feel as though I have lived a lifetime.

Weeks have passed since the incident at the picnic. Master Archibald comes and goes, and is away on business much of the time. When he is here at the manor, he is like a ghost wandering the rooms, unseen and unspoken to. I believe Mr. Coven is the only one with whom he has any association. There are events that challenge any marriage, and I daresay this incident and its bleak consequences have gone far beyond the normal boundaries. Though given my observations, I have to wonder of their solidarity before the incident. Perhaps after each has ad time to consider all that has happened, they will renew their commitment, perhaps truer than before. It is too early to say and truly not my place to judge. Perhaps my master holds out hope that my mistress will forgive him, or it may yet be his part in losing their child from the overstress that gives him reason to stay. Yet neither his loss nor my mistress’s health has kept him from his frequent travels. Though upon his return I have noted his manner no different.

To that, I address my mistress’s demeanor. More and more I realize the remarkable woman she is. Since her release from the physician, she has embraced fully a number of charitable works that keep her schedule full. I see her driven with a purpose to succeed in these organizations, and yet I suspect she fills her time so as not to think about all that has occurred.

This renewed interest in charity has given her an even greater mission to edify me. I have become with great interest, her latest project of reform. Today, with much delight, she has instructed that I make haste with my duties so that I may welcome two very special guests she is bringing from the train.

“I am absolutely certain, Cozette, that you will find our guests most interesting. You already know Lady Graham, of course.” She clasped her hands under her chin. “Today I am bringing her and her nephew to stay with us. I cannot tell you what it means to have guests again at Willow Manor, especially a noted artist such as Mr. Rodin.”

My mistress adjusted her hat before she pulled on her cloak and gloves. How could I forget how that beady-eyed woman had stared at me most uncomfortably the entire afternoon? “Yes, mum.” I folded my hands and waited dutifully, eyes lowered.

“Cozette, my dear.”

She took my chin in her gloved hand and lifted my gaze to hers.

“I feel that under the circumstances that you should no longer refrain from offering eye contact when I speak to you. I understand that Miss Farrington has trained you thus, and she is most wise, but in truth, I feel as though you and I…”

“Begging your pardon, mum, but
Mrs.
Farrington has shared her secret and it is safe with me.”

My mistress gave pause, her gaze searching mine. I waited, taking note of the shimmering of unshed tears in her eyes. She cupped her hand on my cheek in a way I remember my mother doing.

“I am glad you understand her circumstances. She is a good woman. The three of us have been through much together, have we not?”

“It has been an honor, mum.”

She pulled her hand away. “You have been more than a housemaid to me, and now it is my turn…” She brushed her glove over her cheek and sniffed once, blinking as she smiled.

“It is my turn to introduce you to the full potential that lies inside you, my dear. Already you excel in reading and play a little piano, we can work on that too this winter. And perhaps we will see to your writing as well.”

“My writing, mum?” Had she read my journal? Out of habit of living in the orphanage, I kept it tucked discreetly under my mattress. Did she know about François?

“Now don’t think I haven’t seen you writing dutifully in your journal. Oh, yes, I have seen you with your head bent, your pencil scribbling across the pages. And yes, I have noted those books disappearing from the library as well.”

“I am sorry, mum.” My face burned with my guilt.

“Oh, heavens, child, think nothing of it. I will keep you well supplied and perhaps one day you will honor me with some of your thoughts.”

I wanted to draw her into my embrace. “Thank you, mum.” She did not know how many times she had been the subject of many pages.

She placed her hands together in front of her, touching her soft pink mouth with her fingertips.

“But, my point is that you have in many ways been trained in all of the rudimentary skills required to be a productive member of society. As much as any proper young woman of wealth or status, and perhaps due to your extraordinary circumstances, you hold a greater advantage in having overcome many an obstacle. Still, to succeed, one must use every possible avenue to enrich your life. You must quench your thirst of all your senses.”

Her words whirled around my brain like honeybees to a hive. Her expression held determination and one thing more, confidence. She was confident of my abilities and willing to teach me what she knew of this world of hers that courted social status and wealth.

Oblivious to the puzzled look on my face, she rambled on about her plans for my instruction.

“I surmise that Mr. Rodin will advise you what you are to wear, so we shan’t concern ourselves for now. I believe the Brotherhood prefers an earthier, plain subject.”

To that, I nodded in agreement, though admittedly still confused why any artist, seasoned or aspiring, would find me, of all women, a subject adequate for their work. I had no knowledge of anything with regard to the dealings of “the Brotherhood,” unless by this she meant a division of the church.

“Jensen is taking me to the station to meet Mr. Rodin and Lady Graham. They will stay on for the next few weeks as Master Rodin completes his study of oils on canvas. I have asked that in return for using you as a subject that he would tutor you with his artistic skills and instruct you in the ways of the fine arts. How would you like that?”

I wanted to tell her that I would be most willing to sit for hours learning about canvas texture, if it would keep me from peeling potatoes for Mrs. Farrington. “I am speechless, mum, thank you. I shall go straight away and prepare the guest rooms.”

“Master Archibald has sent word that he must travel straight from London to Amsterdam and does not plan to return home until the end of the month. Please put our esteemed guest in his room.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Oh, and one tiny request, Cozette.”

“Of course,” I responded.

“I do not wish any more to be said, even in private, regarding the situation between Lord Archibald and me. It is, for now, a closed subject.”

“Consider it done, mum. There is not a one of us on staff that would show you less than our complete loyalty.”

Her body relaxed with her smile.

“Thank you, you all take such care of me. However, Lady Graham revels in the glories of meddling in other people’s business and while I consider her a dear friend, I do not know how she would take to my situation. I desperately need her to believe that I intend to carry on with fund-raising for the League’s new project.”

“Yes, mum.” That bit of news came as no surprise to me. “I will make it a point to caution the staff.”

“Thank you, my dear. Now…” She grabbed her soft woolen purse and touched her gloved hand to her auburn hair. For a woman scorned, she appeared quite confident and sure of herself, making her all the more beautiful in my eyes.

“Jensen is waiting and he gets cranky if he has to wait too long. The poor man, I think I try his patience much too often. Please have tea ready, we should be back in time.”

I stood at the open door and watched her scurry toward the carriage, where Jensen dutifully held out his hand and assisted her inside. Though Master Archibald could easily afford one of the new horseless carriages, the horse-drawn landau somehow suited her genteel character. She waved as Jensen prodded the horses and the carriage lurched forward.

~A.C.B.