The Diary of Cozette (21 page)

I liberally sprinkled the lavender oil that I use for the laundry in my bathwater this morning in anticipation of seeing François. I suppose that my behavior is not that of a mature woman, one confident of her place in life, but my youthful passion consumes me with the very thought of being with him again. In addition, after so long, I want our time together to be one he will cherish and remember always. Many a night I have looked out at the stars and wondered if he thought of me as I have thought of him. To this end, I intend to show him and if my courage permits me, tell him, of how deep are my feelings for him.

The incident between Mr. Coven and me is faded now with my thoughts focused on François and my memory of his body on mine. I find his passion noble, most exciting and so plan to utilize this later. He has remained perhaps conveniently absent for several weeks and perhaps for now it is best. It was not easy for me to reveal so hastily my feelings for another, especially in the presence of one as powerful and admirable as Mr. Coven. Further, how can I expect a man whose life revolves around horses and hay not to be overcome by his desires when left alone in the presence of a woman?

I suspect his absence has more to do with his bruised ego than anything else. Once I have spoken to François and admitted my highest regard for him, I will visit Mr. Coven and soothe over any misunderstandings between us. After that, I will begin my plans to propose to him that he take on my mistress as her secret lover.

“Cozette, are the baskets ready?”

My mistress flounced into the kitchen, her ruffled white parasol tucked over her shoulder like a soldier in her queen’s army. She was dressed in a pink-and-white striped skirt with matching jacket, looking very much like a porcelain doll in a toy shop. Despite the repeated delays by her husband to be present for the picnic that he had suggested months ago, it looks as though he will follow through this time.

“Jensen has the carriage and we are to meet Lord Deavereux and his party within the hour at the crossroads. Please hurry.”

Her face possesses an ethereal glow, radiant as I have ever seen. She is blushed with excitement. There is no doubt that there are certain events that please my mistress more than others. Outings are one of her favorite passions. In this, we are kindred spirits, she and I, for there is no greater splendor, no deeper sensuality than the freedom of being outdoors with a blanket, a bottle of wine and a lover.

“Straight away, mum, I am finishing with the last basket now.” I tucked an extra bottle of champagne in the basket and secured the lid. Picnics for the well-to-do are far different from those of ordinary social standing, as I had learned by observation. It had taken Lady Archibald more than three weeks to decide on a menu, send out the invitations and prepare the proper ensemble. All the while, I believe, praying that her husband would not sweep in and destroy her plans with yet another delay.

The trunk with blankets for the ground and the meal itself were fastened to the back of the carriage. I handed the last of the smaller dessert baskets up to Jensen, shading my eyes to the rising sun. I was surprised when Mr. Coven reached around Jensen and snatched the basket from my hand. He did not let his gaze linger, for which I am grateful. I want nothing to spoil this memorable day, one that may decidedly change my life forever.

With my book as a prop for my facade of sneaking away to read, I climbed into the carriage unable to quell my insistent collywobbles. My mistress followed, with Jensen’s assistance.

“You look especially radiant this morning, Cozette.”

My mistress arranged her skirts as she settled in the carriage seat across from me.

I nodded my head with a perfunctory smile, trying not to allow my excitement to show on my face. “Thank you, mum. May I return the compliment by saying I have never seen you look lovelier.”

Unlike my secretive measures, her smile in response was radiant and my heart, though still cautious of his bout of temper, grew hopeful that perhaps her husband had come around at last to treating her as she truly deserved.

Her gaze darted to her husband emerging from the house. He was dressed not for an outing, but for more of a business meeting in an all gray suit and coat, with matching derby. With him, he carried his walking stick.

She grabbed my hand and leaned forward, about to burst with excitement. “I am with child, Cozette. I cannot believe it. They thought me unable to conceive, but Robert insisted we try. It has been a rather long and difficult task.”

She hesitated, moistening her lips, her gaze unsure of how much she should reveal to her housemaid.

“Yet it has been a most pleasurable task nonetheless?” I suggested with a smile. I risked speaking to her with the same candor, but I wanted her to see my elation in her news. Whatever bond there was between us, it was discreet.

