The Diary of Cozette (19 page)

“I was but complying with your request, that the staff should not think we are planning some devious rendezvous.”

“Ah, yes.” He lifted his chin, shadowed still, offering greater appeal to his rugged look.

“For the servants’ sake,” I reminded him.

His eyes narrowed on mine, offering a wicked grin.

“Of course, then with your permission, I shall walk beside you and keep my hands firmly clasped at my back, so as not to give the wrong impression.”

He walked up to me, within a breath of my face, and demonstrated his intent.

“Shall we?”

As I gazed into his rugged face, his morning beard shadowing his jaw, I admit, had I allowed my passion to dictate, I would have shoved him into the tall grass, and encouraged his request with sufficient enthusiasm.

Instead, I smiled and clasped my hands at my back. “Shall we?”

He proceeded and I feel that perhaps I may have found a new confidant in Mr. Coven.

~A.C.B.

I am yet assessing what transpired between Mr. Coven and me today. And I pray that it will not impede our ability to work on staff together. He is indeed a man of great mystery and in my vulnerable state (which I confess I ache most desperately for François) perhaps I was too coy and abetted the reaction from Mr. Coven. Oft times, I find that it is in my writing as I look back on the event that I am able to piece together the events and discover things about myself I may not have otherwise considered. Such as the fact that despite his brooding and elusive manner, I find Mr. Coven a man of many talents, quite informed on a number of subjects, in particular horses, and he maintains an agreeable air to those about him. Perhaps it is my overactive imagination, but I detect a deeper passion seething below the surface. Other than his beloved horses, I do not fathom what would so greatly capture his attention. Regardless of his strange behavior, my heart does go out to the man for he seems lonely and yet appears so content. I would like to continue getting to know more about him, but for the present, find it best to attend to my duties and let Mr. Coven attend to his. Thinking back on the day, I am unsure that I would have done or behaved in any way different.

Mr. Coven, despite his disfigurement, is a most handsome man, though not polished as François in manner and dress. He is formidable and he rarely ties his hair back, though I suspect it is to cover his cheek. He seems to wear his leather patch as if he guards some terrible secret. It does, admittedly, lend an air of mystery as does his lack of kinship to his razor.

We walked the winding, tree-shrouded lane that spilled out into a large open area, where stood one of the most impressive structures, next to the manor, that I had ever seen. Set within a grove of trees, the stable was made of fieldstone and wood, its exterior was a testament to Mr. Coven’s hard work and no doubt, pride. A thick curtain of dense ivy climbed its outer wall, draping with easy fullness over the arched-roof entrance. I breathed deep, taking in the mix of morning air, mingled with straw and the moist earth.

I followed Mr. Coven, my head on a swivel as our path took us under the ivy vine, and into the cool shadows of the interior of the barn.

My gaze traveled from floor to ceiling, finding it more of a castle inside than a stable for animals. There was not an item out of place, and its floor, though worn from horses’ trampling, was clean and swept of debris.

Above me, sturdy beams of honey-colored wood provided a skeletal majesty taking on the look of a cathedral. So enamored was I with the sight I nearly fell backward as I craned my neck to take it all in.

“Are you chilled? It can be much cooler inside the stable.”

His voice startled me out of the reverent state of my assessing of my surroundings. “No, I’m quite well, thank you, Mr. Coven. This is a most impressive building.”

He did not answer, but kept his stride as he took us deeper into the heart of the barn. There he turned and lifted a small bucket from a hook outside of a stall.

“Its designer also crafted the main house. It’s most fortunate that the fire last winter was contained to the area around the woodstove. Were we to have lost the barn entirely, the cost to rebuild would be enormous.”

“Has there been any new word on the investigation, Mr. Coven?” I didn’t want to pry, but I was concerned he would be absolved of any responsibility, especially in Lord Archibald’s eyes.

“The investigator’s theory concludes it to be an accident. A stray ember from a near-dead fire, caught on the straw.” His gaze turned toward an empty stall, its wooden side still charred black.

“Was that Molly’s?” I asked quietly, not wishing to dwell too long on the painful subject.

“Yes,” he replied simply as he walked on past to the next berth.

I sensed what great love he had for these gentle creatures. Mrs. Farrington had told me once, how Molly was one of Mr. Coven’s favorites, though she was old and unable to perform the duties she once had.

Soft neighs greeted us as though the animals knew their keeper on sight. I know not whether it was the stillness of the morning, or simply Mr. Coven’s company, but as his horses found a measure of serenity in his presence, for some reason I did as well.

