The Diary of Cozette (17 page)

It has been a week since the tea, but I am just now assessing what happened and further, do not know what yet may be in store for me.

I was given the task of pouring out and in keeping with my duties, one is to turn a deaf ear to the conversations. As I held the silver tray laden with sweet cakes and nut meats to her guests, my mistress spoke to her guests.

“See how like milk her skin is?”

“You’re absolutely correct, Virginia. She’s an absolute study for the Brotherhood,” Lady Graham returned. “Drat that nephew of mine. This is the second time he has turned away my invitation. He may not receive another,” she sniffed, but her smile revealed she did not mean it. She sipped her tea.

“Perhaps I can persuade him with a visit to the country in the autumn. The colors might attract him.”

Lady Graham was a large woman and she was dressed today in a bright green fitted silk jacket and matching skirt. I had to hide my smile at the tiny fabric balls flouncing at the hem of her skirt. Outrageous attire in comparison to the sedate clothing choices of the three other guests, but I was beginning to see that being set apart agreed with Lady Graham. She stared at me quite openly as she helped herself to more of Miss Farrington’s divine petit fours. Her bright blue eyes set in her round face fairly glistened as her words shaped her scrutinizing thoughts.

“She has the eyes, definitely large and luminous. Thomas says that is a prerequisite, without question. Her skin is absolute perfection, indeed and she’s not too skinny. The Brotherhood artists, I understand, like their women substantial.”

“Indeed,” Lady Jane Asbury commented, aghast.

Lady Graham enjoyed her surprise. “I abhor artists who paint skinny women, it’s not natural.”

Her gaze followed me as I served the others. “Indeed, her breasts are ample, but not overly so and her frame solid, but sleek. Yes, I can see, Virginia, how you would consider her a potential subject. I will make haste to speak to my nephew at once upon my return and we shall set up a suitable time for a visit.”

“Is this your nephew, the artist?” Lady Hamilton remarked. “Didn’t he decline also to Lady Archibald’s holiday party?”

“Indeed, due to some exhibit of a friend, so he says. He’s somewhat of a rebel, my nephew, but I suppose that’s part of what I love about him.” She chuckled. “You know he was kicked out of the Royal Academy for arguing with one of the professors. He’s now under the tutelage of one of the underground artists.”

“The Pre-Raphaelites? You don’t say, how deliciously scandalous,” Lady Jane remarked with a wicked grin.

“Oh!” I let out a small gasp as Lady Graham patted my backside. “She’s perfect.”

Lady Hamilton let out a horrified gasp, but covered her smile.

I quietly scanned the faces staring at me, and realized the subject they spoke of was me! I wanted to dart from the room. My cheeks warmed. “Will there be anything else, madam?” My stance rigid, I caught my mistress’s eye and she nodded, I believe aware of my discomfiture.

“We need more tea to pour out—see if Miss Farrington has it ready.”

She dismissed me and I was able to gather my wits, and give Miss Farrington a good laugh at the same time.

“It’s been a good long while since anyone has swatted my bum,” Miss Farrington teased. “Do you think if I were to serve her she might…?” She collapsed in another fit of laughter.

“I can’t say that I find this amusing. You aren’t the one being served up to these women on a platter.”

“Now then, your only concern is to this platter.” She handed me a tray filled with ripe strawberries and cherries.

Indeed, for the remainder of the afternoon I kept my eye on Lady Graham and caught her secret smile more than once. Perhaps since the death of her husband, she’d taken a fancy to women. I was no stranger to the idea that there were women who enjoyed the company of the fairer sex more than they did a man.

“Pay me no mind, child, my interest is purely an artistic one.” She stopped me once as I served her.

“She’s exquisite, Virginia. Thomas will be thrilled, I am certain.” Lady Graham followed me as I walked around the table pouring out.

Mistress Archibald glanced at me as if assessing the wisdom of such a venture. “I will discuss it further when Master Archibald returns from his hunting trip.”

“Splendid, and oh, Virginia, you must let me begin plans to host a ball for your beloved league. We shall have an auction to raise money for your most worthy projects. Next spring, it will be the talk of London.”

The plumes of white feathers stuck in her wide-brimmed hat bobbed on her head as she spoke. She lifted a petite cake to her mouth and sampled a bite, licking her lips with great flourish. Her gaze rolled upward in delight before turning to mine.

“Delightful, simply delightful.”

The Ladies League invited Lady Graham to membership that very afternoon. I am yet unsure what to make of this situation. Yet if it brings a smile to my mistress’s face then perhaps it is well worth my flexibility.