Her cheeks blushed crimson as her gaze dropped to her gloved hands.

“I am afraid I am not as well-versed in these things as a wife ought to be. My husband has been most patient with me.”

I held my tongue to my true thoughts on the matter regarding her husband. Her gaze lifted to mine with renewed joy.

“Surely it is by God’s design that this child has come to be,” she commented firmly, her bright eyes twinkling.

I wanted to remind her of her Christian belief that speaks of but one Immaculate Conception. I chose wisely to remain silent on this point. “Indeed, mum.”

The carriage listed to one side as Lord Archibald entered the carriage, taking the empty seat next to his glowing wife.

“Ah, Cozette, I see you are traveling inside with us today.”

It was his veiled way of showing his displeasure in the fact.

My mistress tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. He squeezed it as she smiled up at him and continued to hold the walking stick upright in front of him in stately fashion.

“My dear, with both Jensen and Mr. Coven occupying the driver’s seat where else would she ride?”

“And pray tell, madam, why is it again that Mr. Coven joins us?”

“You remember Jensen’s accident last week with the bales of hay that fell on him? The pain in his back persists. I felt it would not be wise to invite further complications, but he insisted on driving today.”

Lord Archibald frowned, but did not look at her and I surmised, given his lack of attention to his wife, that perhaps she had not yet surprised him with her latest news.

“Very well.” He tapped the carriage roof with his walking stick and the carriage rocked as it started down the stone path to the gates.

I watched my mistress look upon her husband with adoring eyes, and took note of how he held himself rigid from her touch. Perhaps she was closer to speaking the truth about divine conception than I previously thought.

Our carriage arrived first at the shady intersection where we were to meet François and his guest. My stomach fluttered in anticipation as I watched his carriage approach and then stop before us. When the door opened, my disappointment couldn’t have been greater. “Betsy?” I muttered quietly as I watched François assist her with his hand from his carriage. When I heard that Lord Deavereux’s guest was an aspiring theater actor, I assumed most readily it would be a man.

Betsy’s smile was bright as François made his introductions to my master and mistress, his gaze briefly flitting over Jensen, Mr. Coven, and me before he focused on the beauty beside him.

“I want to thank you both for making me feel so welcome,” she said sweetly. “You are most kind to include me on your picnic. I am mesmerized with the beauty of the countryside. I am afraid my schedule does not permit much time for such pleasures.”

“Oh, François, she is simply delightful. Miss Livengood, you must tell us all about your work on stage. I simply must hear your thoughts on the latest in the American theater.”

I watched silently from my veiled vantage point behind my mistress, astounded at Betsy’s transformation from a skinny, frightened girl to the elegant woman that stood before the small group, feigning her humility. There was something in the way her familiar gaze swept back to Master Archibald as the four spoke of menial topics and my instinct cautioned that perhaps my master and Betsy might already be acquainted.

Her blond ringlets were upswept from her neck and captured with ornate combs encrusted with pearls and beads. The pale heart-shaped mouth that I remembered holding audience in quite another fashion was painted red, and a paler version of the same color dotted her high cheekbones. Her frock was a deep emerald-green, a rich color that accentuated her ivory complexion and pale blue eyes. Her bodice was cinched as tight as I daresay her breathing would allow around her tiny waist.

She was an elegant, delicate creature amid a rural setting that made her beauty even more apparent. It was obvious too, that she did not recognize me. Perhaps because my hair is now to my shoulders and I had it pulled back in a braid. I have gained back some of the weight I had lost while in London and I surmise the fresh air has been kind in putting the color in my cheeks.

“Well, we should get started if we want to eat before the heat of the day.” My mistress turned to the waiting coach and hesitated for her husband to aid her into the carriage. By fortune, Jensen stood at the ready and offered his hand with a cordial bow. Lady Archibald lowered her gaze to her feet and accepted his hand, not once looking back. If she had, she would have seen her husband assessing Lord Deavereux’s team with great interest, his gaze diverting to inside the carriage now and again.

