She snuggled her backside close, causing her dressing gown to gap open, revealing her bare leg. Reaching back, she took my arm and draped it over her, grasping my hand in hers and drawing under her chin. I wondered if this is how she and the master had once slept, cocooned to one another, true soul mates, oblivious to the turns life would give them.
I watched for a time the shadows flicker on the wall. The room, exquisitely designed, was soft and feminine like the woman herself.
Her hand moved to her breast and so too mine. I shifted gently attempting to move my fingers from her plump warmth, but she held my hand firm. Her breathing was steady, dictated by her quiet slumber.
I do not know even now what prompted me to do what I did next, for the intent was for no other desire than to release the demons of self-doubt in her. She was in a deep brandy-induced sleep, perhaps dreaming of better days. My head told me to leave, my heart, aching for this woman’s ego, chose to stay.
I brushed my finger slightly over the soft peak of her tender breast and sensed it happily grow stiff with my attention. A sweet moan emitted quietly from her throat as she slept, dreaming, I hoped, of a phantom lover.
I licked my lips, sure that if I could practice well the skill of performing pleasure to myself, why not to another most in need of the same? I eased my hand over her thigh, slipping beneath the gap in her robe, moving with unhurried care to the soft dampness of her mons.
In her inebriated slumber, she sighed and shifted her legs, allowing greater exposure.
Soft and gently, with far less fervor than to myself, I stroked her, until her folds kissed my finger with dew. Her breathing grew labored in her sleep, soft mewls escaping her parted lips. I continued, her hips moving only slightly against mine, but I knew she was nearing the edge of her release. At that moment, I wished I had thought to bring Charmise’s fine French diletto with me.
I stroked deeper until at last her body shuddered with a soft high-pitched sigh. A moment later, her breathing returned to the steady sound of her slumber.
I eased from the bed and drew the covers over her, standing for a moment watching her sleep. Looking down at her face, eased now from her stress, I found the memories of my lovers, Ernest, Andrew, Mr. Rodin and François, leaving me with a dull ache, the memories of my delicious encounters with each one flooding my mind. Perhaps a shot of brandy was what I needed.
Or Mr. Coven?
I tiptoed quietly to the door.
“Miss Cozette?” My mistress called through the shadow in a groggy voice.
“Yes, mum?”
“Thank you.”
I smiled. “Sleep well, mum.”
“Yes.”
I closed the door gently behind me.
~Lady C.
Later, December 23, 1874
“I have need to speak with Mr. Coven on the state of the firewood in the master bedroom.” I strode past Mrs. Farring ton, aware she watched me as I snatched my shawl from the back of the door.
“Would it better to wait until morning? The wind is fierce and is whipping the snow around out there—there now, listen, you can hear it. How is our mistress?”
I held my hand to the door latch, confident in my response. “She’ll sleep sound and by morning I think we’ll see the light in her eyes.”
“Oh, wonderful, that is good news,” she clucked. “Perhaps I should include a nice winter squash soup for Christmas dinner. That’s one of her favorites.”
I knew she would barely notice, except for a brief rush of wind, that I’d gone.
I drew my shawl over my head, wrapping my face against the bitter cold. The snow swirled in spirals in front of me, and for a moment I feared that I might get lost in the short distance to the stables and wind up frozen by morning. Only the thought of what I would say to Mr. Coven if I arrived there succeeded the former concern. Perhaps with any luck, no words at all would be necessary. I spied the familiar trees, and followed their path all the way to the barn, grateful to be able to make out the barn door. I pushed against it and realized that it was secured, likely braced from inside. I stood only a moment in the blistering wind and thought whether it was wiser to return to the house and be content with my birthday gift.
I turned and pounded my fist on the door, my efforts barely discernable over the drone of the winter wind. It seemed an eternity, but at last the door opened and there stood Mr. Coven, a rifle in his hand and a perplexed look on his face.
“Miss Cozette? Is everything all right at the house?”
