The Diary of Cozette (26 page)

It has been little more than a week since Mr. Rodin and his aunt arrived. In this time, I have posed for our talented guest on more than one occasion. However, given the torrential passion betwixt us, we made an amiable decision that henceforth all my sittings should be fully clothed.

It was working until today when Mr. Rodin chose to sketch me at the pond, asking me to walk into the water fully clothed. I had come to accept his quirks as his creative genius, and thankfully, it was a warm autumn day.

I sloshed into the water, aware of the sun sparkling across its glassy surface. I trailed my hands through the water raising them high in joyous abandon. Sufficiently sodden, I smiled and glanced over my shoulder. “Is this what you want, Mr. Rodin?” My nipples tightened perhaps from a breeze or the look of sheer lust in Mr. Rodin’s eyes.

“Miss Cozette, I must admit that you are as tempting a morsel with your clothes on as when they are absent.”

“I remind you sir, of the agreement between us.”

“I ask you kind woman that you not remind me of the insanity to which I agreed, for I am in utter agony at this very moment.”

“Mr. Rodin, you are no better than a young schoolboy, unable to control your urges.” I smiled, easing the water through my hand and stood drenched in my thin frock.

He stood, prying off his shoes and socks and tearing his clothes off as he strode naked down the hill and into the water toward me.

My gaze widened as I hid my smile.

“It is true, Miss Cozette, think me as you wish but see how I burn for you. Would you, seeing my anguish, have no sympathy for my plight?”

He stood to his knees in the water without a stitch of clothing, the prize of his lack of control pointed at my belly. “Perhaps a dip will ease your fire, Mr. Rodin. I shoved him back into the water with such force that I stumbled back and fell on the muddy bottom.

I scrambled up, weak from laughter, and sloshed through the water toward the bank. My foot, snagged by Mr. Rodin’s hand, forced me to the ground and I heard his laughter behind me.

I fell to my back, my hair splayed like a siren’s, wet and clinging to my skin. My smile faded, hearing his laughter, a twitch caught my heart unexpectedly and I swallowed for the lump that rose sudden in my throat.

“Miss Cozette, have I hurt you? Oh, good woman, please understand that was not my intent.”

He checked my ankle and I propped on my elbows staring at him for a moment. “I am well, Mr. Rodin, no harm done. Nevertheless, sir, what precisely was your intent?”

His beautiful amber-colored eyes lighted on mine, his mouth spreading into a wicked grin.

It was a most enjoyable experience, dear Mr. Rodin showing me without reservation and indeed with exquisite clarity, how utterly beautiful is the autumn in the country as my gaze focused on the bronze and red leaves above my head, melding with the bright blue autumn sky.

A scream tore loose from my mouth as my body splintered apart with my climax, setting free a group of birds in the trees above.

I am not sure I recall if he ever picked up his sketching papers this afternoon.

~Lady C.

We are much alike, Mr. Rodin and I, a slave to our passion. For him, it is a brush or a piece of charcoal and for me, well, in truth, and it may come as a shock for those who may one day read this, but for me, it is the pleasure of sex. There you have it, plain and simple, and it is of no use to deny it.

True, I suppose I could dwell on the lost long love of my life, wishing for a ghost, pining away the prime of my youth with those things that might have been. Instead, I prefer (and this I owe to Mr. Rodin) to live in this moment, to grasp life’s pleasures as they present themselves.

I should very much like to present the same suggestion to my mistress, for though she involves herself most heartily in her charitable work, she neglects the part of her that makes her who she is.

Over afternoon tea, Mrs. Farrington informs me that she has spoken to other house servants and discovered that masters of these households force their wives to visit men of medicine, physicians whose sole purpose it is to quell unexplained bouts of hysteria in these women. She heard that one physician had even refused to continue seeing one woman, stating it was taking too long for her to respond to his treatments, taking time away from his other patients. Poor woman, she could have benefited greatly from Charmise’s leather
diletto.

