The Diary of Cozette (14 page)

Master Archibald arrived a few days ago and with a perfunctory tour of the house was disposed to the bank to finish his books before the holiday. He wasted little time, leaving Jensen to carry his bags to the master suite, where I’d made two beds separated by a nightstand and a single lamp. More like bunkmates than wedded couple, I flirted with the idea of placing them together as a surprise, but thought better of it.

Miss Farrington and I finished decorating the house from top to bottom according to Lady Archibald’s wishes. Indeed, the enormous tree sparkled with carefully wired taper candles, slices of dried apples, and small oranges strung with ribbon and embellished with whole cloves. Shimmering against the candle glow were Lady Archibald’s prized brightly painted German ornaments.

This afternoon, we sat at the kitchen worktable, the three of us, as Jensen demonstrated how to fold foil papers into bright, small stars to hang on the branches. With the addition of Lady Archibald’s heirloom tin star at its top branch, another gift from her grandmother when she married, the tree rivaled anything ever described in a classic Christmas tale. And the scent…oh, my! The scent of thick pine mingled with the subtle tang of orange and the nutty spice of cinnamon sticks bound to the apple slices provided a feast for the senses. I have never smelled or seen such a beautiful picture as that tree, adorned by the hand of us all, displayed in the front bay window of the house.

~A.C.B.

Nary has a night gone by when poor Mr. Coven does not enter my mind. Many times during the events of the day, his face enters my thoughts. Yet despite all the festive preparations, it is as if without him there is a hole where his presence is part of our family.

I think of him at the manor, preferring to stay and keep watch on his favorite mare, Molly, and the one or two horses that remain through the winter. In my mind’s eye, I see him hunched over a book by his woodstove in the corner of the barn, Molly nickering for his attention. With his gentle smile, he speaks softly to her, taking no hurry as he saunters across the sweet earth floor. He dips his sturdy hand in the bucket of oats and holds it up, stroking her mane and speaking to her in low tones meant only for her ears. I hope he has pleasant thoughts as well when he thinks of us. It is strange or perhaps the season that lends such thoughts to my head. Yet in many ways, they are the only family I have.

~A.C.B.

“Cozette?” Miss Farrington’s voice drew me from my wandering thoughts. “The guests will be arriving soon, see to it that the fires in the dining hall and parlor are ready.”

I curtsied, a habit these days, as I scurried down the long polished hall, taking a quick glance at the deep cloakroom and turning up the wick, to be sure there was enough light to hang coats and hats. Farther on toward the front door, I checked the sprigs of pine and holly stuck at the corners of the gilded hallway mirror. We’d looped fresh evergreen down the staircase banister, adding a rich, pine fragrance to the front hall.

The rugs were spotless on the gleaming wood floor and candles placed in all the rooms on every flat surface gave off their ethereal glow. I stood for a moment, surveying each room, taking in its beauty and inviting warmth. Tears pricked my eyelids, and the sudden realization of my solitary existence in this world crystallized in the flicker of a single candle. Unspeakable sadness, deeper than I’d ever known, embraced me with such despair that I hugged my arms and fought back my tears.

A sharp rap on the front door drew me upright and I breathed deep to quell the lump in my throat. With a swipe of my cheek, I blinked to clear my gaze and pulled open the door to meet the rosy-cheeked face of Lady Graham. Her elaborate hat, as much her trademark as her happy constitution, preceded her through the door.

I stepped back, smiling in spite of myself as I dodged her bobbing bouquet of fat, black ostrich plumes. “Shall I relieve you of your cloak and hat, your ladyship?” I held out my hands to receive both.

“Heavens no, child, this black monstrosity cost me dearly. I shall wear it proudly and as often as I can. Just watch me near the flames, now won’t you?” She smiled and plopped her woolen cloak in my arms, then turned with a flourish to the young woman stepping through the door behind her. With graceful ease, the young woman sidestepped the feathered assault.

“Miss Cozette, this is my niece, Chastity. Her older brother, Thomas, won’t be joining us. He is a budding artist, however his attempts at his studies I’m afraid are detoured by his expressions of artistic freedom.”

“My brother is a wild, untamed spirit,” the young woman said, smiling at her aunt.

“Nevertheless, he has broken my poor heart insisting on staying in Paris to view a special exhibit of a good friend who paints nude women. What is next?” She sighed, her great plumage rocking on her head as she surveyed the decorations.

I hid my smile as I curtsied to Miss Chastity. “Mum, may I take your wrap?”

“This poor girl traveled all the way from Paris without an escort.” Lady Graham cast her gaze to the heavens with that great dramatic flair that is also trademark of the woman who I daresay has more money that the Bank of England.

“Scandalous, I tell you, simply scandalous that a mother and father would allow such a thing.”

“Aunt Violet, that would be your sister that you refer to, would it not?”