He drew me in and shut the door behind me as I stood shivering with my shawl wrapped tight around me. “Yes, it’s fine, but Mr. Coven, I need to speak with you.”
I glanced up to see him put aside the rifle in its berth, and in two strides he was upon me, his mouth on mine in a kiss meant for passion that would not be denied. I fought the need inside me, searching for the nobility of my reason for coming, but succumbed most willingly to his determined kisses.
“Come with me,” he spoke, his breathing labored as was mine.
It was not a request, nor given as command. Still, I needed to speak to him first. “Mr.—”
He grabbed my hand and led me to the ladder, reaching for me as he scaled it much faster than I’d seen anyone before. With my intent as weak as my legs, I followed him up the ladder to his loft, seeing the soft glow of his kerosene lamp by his nightstand, his covers turned back, likely still warm from where he’d been reading.
Without a word, he pulled me against his chest and lowered his head, capturing my mouth and my breath at once. It struck me as wholly familiar, but entirely not right that I should be here like this. My fingers fisted his shirtsleeves, matching his fevered kisses.
“You must know how many times I have wanted to bring you here, how I have ached to have your body joined to mine,” he whispered, pressing his lips to my forehead.
Dizzy yet from his overwhelming passion, the image flashed in my mind most welcome, yet something compelled me for the first time perhaps in my life, to stop and think, before leaping into a man’s bed. But this was not about my needs, but my mistress. I stumbled back, distancing from his advances.
Determination, however noble, was most difficult as I held his intense gaze. It was then I saw the fine line between friends and lovers that we’d crossed. But this could not transpire. My mistress is why I had come. I held to the edge of a nearby chair as I pulled my scattered thoughts together.
“You don’t recognize me?” he queried with an intense gaze.
I swallowed, but kept my distance and shook my head. “Should I?” His behavior this evening was most aggressive. Mr. Coven was generally mild-mannered. His unexplained display of passion, though hard to deny, was a bit frightening. He stared at me.
“Are you quite certain you didn’t come here for another reason, Cozette?”
I took a step closer to the opening. “Mr. Coven, I know we’ve had our differences and while your kiss was most enjoyable, we agreed our relationship should be business. I came here tonight to speak to you about matters concerning our mistress.”
He took a step toward me as if to say something and then turned away. “My apologies, frightening you was not my intent.”
“Plainly sir, I understand your intent.” I laughed, hoping to lighten the odd mood between us. Clearly he was lonely for companionship.
“Indeed, what other reason would you risk coming to visit me in the midst of a blinding snowstorm? Perhaps you are not aware of the wolf packs that run this time of year?”
My gaze followed as he walked past me and into the shadows of the opposite end of the room. “No, I wasn’t thinking of that—”
“Why did you come here, Cozette?” he snapped at me.
I bit my fingernail, I was at present most scattered with regard to my reason for being here. His bold advances, combined with his curious statement, left me bewildered. “My mistress,” I replied, gathering my purpose again. “I came to offer you a proposition.”
“A propositi
on?”
I could not see his face in the shadows, though I strained to make him out. The wind howled, startling me and I wrapped my shawl tight around my shoulders.
“You should get warm, your shawl is soaked. Hang it there over the chair to dry.”
“I’m fine. I’ll leave if you prefer.” I had a measure of pride and apart from his strange greeting, his sudden dismissal of it, or me, was even more puzzling.
“Nonsense, get into my bed.”
“Mr. Coven. That is not my proposition.”
“Nor mine, miss. But as I am not about to walk you back to the house in this vile weather, you will sleep in my bed tonight.”
“And where you will sleep, Mr. Coven?” It was by far the strangest conversation I’d ever had with a man. In most every experience I’d had with a potential bed partner, there was no question of who would sleep where, provided that anyone slept at all.
“I’ll stay here in my chair. You have my word, Miss Cozette, I won’t take advantage of the situation.”