Why then is it acceptable for a man to have a mistress, who indeed he pokes with great frequency, and who also must respond in a like manner (though perhaps with not as much enthusiasm) as his wife? Is it because the whore is expected to have such obvious spasms due to her position in life? Is it that the proper woman is unable to possess desire, or enjoy the frequency of a man? Dear lord, I am most happy that I am not held imprisoned by such ridiculous notions, and I know that I risk not becoming the socially responsible good lady that my mistress deeply desires for me, but I cannot be anything less than who I am.

Not that I have not often thought what it might be like to be settled to one man and have a child. Nevertheless, to enter into the sanctity of the marriage bed for this reason alone, and not for its equal and passionate joy therein, is not reasonable. (At least to me!)

I have come to the conclusion that any man to whom I would make such a commitment would not only see my passion fully, but on a frequent basis so he would have no will or energy for anyone other than me!

Perhaps I was born too soon for I believe the winds of change will come, though doubtless long after I am cold in a grave. Until then, it is my fervent determination to embrace my life and its passion, and if it should come attached with a cock, then so better to embrace it by.

Now to my work, as Mrs. Farrington will be watching to see I’ve hung out the morning laundry.

~Lady C.

The skies, otherwise blue, are mottled with low, gray clouds. It is further evidence of the certainty of winter. The winds have turned sharp and my walks to the meadow where the horses once grazed are barren, with the majority of the horses being sent to warmer climates. Mrs. Farrington tells me that Mr. Coven again has determined to keep a few horses behind and he hopes for a mild winter.

This news comes on the heels of my mistress announcing she intends to stay on at the manor through the winter. After the events of last year, she is not ready yet to face the throng of the season. She has yet to determine whether she intends to have her annual holiday gathering, though with the tension between her and the master, I do not see how this could work satisfactorily.

Mrs. Farrington has concerns of the weather, duly understood, as her dear husband might well have greater difficulty in making it home should he be granted leave. The frequency of his visits has dwindled considerably, making Mrs. Farrington fidget with worry.

She speaks too of the farmers from whom she buys vegetables and fruits who state that the weather has all the earmarks of a snowy winter. I have never seen a winter of heavy snow, but Mrs. Farrington informs me that even now, Mr. Coven is preparing by going deep into the woods for fallen trees to chop for firewood.

I admit that part of me looks forward to the challenge and it may yet give me the opportunity to speak to Mr. Coven of my proposal and indeed implement such an affair in our eminently sequestered state.

Scandalous!
I can hear the shrill cry of those who may one day read this journal and question how a housemaid could, with any conscience, plot such hideous suggestions against the sanction of marriage laws. Yet, in my view, though not encouraged—except perhaps by Mr. Rodin—to speak freely of the matter, what portion of the marriage vows has my master upheld? For months, ever since the incident at the picnic, he and Lady Archibald have barely uttered three words to each other. Good heavens, before that they slept in separate beds! What manner of a commitment is that, may I ask? And should my mistress, who is yet young (at least by personal standards), be denied the very pleasures of life? If Mr. Rodin’s visit has done nothing for the steadiness of my hand with a brush, then it has most certainly taught me that we are passionate creatures that should embrace our opportunities.

For this reason, I find our winter stay merely an opportunity to encourage a secret tryst between Mr. Coven and my mistress, and with any luck, I shall see the sparkle in my mistress’s eye.

Mrs. Farrington and I speak not often regarding Mistress Archibald’s personal affairs, but we do agree that she spends far too much time with her charities and too little time on her personal joy. Moreover, would that we could all have good fortune of the enthusiastic personal joys of which Mr. and Mrs. Farrington partake! Poor Mr. Farrington’s last leave was shortened by his pressing duty and thus the entire evening I bid my time in the servants’ room, attending to the mending into the wee hours of the morning.