The young woman, with eyes the color of golden honey, smiled my way as she placed her cloak and bonnet in my arms. She was a beautiful young thing, no more than fifteen, but her features were that of a woman. Her dark hair was drawn off her neck with silver combs, dark tendrils tempting the gentle slope of her pale neck. Her dress was modest and yet the chiffon scarf tucked discreetly about her shoulders did not hide from view the plump ridge of tender flesh above her empire-waist bodice. She would indeed turn many a young suitor’s eye while in London.

True it was, had she been my daughter I would have seen to her travel arrangements differently. The memory of Elizabeth and stories of countless other missing young women edged near my thoughts, but I refused to tarry on them. Elizabeth. I have not thought of her in months.

“They saw me to the train.” She frowned, causing her mouth to protrude daintily. “And my parents saw to it that the conductor never took his eyes from me the entire trip, where I walked directly into the safe haven of your lovely arms, Aunt Violet. I daresay even if I had searched high and low, I could not have found trouble, for it evaded me truly.”

Lady Graham clucked a short, wary response and peered into the parlor, her attention now on the Christmas tree displayed in the front bay window. “Please tell Mrs. Archibald that Lady Graham and her niece have arrived.”

The young woman stayed close to her and I suspected this was one of her first outings in London. Still, she was Lady Graham’s niece and I’m sure would make the social rounds soon enough.

“Yes, mum.” I shifted the heavy wool cloaks in my arms and hastened to hang them as I had seen another carriage pull up in front of the house.

Master and Mistress Archibald greeted their guests in the grand parlor, catching up on the gossip and business of the day as they waited for all the guests to arrive. The gifts for the poor, most wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with bits of lace ribbon, were placed with care beneath the tree.

“A most befitting tribute to the season,” one woman remarked with a pleased smile to her companion.

The festive mood permeated the air and I could not help but be glad for my mistress’s success. Surely, this night would be the talk of all of London by tomorrow. So enveloped in the festive mood, I could not contain my smile as I drew open the door for a late arrival.

As though a boot had plowed without regard into my stomach, all the air was sucked from my lungs in the next moment. My gaze froze on the face of the man standing before me, dressed in a gentleman’s clothes and clean-shaven. Had it not been for his bulbous nose and thick lips, I might not have recognized Betsy’s drunken sot. Indeed, it was a most miraculous change.

My knees threatened to give way as he breezed past, barely aware of my presence as he removed his coat and top hat. He plopped both unceremoniously into my arms without a glance. My knees stiff, I forced a curtsy, my gaze following his every move, fearful he would turn at once and remember me.

Perhaps enough time had passed. I held my breath praying he would not recognize me.

His wife came next, not standing on protocol apparently that her husband should escort her, though I cannot say that I was at all surprised. His wife, were I to discern by her severe expression, was indeed most aware of his impropriety.

“Madam,” I spoke, offering to accept her cloak. A young man in uniform stood at the ready to assist.

“Let me help you, Mother.”

My heart, not yet recovered from the first shock, encountered indeed another as I stared, unashamed, at the man before me. I was smitten at first sight, locking my knees soundly to prevent me from making a spectacle of myself.

François is most assuredly handsome, well seasoned in the ways of women and the world. The lines on his face give him his character. However, this man carried an air of invincibility, of purpose and strength. His eyes were blue as a summer afternoon sky, his hair the color of untouched hay in the field, and he wore it tied with a short black ribbon at his nape. There was no stubble on his firm, chiseled jaw, no etching of life yet on his handsome young face.

His attention drew with ease to mine and when he smiled, it was full of boyish charm. My treacherous body heated in response as he placed his mother’s cloak in my arms.

“His bark is far worse than his bite,” he whispered, leaning close with a devilish grin. The scent of winter air on his skin tempted my senses.

Tall and lean, he was dressed in full uniform that hugged his most impressive build. The scarlet red of his jacket intensified his eyes, black trousers that hugged his long legs were tucked below the knee into polished black riding boots.

He removed his white helmet and his fingers accidentally brushed my breast as he placed it on top of the coat. He did not notice, but I most assuredly did, as my breasts tightened immediately.

“Come along, Andrew, I must take your arm as escort, since your father seems preoccupied this evening.”

His mother wore her elegance and wealth like a cloak, wrapped close around her, preventing intrusion. There was no question in my mind where he’d received his impeccable good looks. Her steely glance was a signal for my dismissal.

I let them pass, curious if she knew of her husband’s former entertainments, but my gaze was drawn most readily to the breadth of her son’s shoulders giving way to his lean hips.

I shifted the bundle in my arms, and gasped quietly as the helmet rolled over the edge. With a smile, he turned and caught it with great dexterity, before it fell to the floor.

“My word, Andrew, perhaps you should see to the hat yourself. The help here seems incompetent to do so.”

She looked down her nose in disapproval.