~A.C.B.

Master Archibald arrived home from his hunting trip today, delivering the news that he was leaving again. They did not know I was yet finishing my kitchen duties in the next room.

“But you’ve only just returned from hunting, Robert. Is it so urgent that you cannot take a few days’ rest at home? I’m sure my father—”

“This has nothing to do with your father, Virginia.”

I paused in the shadows of the kitchen hallway, the silver wrapped in my tea towel ready for storing in the velvet-lined cherrywood box located in the dining room. Miss Farrington, exhausted from the rigors of baking, retired early after I promised to close down the kitchen as I’d seen her do many times.

We’d not spoken, the mistress and I, on the subject of Lady Graham’s offer. I was curious if she’d found opportunity to apprise the master on the subject.

“These are pressing matters, Virginia. You know that I work very hard so that you have a nice home, move in the proper circles. Matters pertaining to my business do not keep, madam. How do you think that you’ve come by such fine things?”

The master’s voice was edged with an angry roughness that I had not heard before. I suspected he had partaken of a bit of brandy during the afternoon.

“Do you make it a habit of eavesdropping, Miss Cozette, or is this so juicy that it is worth risking my position as well?”

Mr. Coven’s voice whispered in my ear and my arms instinctively tightened on the towel containing the silver, praying none would spill and clatter to the floor. So engrossed had I been in the conversation and with my avid concern for my mistress, that I had not heard him arrive behind me.

I did not hide my fierce look of warning as I glanced over my shoulder and held his gaze in the shadows of the pantry hallway.

“As for my manners, I am simply hesitating so as not to interrupt. May I ask what sort of gentleman sneaks into his master’s home in the middle of the night and makes habit of sneaking up unaware on its residents?” I hissed in response.

“One that is making sure the silver gets returned to its proper place?”

He offered a quick grin, his perfect teeth shining in the dark.

“And who, by the way, is spreading nasty rumors that I am a gentleman?” he remarked.

Had the conversation in the next room not pulled my attention fully, I would have sufficiently, and without delay, stomped the top of his foot.

“Shh,” I cautioned, leaning closer to the double doors that led into the library. Behind me, I sensed the heat from his body hovering next to mine. If my regard for François were different, I might be tempted to see how sure of himself Mr. Coven really was. Though his body is without question most enticing, his demeanor most assuredly is not. In fact, in nearly all of my encounters with the man, I’ve found him to be most annoying.

“Oh, now, don’t look so down, I will return by the weekend. I’ll be back before you know it and I know, perhaps an outing on Sunday would lift your spirits?”

My attention turned back to the library, awaiting my mistress’s response.

My mistress’s voice lowered in a calm tone. “You know very well, Robert, that I adore outings. What did you have in mind?”

My brow rose and I leaned forward straining to hear his answer.

“Do you think it wise to listen—”

Mr. Coven’s warm breath tickled the exposed flesh on my neck. Good lord, was the man blind in his other eye as well? Could he not see I was trying to listen?

“Sssh.” I leaned away from him so as not to be further distracted. I wanted Master Archibald to sweep her into his arms and take her right there on his grand high-brow, polished mahogany desk.

He cleared his throat. My shoulders slumped in despair.

“Perhaps the opera? A picnic, it matters not, I will let you decide. How long will it take you to arrange something?” he remarked.

“She wants more than a picnic, you ninny,” I whispered, wanting to butt my head against the wall behind me. Men could be so daft.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Coven leaned closer and I caught the scent of night air and sweet hay on his skin.

“I do love picnics, it’s true. That is a wonderful idea, but impossible to make before next Sunday, simply impossible.”

Her voice had returned to its normal submissive tone.

“Why don’t you check your schedule and see what can be arranged?”

I smiled. Perhaps the lure of nature would provide a healthy stimulant to their marriage.

“Come now, my sweet wife. I have been on a horse these many days and thought of nothing but you each time my crotch hit the saddle.”

I closed my eyes and smiled.
At last.
“Saints be praised,” I whispered.

“Are you of Catholic persuasion?” Mr. Coven whispered.

His hand rested on the wall near my head. I turned my back to the wall and sighed with relief. Perhaps there was yet hope for my mistress’s happiness. Mr. Coven’s question sank into my brain. “What? No, of course not, what gave you that notion? I have no religious affiliations, Mr. Coven, the Lord and I have an understanding.”

The light in the parlor faded, pitching Mr. Coven and me into an inky black darkness. The only light came from my lamp perched on the kitchen worktable.