An exciting turn! This week I received a parcel from Charmise, still in London at Madam Rose’s where I’d first met her. She sent a package with our deliveryman and once in the privacy of my room, I opened it in haste, to find much to my surprise, one of the devices Charmise often spoke of. It was made of fine leather, polished smooth, and shaped quite to my surprise correct to the rigid member of a man, though of average length, I must point out. It was true that in my recent experiences, which I’d not written Charmise of, I had seen larger.

Good wishes for a happy birthday. Living in the country can prove a challenge to even the most passionate woman. Enjoy my gift in good health. Passionately yours, Charmise.

A shiver ran up my spine as I lifted the formidable object to eye level, inspecting it carefully.

At present, my month with Mr. Rodin has been most satisfactory, though our trysts kept highly secret. Still, when I think of the bleak winter months to come, Charmise’s thoughtful gift may well become of greater use.

~Lady C.

I turned my face to the heavens, my face warming from the brief glimpse of sun. I so love the crisp fall air and these days when all of nature seems preparing to tuck itself beneath a blanket of white.

“Miss Cozette, I’ve come to bid you farewell. Lady Graham and I must take our leave.”

I opened my eyes as Mr. Rodin’s body blocked the sun. His amber-colored eyes gazed down on me with hunger.

“I would be lying, Miss Cozette, if I were to say that at this very moment, your beauty, surrounded by the out of doors, doesn’t cause me to think of naughty things.”

My eyes widened. “Mr. Rodin,” I whispered as I shook out another of the bed linens. “You must not say such things so openly. You might be heard.”

He pressed his finger to his mouth as though keeping a secret, yet his grin and his eyes were both most wicked.

“As if your scream, miss, did not carry across these very hills not so long ago, do you recall?”

“Mr. Rodin, I beg you—”

He raised his hand and reached to touch my cheek, but I stepped away.

“Very well, then. But I surmise that you are unwilling to offer a parting kiss, between…friends, nay, artistic partners?”

I cannot say with truth that I did not entertain one last passionate romp with him. The high boxwood hedge provided a measure of privacy, but I shook my head, dismissing the notion. It was simply too risky, which made it al together more difficult to resist the temptation.

“Mr. Rodin, have you not achieved the purpose for which you came? Lady Graham has her paintings for her auction, and soon you will have your fame.”

“Miss Cozette, you wound me to think that you mean nothing more to me than a mere autumn romp…if you permit me, a most glorious autumn romp.”

“Indeed.” I snapped a pair of Mrs. Farrington’s pantaloons and eyed him warily. He reached down and plucked a single wild violet from the grass at my feet.

“Miss Cozette, do not let the world, even me if so be the case, rob you of the beauty of romance. It is in the heart most assuredly and it is what fuels the passion to awaken each day.”

“Your words, kind sir, do not fall on deaf ears. I shall remember them well each dawn as I empty the bedpans.” I chuckled as I shook my head.

He took my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Have I not taught you anything these past few weeks? Your passion runs deep, Cozette, your skill with a brush is natural and pure. Please tell me you will nurture this when I am gone.”

“Mr. Rodin, once you are gone, I am quite certain my days of leisure are most decidedly numbered.” I held his gaze and saw the flicker of sorrow in his eyes. Short of marrying him, apparently not a feasible notion, there was little else for either of us than for him to return to his work and me to return to my duties as housemaid. I have accepted my position, and poor Mr. Rodin, I fear, has not.

He clasped his hands behind his back, parting his waistcoat in such a way so I was unable to avert my eyes from the alluring bulge of his breeches.

“You will then be accompanying your mistress to London to attend Lady Graham’s charity ball, will you not? I would indeed take great pleasure in seeing you again.”

“She has not yet spoken of it, Mr. Rodin.” I swallowed and forced my gaze back to his knowing and sinful grin.