I stepped into the carriage behind my mistress and we waited less than a minute before her husband joined us, apologizing with all earnestness for not seeing her in. I did not let on that I did not trust his tongue any more than I did the rest of him.

Were it not for the minimal breeze, the heat of the noonday would have easily ended my mistress’s plans. A lovely spot was chosen on a grassy knoll high above a secluded pond. A narrow path wound through a grove of trees, berry bush, and wildflowers to the soft dirt beach below.

The food was spread out on blankets and I served the three-course meal, making it a point each time to let my gaze linger on Betsy as I served her. If she recognized me, she did not let it show, but once or twice, I caught Lord Deavereux’s mouth lift in a slight smile.

Jensen and Mr. Coven had unhitched the teams and taken them farther down the lane to water and graze them. Mrs. Farrington had packed them a lunch as well though not of the same caliber of the Archibald menu, but adequate indeed for “my two men,” as she oft times called them.

I had come to respect them all, this staff that so dutifully served their employers without question and who had developed a loyalty that sometimes resulted in sacrifice.

Though our relationship remains one of master and servant, I know there is little I would not do for my mistress. My reasons were, at first, from guilt, and then propriety and now as caretaker of the character of the woman I have come to admire as a confidant.

I served champagne (at least two glasses each, if I recall) to all except my mistress, who with a quiet smile declined.

As I gathered the dishes and linens together, I kept an eye to my mistress and master as they made their way to the blanket spread beneath the tree. I wondered if she was about to share the news and I cleaned in haste, so as not to disturb them.

A high-pitched giggle caught my attention and I spied François leading Betsy down the wooded path toward the pond. Her gait was noticeably unstable and she giggled again, causing a rakish smile to grace his face. I could not stare after them, nor let my employers see that I was at all interested, though my stomach churned at the thought of François placing his hands on any other woman. I forced my gaze to scraping the waste off the plates and returning them to the basket padded by two dish towels.

With the expertise that Mrs. Farrington taught me, I folded each napkin and the tablecloth after shaking them, and readied them in a separate basket for laundering.

A few yards away my mistress loosened her bonnet and yawned as she placed her hand on her husband’s cheek.

“I need to nap for a few moments, my darling. I am suddenly overwhelmed by the heat. Please do not allow me to nap long however, there is something I wish to share with you that I believe will please you immensely.”

“I’ll sit here beside you, madam, and when you awaken you can tell me.”

He sat down beside her and leaned his back against the tree. Soon his eyes as well as my mistress’s had drifted shut.

I did not wish to intrude on their privacy and with Mr. Coven and Jensen still away I set aside concerns for propriety and snuck through the thick brush to see if I could spy on Betsy and François.

I followed the path where I’d seen them disappear and at the end stepped cautiously into a patch of soft green grass that rose to the height of my hip. I saw no one at first and my heart sank with the possibilities of what the tall grass might be hiding from view.

The pond stretched far to the opposite bank, calm and sparkling under the endless early-summer sky. A splash caught my eye and I waited with my hand shading my eyes as François’s torso bobbed upright from the water. My heart stilled at seeing his naked body, my gaze mesmerized with watching the glistening rivulets of water sliding down his muscular torso. He stood waist-deep and I knew intimately what treasure lay beneath the watery surface.

I blinked away my lustful thoughts as my gaze searched the banks for Betsy. A cold dread curled in my gut as my eyes drew back to François. I held my breath, waiting for Betsy to appear at his side. Instead he began to pull through the water toward the bank, unaware he had an audience, and I must admit, a most avid and appreciative one to be sure.

Rapt with anticipation, I watched as he emerged like a water god from the lake. His great sword lying against his thigh caused the juncture betwixt my legs to throb with need. His dark hair lay plastered to his strong neck, spilled over his shoulders, and my gaze drew to the bulge of his arms as he raked his sodden hair away from his face. He was majestic in form, a rare human work of art, perfectly sculpted and deliciously tempting.