“Here we are. This is Annabelle, but I call her Annie. She’s as old as Molly was.” He reached in a bag and drew out a handful of oats, letting the gentle horse nuzzle from his hand as he reached for her brush.

I stood at the stall’s gate and watched mesmerized at the soothing manner with which he brushed the horse. Slow and easy, the brush glided down her coat, his palm following close to offer a soothing human touch. I’d never seen such care with an animal before and I pondered if he was as tender in all things.

“Do you groom each horse every day?” I reached my hand out and let the mare nuzzle my hand with her velvet nose. Her teeth scraped over my palm, seeking oats and I drew it back cautiously.

“She’s as mild-tempered a horse as they come, Miss Cozette. A horse can sense when you’re afraid. I assure you, you’ve nothing to fear from Annie, right girl?” he whispered.

He leaned past me, grabbed a handful of the oat mixture, and held it out to me. “Go on, she won’t hurt you.”

Obliging, I held the grain in my palm as Mr. Coven cradled my hand.

“Flatten your palm.” He spoke quiet and calm, his soothing manner carrying over into his tone. “Now hold it under her nose, she doesn’t see as well as she used to. One of these days, I suspect we’ll have to put her down.”

His hand cradled mine under her nose. I admit to being a bit fearful of her bite, but her nose tickled as she cleaned the grain from my hand. I smiled at her long lashes hooding lovely dark brown eyes. “How terribly sad to grow old.”

I slid my hand down her neck and she shook her silky mane as if agreeing.

He chuckled quietly and went back to his brushing.

“We’re like family here I suppose. Me, Jensen, and the young Murphy lad down the road that I hired. It’s more work than most people realize to keep things running smooth on a daily basis.”

He bent forward to brush her legs and my gaze fell to the firm muscle of his thigh straining through the close-fitting riding breeches he wore. The thought that I would barely be able to fit both of my hands around one occurred to me in astonishment. Not even François could boast of such powerful legs. My curiosity, often the naughty muse, led me to speculate how Mr. Coven met his needs. Surely, a man as strong and virile would have a mistress or perhaps more waiting in a quaint little farmstead nearby.

In accordance to my musings, I write if only for benefit of the privacy of my journal, that I would bet a month’s wages on the belief that Mr. Coven is every bit as well endowed as the studs he cares for. My thoughts to this matter are of course solely in regards to the plan I have forming in my mind regarding my mistress and her inner happiness. I find Mr. Coven unquestionably loyal when it comes to her and if all goes well, I should think he would be most agreeable to my proposition. Yet it is imperative that I not move in haste as after some consideration I find that not everyone shares my thoughts on the pleasures of the human body. Therefore, I must approach the topic with considerable ease and reason when the time is ripe.

“Master Archibald demands the best and I give it to him. Breeders from as far away as India and Egypt have traveled to purchase the foals sired from his stallions.”

I, of course, have no true grasp of what monetary value goes with such an agreement, but after seeing the beauty and raw virility of the stud horses, I could not dispute the joy that any mare must have with the arrangement.

“Do you wish to give it a go?”

My eyes met his with my former thoughts still firmly engaged in my brain.

He held out the soft bristle brush to me, his good eye steady on me, awaiting my response.

The mare looked at me with great brown eyes as if to say it was all right, so I met his challenge and stepped beside him. My immediate thought was how enormous the animal appeared up close rather than from the other side of the gate.

“She won’t bite me, then, you’re quite sure?” I queried, cautiously glancing at Mr. Coven, my gaze not wavering too far from her profile.

“Not unless you bite her first,” he chuckled and seeing I was not amused he followed with an explanation I suppose was to ease my nerves.

“She’s already been fed this morning. In addition to the treat you just gave her, I’d say she should be satisfied for the moment.”

“
Should be,
Mr. Coven?” I chanced a look at him as I stepped back, bumping into his chest, so close that I could see the odd shadow of the scars that dipped below his shirt collar.

Without a word, he placed his hand on my lower back and urged me forward, closer to the mare. He held my hand against the brush, applying it with great gentleness to the horse’s rich, cinnamon-colored coat.

“Just be slow and gentle, as if someone were brushing your hair.”

“I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure,” I remarked, concentrating on his hand’s movement over the horse’s back.

“Pity,” he stated matter-of-factly.

I sensed his gaze on me, but refused to meet it, not trusting myself completely in his presence. I am after all, only human and a woman who has gone far too long without the male company of her lover is most vulnerable.