“It was my fault entirely, Mother. My arm brushed the helmet as I passed by.” He offered a sly grin. “Still, if you should need my assistance, I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you for your kindness, sir, I can manage quite well.”

“As you wish.” He righted the helmet and offered both his attention and his arm to his mother.

As I hung the coats in the narrow cloak closet, I was relieved at least that the burly man had not recognized me. I searched for a hatbox to fit the odd-shaped helmet.

“My apologies for the intrusion, miss, but my father insisted I see to my helmet personally.”

I turned to look up at the young soldier in the flickering lamplight.

“I’ve startled you and already I am aware that my father’s gruff manner frightened you. He has that profound effect upon people, I’m afraid. To look at him you wouldn’t see a giant of a man with the heart of a dove.”

Wedged between the wall and the line of coats, I could not pass by. “Please, you’ve no need for concern. I was searching for a proper hatbox, one deep enough to comply with your point…on your hat.” I stumbled with my words, nervous at how attracted I was to him.

His dark blond brow rose and a smile tugged at his lips. My cheeks warmed as his gaze drew lazily to the shelf above my head.

“Perhaps this might work.”

He reached over my head, pressing his body so close that paper would have difficulty passing between us. I sensed his intent.

“Have you managed to find the box, sir?” My throat grew dry.

His arm propped over my head, he glanced down at me, his face not far from mine.

“Not yet, but I am quite determined.” He grinned, lifting his face toward his task.

“Ah, there we have it.”

He yanked the box from its position, his hip hitting mine. I gasped, covering my mouth but not quick enough.

“My apologies, I seem to be all thumbs this evening.”

I suppressed the giggle threatening to escape my lips.

He smiled most charmingly as he surveyed the hatbox, turning it in his hand.

“This should provide it with adequate protection. Paramount importance…protection, wouldn’t you agree?”

He held the box between us, his intense gaze on mine for a few moments before he skated farther out onto the thin ice of this sensual game we played. “Indeed, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to its unspoiled virtue.”

“Indeed.” Visions not befitting the holiday swam in my head.

“Andrew? Come on, boy, and stop using your charms on the help. You’ll be escorting Lady Graham’s niece to the table.”

I glanced around Andrew and met the icy stare of his father. His gaze lingered a bit too long for my comfort. He glanced at me once more as he patted his son on the back and followed him to the dining hall.

It took all three of us, Jensen, Miss Farrington, and me to serve dinner, prepared for the twenty guests. Between the soup and oysters, I tried not to stare at the young soldier, but I was clearly aware that Miss Chastity was undeniably infatuated with him as well.

“Why do they need men in the Canadian provinces, Andrew?” Lord Archibald asked, raising his wine to his lips.

He shrugged as though a longtime veteran in the military. “The Prime Minister is concerned with a bit of trouble in the northwest territories with some unruly traders. He’s ordered a mounted militia to go in and take care of the problem. Currently the group is comprised of local French militia and a few fellow Brits. When they asked for volunteers experienced with rifles, I thought it would give me good experience.”

“It sounds horribly dangerous and I do hope you will be cautious.” Chastity’s eyes were wide with concern.

Andrew chuckled, his glass raised toward the young woman. “Your concern humbles me, miss, but the life of a military man is not often considered cautious. Hesitancy can place you at the wrong end of a rifle and we don’t want that.”

She shook her head, gazing at him with worshipping eyes.

“It sounds very exciting,” Lady Archibald commented.

“It’s a splendid opportunity for his career as we see it, isn’t that right, Andrew?” His father, who I noted still had the same dental issues, stuffed a raw oyster into his mouth. “Ah, simply delightful.”

I reached for his plate, avoiding his direct gaze. For the life of me, I could not see how this man came to be Andrew’s father by blood.

“Miss?”

My heart stood still, my hand gripping tight to the plate so as not to allow my hands to shake noticeably. He held the other side.

“Give my compliments to the cook and tell her those were the finest oysters I have had in some time.” He released the plate and I nodded in response. Safe inside the kitchen door I leaned against it, bringing my breathing back to normal.

“Miss Cozette, are you quite well?”

I opened my eyes to Miss Farrington’s concerned face peering into mine.

“Just light-headed, I forgot to eat breakfast this morning, mum.”

“Well, see to it you get something now, before you go back in there and faint dead away on me. And bring up another bottle of the master’s favorite, quick now, don’t tarry.”

She brushed past through the door, her arms laden with plates of succulent goose, winter root vegetables, and cranberry sauce for the main course. The tantalizing scent made my stomach growl.

I was sent more than once to the cellar for more wine and it gave me pause to think of the young soldier, seeing the fire flare in his eyes as he spoke of the unknown adventure he was about to embark on. True it was that he was most brave to leave his homeland and march into the wild untamed unknown. Such a man would indeed possess great passion, passion that would most likely be channeled to other parts as well.