Miss Farrington groused often that Master Archibald could afford electricity, but the mistress preferred the romance of firewood and kerosene lighting. Certainly there was more labor involved for the help.

“An understanding?”

I waited until I heard the sound of their footsteps ascend the stairs before I allowed myself to move. My gaze lifted up to Mr. Coven’s staring down at me, a mere inch or two from my face. “My religion, Mr. Coven, like my concern for my mistress, is none of your affair.”

I made my way carefully to the butler’s sideboard where the silver box lay open. So many times had I put them away, it took little time, even in the dark, to return each piece. I shut the lid with firm resolve and buckled the leather straps in place.

I would have forgotten his presence had he not moved from the shadows to block my return to the kitchen. His dark eye glittered in the low light.

“Forgive me, Miss Cozette, if my comment was ill-timed. I meant no harm. But you must tell me, is this concern you have for our mistress one that the rest of the staff should be aware of?”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Coven and in turn extend my apologies for being so cross. As to the rest, I have no comment and now if you’ll excuse me, I have greater concerns pressing on my mind. My day starts very early as I’m sure does yours. May I bid you good-night?”

As I attempted to walk around him, he grabbed my arm and held me firm, though without inflicting pain.

“I was trying in my own rudimentary way, to apologize. I do find your concern for your mistress most admirable.”

His words uttered with his silky deep tone caused a shudder to ripple through my stomach, but I quickly dismissed it. “There is no need for apology. In truth, you are correct, I should not have eavesdropped on their private conversation.”

“But you expressed concern. What basis do you have for this?”

Dare I tell him that a woman of my background with little difficulty can recognize the hungry look of sexual need in another woman? The lifelessness in her eyes, the downward turn of her mouth. I could have given him many such examples but could not bring myself to share with him all I had witnessed in my former employment. Much less the scores of men I’d seen pay handsomely for a woman while away from their homes on business. Many who stopped by with great frequency for a night of carnal exploration that they would not dream of asking of their wives. Perhaps, if they did there would be less need for brothels.

“I cannot say with any proof of my concerns, but my feminine instinct,” I clarified, “warns me on occasion.”

“I see and I can accept that, Miss Cozette. What is your feminine instinct telling you at this very moment?”

There it was again, an elusive all-male challenge sliding covertly into an otherwise normal conversation. Well, almost normal. His insistence to try to startle me with his baited comments causes me to, I daresay, pity the poor man.

Not that I found him repulsive, he was quite handsome despite the mysterious flaw he wore beneath the patch. He was most agreeably built, strong and virile, with long legs, and muscular thighs and firm buttocks in his tight riding breeches. Blessed with a narrow waist and broad shoulders, his gait too was quite impressive. Not with the same swaggering confidence as François, but with purpose that is admirable for any man.

Despite my thoughts of Mr. Coven’s stellar qualities, I could not reveal them here in the dark with him standing so very, very near.

“My instinct, sir, is warning me of an early sunrise. And with the master leaving tomorrow, I venture your day will come as early.”

He released my arm and stepped toward me, leaning his hand on the wall as he pinned me with his intense gaze.

“Perhaps we should make ourselves a cup of tea and watch the sun rise from the garden gazebo?”

I opened my mouth to speak but chose better and shut it determining I would not be afraid of the advance or aroused by his offer.

He is without a fiendish bone in his well-honed body and were I not determined that one day François and I were destined to be together, Mr. Coven might well scatter my wits like marbles on a polished floor.

My discomfort at present, I realized, had more to do with not seeing François for a considerable length of time. And as much as I hate to admit being lured by his aristocratic manner, and perhaps his wealth (I cannot lie!) I have most assuredly missed the regal scent of his skin, despite my brief tryst in London. That I resolved to be of benevolent duty to one shipping off to military service. In truth, I am not sure that I am more obsessed with the “idea” of François and I, more than the reality of it occurring. Either way it is not a discussion I wish to have with Mr. Coven in the middle of the night.

“I bid you good-night, Mr. Coven.” I left him standing in the dark hall as I grabbed the lamp from the kitchen counter. With a last look over my shoulder as I descended the stairs I saw him pass behind me headed to the back door. The open door illuminated his massive silhouette against the moon shining outside.

“Good night, Miss Cozette,” he said quietly and left.

I could hear Miss Farrington’s gentle snoring next door. I quickly undressed and scribbled this entry before crawling beneath my covers. It has been a most unusual last few days.

~A.C.B.