“I do hope you’ll consider it. It is my understanding that Mistress Archibald intends to stay the winter here in the country.” His gaze lifted, assessing the view around us. “Pity, I hear winter in the country can be dreadfully cold and lonely. I’m quite certain that by spring, a woman of your…passion will enjoy a broader range of social activities.”

“Such as dancing?” I glanced at him and he studied my face with extreme fondness. Far better had he not, for I found my regard for Mr. Rodin becoming more involved than I had planned.

“That was one of the activities I thought of.”

“You are a rogue, Mr. Rodin.”

His smile was sly as he bowed before me. “Thank you, Miss Cozette. Indeed, perhaps we are much more alike in nature than is realized. No doubt the very reason we get on so well. Exceedingly well, if I may be so bold.”

My cheeks burned; even though I could not deny that he was an amazing lover and taught me much about pleasure, it was clear that our lives were at different places.

“I trust your stay was pleasant then?” I draped another bed linen over the line, creating a barrier between us. He brushed back the cloth and stepped close offering me a lopsided boyish grin. My heart began a steady cadence to his heated gaze. Damn the man.

“You know that it was.”

He brushed his finger down my cheek and over the front of my bodice. My gaze darted to the open kitchen door, fearful that Master Archibald might appear.

“Mr. Rodin, you are a fine artist and your paintings—”

“Even those of a certain satisfied, most passionate woman?” he asked quietly, inching closer.

“Perhaps, those may yet one day hang in a grand museum. I am sure that your talents will make you quite noteworthy in social circles.” I dared to glance up at him, clutching Mrs. Farrington’s sodden stockings to my breast.

“And pray tell good woman, how will my other talents be remembered?”

His gaze raked over me, clinging to my lips, parched now with dryness. “Mr. Rodin, this is most unwise.” My throat was parched, so much so that I could not speak above a whisper. True it was, I was caught in his spell.

“So you tried to tell me many times in these past weeks, and did I even once heed your warnings?”

“Not one.” His tenacity and charm were an impossible force to reckon with, though I suspicion my resolve was weak the moment he walked up to me.

“And would you say that you hold regret for any of those times I blatantly disregarded your…warnings?” His persistence had backed me to the brick wall of the back of the wash house. “I do hope you don’t regret our stolen moments together?”

His face lowered to my neck, his kisses warm and moist playing dangerous on my skin. I could not deny the rapture of his heated kisses against the crisp fall breeze blowing through the courtyard.

“Indeed, Mr. Rodin.” I was breathless. “Moments are not all that you’ve stolen.”

The fingers that I’d come to know most intimately made haste to turn the buttons of my blouse, leaving my apron to hide from view the exquisite caresses he gave to my breasts.

I closed my eyes in utter bliss, straining forward to fill his hands. “Mr. Rodin, how dare you come to me in this manner and stir my emotions, and leave me hot with need?”

“As I hoped you would say, milady. It would not be proper of me to leave you in such a state.”

His mouth captured mine as he hooked his fingers in my drawers and with a quick tug pulled them down. A cool wind swirled around my thighs, licking at my exposed flesh. My peach wept as I waited for him to free his pride from the confines of his breeches.

“What about Lady Graham?” I choked out in a whisper, my eyes widening as he sprung forth into the chill of the November morn.

“She is interrogating the cook for her scone recipe. Brrr.” He grinned, lifting my skirts over his arms. “Keep me warm, milady.”

He lifted me in his arms, bracing my back against the cold stone of the wall as he shoved inside me, hesitating but a moment to adjust my legs around his waist.

I rested my head back, my face turned up to the sun, his soft moans of satisfaction drifting over my mind. I clung to his neck and crossed my ankles at his waist, staying in cadence with his thrusts, delighting in the familiar dark smoke rising inside me. He was the essence of my greatest joy, one of the most honest lovers I’d ever know, and the most compassionate.

His fingers cupped my bottom, teasing my slick folds where our bodies joined. Holding back a scream of pleasure, I came undone, milking him with my tight sheath, my body shuddering most joyfully.