I inched toward the bed, laying my wet shawl over the footstool nearby. The sight of the thick feather mattress with its dark green brocade and cream quilts piled high was a king’s bed in comparison to mine.
“Are you quite sure, Mr. Coven?”
“I haven’t slept yet and daresay will not now. I can read in my chair with the same ease. Besides, I’m keeping watch for wolves.”
I smiled at his sarcasm, but the thought of losing my way in the storm and the snarling of a wolf, pushed me to crawl between the blankets in haste, pulling them up around my neck. I sat facing the darkness where I’d seen him walk, but his presence emerging once again from the shadows made my breath catch. I shifted the covers higher, seeing the flicker of passion dissipate in him.
“You should have a blanket and here, take your lamp. It is most kind of you, Mr. Coven, to offer me your chambers.”
He did not acknowledge me as he walked direct to the massive wardrobe and pulled out a blanket. I averted my gaze when he reached for the lamp. From the corner of my eye, I noticed his hand hesitate before picking it up.
“Mr. Coven?” His gaze met mine. One eye glittered dark in the lamplight. “What of Mrs. Farrington? What will she think when I do not return?”
“The same, I suspect, that she thinks when you sneak off with Lord Deavereux, miss.”
I let out a small gasp. How did he know?
There was no feeling in his tone nor in his gaze. He turned to leave and paused looking over his shoulder. “My apologies, miss. Plainly it is none of my affair.”
“You are quite forgiven, sir,” I replied. At least he was a gentleman in that regard. Though I knew not why he should be so irritable when it came to Lord Deavereux. That was a position I alone held since our falling out.
“Oh, dear woman, not for my comment, that I stated most plainly. I apologize for not hearing out your proposition.”
My mouth dropped open and I snapped it shut in haste. I would not entertain the subject of my affairs with François, long dead anyway. As if Mr. Coven would care. “My mistress, as you may clearly be aware, has suffered greatly these past few months.”
“I am aware, yes.”
He nodded, the blanket clasped in one hand, the lamp in the other.
“You are also aware that she and the master have been separated since the incident at the picnic.”
“Yes, I was aware, but felt it none of my affair to dwell on the matter.”
“Nor I, sir, as Mistress Archibald’s handmaid she has come to place her confidential affairs in my trust.”
His expression clouded with his frustration and he shifted his blanket. It was evident he was not keen to my meaning.
“It would seem she should question her position on that.”
I tried to find a sensible way to explain.
“Understand sir, that I have considered the risk involved in what I am about to ask of you.”
His gaze was intent, causing butterflies to skitter about inside my belly, but I forged ahead with nothing more than my mistress’s good health in mind.
“She is in dire need of persuasion, sir.”
“Persuasion?”
“She needs to sense our loyalty, Mr. Coven. Her heart has been bruised most dreadfully and the heart of a woman scorned is one that is most difficult to mend.”
He glanced away and returned his gaze to mine. “I am sure that the mistress is more resilient than you give her credit for, Miss Cozette.”
“She needs to be wooed, Mr. Coven.”
He laughed aloud, stopping once to study me and resumed his laughter without restraint. Despite my earlier misgivings about him, I could not help but smile at the rich tone of his laughter resonating through the room.
“Woo…her, just so that my ears are not failing, you did say, woo her?”
“Indeed, all women crave it, Mr. Coven.”
“As much as it pains me to ask, Miss Cozette, what has this got to do with me?”
I held his gaze and saw the realization dawn. “You want me…to woo Mrs. Archibald?”
“Indeed, Mr. Coven. That is precisely what I’m requesting.” I could not have been happier to have anything laid out so plainly. The hard part was done, now it was a matter of setting up times when they could meet, though I hoped Mr. Coven would offer to step in with his thoughts on that.
“Are you daft, woman?”
