Miss Marcie's Mischief (21 page)

Cole shook his head, laughing the cutting laugh he'd too often laughed while in Town. "I'd say you were wrong, my dear."

"But ofttimes two odds make even," offered Miss Deirdre, not backing down.

Cole's grin turned rueful. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Take you and Jack, for instance." He heard the catch of her breath, then continued, "Yes, Miss Deirdre. Jack is quite enamored of you. Indeed, you had no need of a Cupid at all. Jack intends to make an offer for you."

Miss Deirdre, stunned, said nothing.

"I wish you well," Cole said, meaning the words.

"Thank you," murmured Miss Deirdre.

Cole, however, had already turned on his heel and left the room. He had no wish to witness the true face of love firsthand. It smarted to realize that his Mistress Mischief had set her sights for another. What a fool he'd been, falling in love with Marcie!

And a fool he remained.

But no one would know of the fact. No one, save himself, he vowed.

Chapter 13

Marcie paid her respects to the vicar, his wife, and their charges before she headed for the Mail coach outside. Saying good-bye to Freddie, however, proved difficult indeed. Marcie knelt down beside the little orphan girl, who was, quite obviously, doing her best not to cry.

Marcie lovingly brushed one bouncy brown curl behind the girl's ear. "I shall miss you most of all, Freddie," she whispered. "You would not mind if I came back to visit, would you?"

Freddie's eyes widened with anticipation. "Oh, Miss Marcie, that would make me ever so happy!"

Marcie smiled. "It would make me happy, too. I shall return just as soon as I... as soon as I decide where I shall be living."

"Oh, dear! You have no home?" Freddie's brow wrinkled with worry.

Marcie hastened to ease the girl's concern. "Of course I do," she replied. "I have many homes, actually," she added.

Marcie thought of her godmama's invitation to take up residence at Stormhaven. Too, she could live for a while with Mirabella. And, of course, her other cousin, Meredith, would certainly take her in. Also, there was always the possibility of returning to St. Ives. But though Marcie had loved living in the West Country, she did not truly wish to return there now that her father was gone. Lastly, there remained the matter of agreeing to be courted by some stuffy Marquis of Sherringham her cousins had chosen as a perfect parti for her....

The latter thought did not inspire Marcie. Indeed, the idea of becoming wife to any man other than Cole Coachman seemed not only abhorrent but deceitful as well. Marcie sighed.

Little Freddie, perhaps reading Marcie's meandering thoughts, took that moment to throw her arms about Marcie's neck. She hugged her tightly.

"Don't you fret, Miss Marcie," whispered the little girl into Marcie's ear. "I have made a very special wish, for you and for me. I have decided that the fossils you gave me will be my wishing rocks. Tonight I shall rub them each three times and say my wishes aloud. Can you guess what I've wished?"

Marcie shook her head.

"That you shall marry your coachman," Freddie whispered.

A moment passed.

"And—and for yourself, Freddie?" Marcie managed to whisper.

Freddie's arms tightened even more about Marcie's neck. "For a family," she said with all the candor of youth. "For a mama just like you, and for a father as nice as your coachman."

Marcie shut her eyes tight, pressed her face against Freddie's soft, fragrant curls. How sweet the girl was. How very precious.

Marcie knew, in that instant, what she would do once she'd decided where to take up residence. She had the funds to take care of Freddie. She had a wellspring of love to give the orphan. The only thing she could not offer the girl was "a father as nice as Cole Coachman."

Marcie gently drew out of the hug. She brushed one gloved hand lovingly along Freddie's pretty jaw. "I will be back," she promised.

Freddie nodded. "I believe you," she whispered. Her tiny face lit with a warm and trusting smile.

There came, suddenly, the sound of Cole Coachman's call. He was ready to leave.

The Cole Coachman Marcie encountered while heading with her owl towards the Mail coach was not the Cole Coachman she remembered. This man, while still as brusque and impatient as Cole ever could be, was exceedingly cold in both manner and voice. Indeed, he seemed determined not to demonstrate any emotion whatsoever toward her, save one of extreme disinterest. Marcie, while hurt to the quick, made a grand show of displaying neither her displeasure nor her disappointment.

The fact that Jack took up the hind boot, in placement of John Reeve, and that Miss Deirdre insisted on perching herself there beside the man, only added to Marcie's miserable mood, and seemed quite ridiculous. Now why in the deuce was Miss Deirdre fawning over Jack? wondered Marcie. But she need only hear Cole Coachman bark an order to one and all to hurry and board, adding sharply that he hadn't all day to tarry at the vicarage; obviously, Miss Deirdre, so accustomed to men addressing her in tender tones, had come to the conclusion that Cole Coachman was a bit too rough around the edges to suit her taste. Heavens, but the woman seemed to fall in and out of love with lightning speed! If only she herself possessed such an ability, thought Marcie, gazing up at Jack, who was sharing some private words with Miss Deirdre.

"Mistress! If you please, step inside the coach. I've parcels to deliver and I fear you are holding us up."