“I shall never forget what a remarkable woman you are, Miss…Co-zette.”

He pressed his magnificent cock deep, shooting into me, even as his mouth found mine in a farewell kiss that summoned yet another shudder from me.

I believed him at his word.

We both dressed in haste and with the same haste he placed a kiss on my forehead and wove through the laundry toward the back door. He paused on the step and looked back at me.

“Be sure that Mrs. Farrington provides you with one of her scones for your journey. You know how your aunt so loves them.”

He hesitated, his hand on the door frame, his gaze and his smile warm.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Cozette.”

“Be well, Mr. Rodin.” I offered a proper curtsy, and covered my mouth to hide my smile. Even now, my drawers were damp with evidence of our tryst. Not since Ernest had I considered the type of man that would make me reconsider my position on marriage. Mr. Rodin might, were it not abundantly clear what a libertine he was.

He disappeared from view and my gaze skipped past the arbor where my eyes had caught a quick movement. However, upon further inspection, I determined it was only a breeze blowing the ivy that hung from the arbor.

I carried my empty basket to the servants’ quarters, and listened to the silence within the manor. All month, the rooms had been alive with laughter and talking and afternoon tea as Lady Graham and my mistress made plans for the charity ball.

Now only silence filled the rooms, with the exception of the methodical slap of the dough on the floured worktable, where Mrs. Farrington was busy preparing a pie for supper. “Mr. Rodin and his aunt have taken their leave, then?”

Her sturdy hands rolled and kneaded the cream-colored dough. She didn’t look up when I walked into the room.

“Yes, Jensen and Mistress Archibald are seeing them to the train station.”

She nodded, though I sensed she was thinking more than she let on. I offered nothing. Instead, plucking a berry from a bowl, I popped it into my mouth, my thoughts returning to my pleasure this morning.

“Miss Cozette?”

I was drawn from my trancelike state to Mrs. Farrington, who stood with her hand on her hip staring at me.

“Sorry, mum, I must not have heard your request, how may I be of service?”

Her lips grew thin, and then softened to a smile. “He was a nice man, wasn’t he?”

“Who, mum?” I replied.

“Mr. Rodin,” she remarked with a gleam in her eye.

Shocked, I suppose, that she should be asking me such things I responded with a shrug, so as not to reveal how exceptionally gifted I felt Mr. Rodin was. “I cannot say. I only sat as a study for his work.”

Her gaze grew intent and a knowing smile played on her lips.

“I’m not going to ask
where
indeed you sat for your studies, but I might advise that you see to it that your buttons are securely fastened. The housemaid’s uniform is meant for business, not as an enticement for hanky-panky, Miss Cozette.”

Shocked twice this morning, (not counting, of course, lovely Mr. Rodin) I glanced down and found my blouse gaping beneath my apron. In my haste to find my drawers, I’d forgotten. “My apologies, mum, I must have forgotten to fasten them this morning.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “Indeed. Just see to it that from now on, your uniform is intact…at all times.”

“Yes, mum.” I set to the task of fastening my blouse, and retying the apron so it lay properly over my skirts.

Mrs. Farrington went back to her pie-making and as I scrambled to determine if her warning was apt to get back to my mistress, she spoke without looking at me.

“So did it work, then?”

“Mum?”

“The uniform? And do not pretend that you don’t catch my meaning.”

I swallowed back a grin, my cheeks warming even as I averted my gaze from her steady blue eyes.

“It has a remarkable effect apparently.” Good heavens, was I just admitting to my superior the very nature of her suspicions? I held my breath for her certain reprimand of my behavior.

Her brows lifted and she went back to her task.

“Remind me to have a clean uniform the next time Mr. Farrington has shore leave.”

“Mrs. Farrington!”

“Indeed, Miss Cozette, do you think that all I do is cook around here?”

I dared not make remark to that. I smiled and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table. I think I could marry Mr. Rodin.

~Lady C.