I looked at him in surprise. Surely, he saw the reason in my request. It was simple enough. A few secret liaisons, a bit of naughty passion, most certainly a plan, brilliant if I must say, to restore her confidence. “Mr. Coven, where I come from, the men who come seeking pleasure most often leave with an air of confidence. They derive from passion what other aspects of life cannot fulfill—comfort, confidence or satisfaction. Women are no different in these desires. Our needs are every bit as viable as are yours.”
“Miss Cozette, as noble-sounding as I’m sure is your intent, did you forget one tiny, though vivid detail? She is a married woman.”
“By paper only, besides, the master has not been the model of marital propriety, now has he?”
“Miss Cozette, what has happened between the master and the mistress should be their private affair. We should not go sticking our noses in places they don’t belong.”
“Mr. Coven, it is not your nose I am asking you to stick into Lady Archibald’s business.”
Shock registered on his face. “You astound me, madam. Since when did you take up the art of matchmaking?”
“Make no mistake, Mr. Coven. This is not at all to do with matchmaking. This is pure passion, raw and sensual, a simple romp or two to make her feel desirable and appreciated again. Is that so difficult a task to achieve?”
His expression was unreadable.
“Let me see if I make out clearly what you are proposing. You come here in the middle of the night, through the driving wind and snow, risking life and limb—”
His voice rose, echoing off the rafters.
“Your reason—to ask me to have an affair with your mistress…my mistress?”
“Discreet, of course, no one would need to know.”
“You would,” he replied cocking his brow.
I crossed my fingers over my heart. “You have my assurance Mr. Coven, I would not reveal it to anyone.”
“How utterly noble.” He gave a short laugh and eyed me again before turning toward the chair near the bookshelves. He placed the lamp on the table and shook out his blanket, once or twice glancing my way as he settled in the chair and opened his book. Still, he’d not given me his answer.
“Mr. Coven, at least say you will consider my proposal.”
Seated in the glow of the lamp he turned toward me.
“Go to sleep. You can rest assured that there will be little else on my mind this evening. And out of curiosity, miss, what benefit is there to you in all of this?”
In truth, I hadn’t thought about it. “I owe a great deal to my mistress. My life was on
the streets, working with whores and pickpockets. The horrors of my life since I came to London I cannot speak of, sir. She saved my life, and my desire now is to save hers.”
He was quiet for a long while after, and I thought he’d gone back to his reading.
“You are aware that illicit affairs have no future, and rarely offer lasting happiness?”
“Indeed, Mr. Coven, all too keen I am on that point. However, who of us can predict where our lives will lead, or how long we have on this earth to find even the smallest measure of happiness?’
I picked at the blanket, my thoughts of my family, dim now with time, playing through my head. “I once had five brothers and an older sister. The oldest fifteen and the youngest seven. They were all taken from me before I was fourteen. Before them, my father was killed in a mining accident and eventually my mother died of disease. I often wonder why I was spared, Mr. Coven.”
“I know,” he stated quietly.
“You then have had similar experiences, Mr. Coven?”
“I know what it is to lose someone you love. How precious that time you have with them truly is. And one day, they are gone and you cannot take back what has passed.”
He glanced my way. “What is done is done. There is little chance that a bawdy affair is going to mend Lady Archibald’s broken heart.”
“Even so, Mr. Coven, you’ll consider it?” My eyes grew heavy. The warmth of the mattress and the sweet smell of hay wafting over me pulled me into a delicious lulled state.
“And have you found your happiness, little bird?” Hazy words faded with my sleep, floating between dreams and reality.
That night I would dream of Ernest and wish for the security of his embrace.
~Lady C.
December 24, 1874
I awoke this morning to the brilliant sun streaming in through Mr. Coven’s bedchambers and knew immediately I would have to explain my actions to Mrs. Farrington. I hastened into my slippers still by the bed where I’d removed them and grabbed my shawl, now dry. Mr. Coven was nowhere to be found, but I heard him below as I climbed down from the loft. He glanced up from inspecting the hoof of one of the horses.
The Diary of Cozette Page 29