“I am sure it was lovely when it was long,” he stated quietly as though part of his instruction.

A shiver flitted across my shoulder as though a ghost from the past had touched me. I focused on our hands, unified by the slow, methodical brushing of the mare.

So unlike the manicured hands of François, and yet I found them admirable. There was character in them, each scar and flaw proof of his hard work and skill.

“How long have you been at Willow Manor?” I asked, not wanting to look at him, for already every sense was on alert with how close he stood between the stable wall and my back.

“A number of years now,” he replied abruptly, dropping his hand. “That’s adequate. I think we should let her rest now.”

He slipped the brush from my grasp and stepped out into the stable breezeway. I could not say what it was that caused his sudden response, any more than I understood why I had collywobbles around him.

His back was turned to me as he worked at cleaning the brush and I wondered if this was his way of dismissing me. My gaze traveled overhead, seeing a walled-off portion of the loft at the end of the building. I wondered if these were his and Mr. Jensen’s quarters.

“Where are your quarters, Mr. Coven?”

Apparently my question must have come as a shock, for the brush he was cleaning fell from his hand and he snatched it from the floor, thrusting it over his shoulder toward the loft, confirming my suspicions. He muttered something under his breath, but I paid little mind to it as I took a step backward toward the ladder.

“Mr. Coven, did you not invite me for an inspection of your stables?”

“Indeed, miss. And so we have finished it.”

He kept to his work, studiously intent on cleaning the brush.

“Besides, I believe you mentioned that you have berry-picking to attend to? You’ll find a bucket over there, near the woodstove.”

Well, indeed, the berries were a result of the awkward way he’d pressed me before, now my curiosity was piqued, which I admit gets me into greater skirmishes than I care to dwell on.

Now I was much more curious to know about this mysterious man. Why was he so anxious to end our visit? My wicked mind considered that perhaps he had a woman asleep in his chambers and did not want her to be discovered! Should I not know well the character of the man I intend to use as my mistress’s lover?

He straightened and placed the brush on a hook. Again, a quick appraisal gave me reason to believe that physically, he would be perfect as a lover.

I spied the wood ladder that disappeared into a large square hole in the ceiling a few feet from where we stood.

“Over near the woodstove, you say?” I spoke as I inched toward the ladder. His back turned, I took advantage, hiked the hem of my frock, and made my way in haste up the ladder.

“Miss Cozette?”

I heard him call as I neared the top.

“Miss Cozette! I must ask you to come down immediately.”

“I’m finishing my inspection, Mr. Coven.”

“Here now, Miss Cozette. You ought not to be up there,” he bellowed from below. “I insist you come down. It isn’t proper to be in a man’s room unless you are betrothed.”

That would likely eliminate the chance of finding a woman in his quarters.

I popped my head through the hole and scanned the room finding, most sadly, his bed—empty.

“Ah, so it’s engagement now that makes it permissible to lie with a woman? Most ladies I have known might find quarrel with your philosophy, Mr. Coven,” I shouted so he could hear me as I looked down from where I came.

He stood at the bottom of the ladder, frustration pinching his brow as his dark gaze met mine.

“This isn’t a brothel, miss, and I’ll have you know I am a gentleman.”

I knelt down on my hands and knees and cocked my head, returning his gaze with a wicked smile. “And who is spreading such a nasty rumor about you, Mr. Coven?”

“Miss Cozette, I must insist—”

I shrugged. “Fine then, I’ll just take a quick peek before I come down.” I offered him a pleasant smile.

Careful not to slip at the edge of the opening, I let my gaze travel around the spacious quarters that stretched out before me. I was impressed, though admittedly surprised, to find that despite its simplicity, his quarters were exquisitely decorated with finely crafted furniture that made the servants’ quarters inferior by comparison. He had no need of complaint certainly, and every word he stated about Master Archibald’s admiration of his skills was aptly justified by the caliber and quality of his few possessions.

I realized at once why he would enjoy spending his free time here. One end was set apart as a sleeping area, partitioned by an intricately woven screen. On the other side rested a large four-poster bed, made of the same honey-colored wood as the rafters and smoothed to a high-polished sheen. A dressing table with a pitcher and basin, a plain dark wood wardrobe as tall as Mr. Coven himself, and an elaborate red brocade chair completed the furnishings at one end. I counted at least four large hand-woven tapestry rugs, similar to those found in the manor, but upon closer inspection saw small bald spots or frays.