Marcie blinked, yanking her thoughts back to the present at the sound of Cole Coachman's brusque tone.

Her eyes met his, and the sight she beheld chilled her to the bone. His eyes were as wintry gray as they had been that first moment she'd met him. He glared at her as though he wished he'd never had the misfortune of crossing her path.

Marcie's heart grew queerly tight. She felt the hot prick of tears threatening to overwhelm her. Drat him, she thought angrily. Drat him for his moody ways... and drat herself for loving him.

Marcie straightened, fought back the tears. "You needn't snap at me," she replied, her voice just as clipped as his.

"And I could say the same to you, Mistress."

Oh!
thought Marcie,
but the man can be perfectly maddening!
Her face burned with both anger and embarrassment as she remembered how she had thrown caution to the wind and allowed him to kiss her. But what hurt her more was the fact that she had fallen helplessly and hopelessly in love with the mercurial coachman. Even now, she could remember the taste and feel of his mouth on hers, could recall the warmth of his embrace....

Enough,
Marcie firmly scolded herself. The man clearly wanted nothing more to do with her. She had too much pride to allow herself to grovel at his feet.

So thinking, she said, "Though I have proved to be a perfect nuisance to you during our travels, I assure you I shall not be the cause of any further disasters."

The words came too strongly from her lips, and Marcie immediately regretted the sharp tone of her voice. But she couldn't help herself.

"Famous," he said, his sarcasm not lost on Marcie. "I shall hold you to that promise. Now, if you please?" He nodded toward the carriage door, clearly impatient to be done with the conversation and to see that she was safely tucked inside, out of his way.

Marcie spun away from him, so close to tears that she feared she would make a cake of herself should she remain in his presence a moment longer. That he had the sheer audacity to help her mount the steps threw her senses into complete confusion. His touch was warm and far too familiar. She felt his searing heat through her pelisse and the sleeve of her gown. It proved, alas, too much for her to bear.

Marcie pulled away from him so abruptly that Prinny, perched on her shoulder, grew restless. She immediately sought to soothe the bird, but Bart chose that moment to come barreling down upon the coach, barking all the while. The dog came tearing round the coach, frightening not only the horses but the owl as well.

Prinny rustled his feathers.

Bart, spying the bird, leapt up from the ground and gave a happy bark as he pounced against Marcie. She cried out as she was forced against the coach. Cole Coachman muttered a sharp expletive. And Prinny, injured wing and all, took flight into the air, heading for the trees. Marcie tried to stop the bird, but Bart, all tongue and paws, fastened her against the coach.

"Prinny!" Marcie cried.

But it was too late. The bird was gone.

Cole Coachman hauled the dog off her. "Down!" he said.

Bart heeled, plopping himself down on the ground and then stared up at the coachman expectantly.

Marcie watched as her owl lost himself in the copse near the bridge.

"He is gone," she whispered. And suddenly the events of the day proved to be too much. Her tears came freely.

Bart licked at her gloved hands, whimpering softly. Marcie, quite overwrought, found she could do nothing more than kneel down and try to hide her tears in the soft fur of the dog.

"Blast," muttered Cole Coachman. "Do not cry. I shall go in search of your owl. I'll find him and—"

"No!" Marcie shook her head. "You—you have your parcels to deliver. I would not wish to delay you more than I have. Besides, Prinny was never mine to begin with."

Marcie dashed her tears away, lifted her face to Cole Coachman's. Ah, how handsome he appeared with the snow a sharp contrast to his dark good looks. And if she didn't know better, she would have thought that his gray eyes had softened somewhat in the past few seconds. Why, those gray orbs were almost as tender as she remembered them during the moment he'd kissed her. Marcie decided this was the way in which she wanted to remember her Cole Coachman, the one with whom she'd fallen so helplessly in love.

"Let him go," she whispered to Cole Coachman.

"But you have become quite fond of the bird. I thought you wished to keep him."

"I did wish to keep him. But I—I told you once that I have found life to be a series of greetings and partings." She tipped a rueful smile up at Cole Coachman. " Prinny's leaving is just one more parting I must learn to accept. I fear I am learning that lesson all too well."

Cole Coachman frowned. He helped her to her feet.

Marcie, murmuring her thanks, fought not to make too much of his attentions. He was being kind, nothing more. She must remember that. Marcie turned away, intending to climb into the carriage.

Cole's words stopped her. "I cannot just leave this place—not without attempting to retrieve your owl."

Marcie glanced over her shoulder at Cole, and her heart verily broke at the handsome sight of him. She shook her head, staying him from leaving his coach in search of the owl.

"A friend once told me that should I love something—or someone—I should let them go free. If they return, then they are mine, and if they do not...." She let her words trail off as she looked out at the copse of trees. "I shall let Prinny go free," she said softly. And then, returning her gaze to Cole, she said, "As for you, Cole Coachman, you've Valentine parcels to deliver, have you not? I suggest you get this coach moving." With that, Marcie straightened her shoulders and climbed into the carriage.

She did not relax until Cole Coachman had folded up the steps and closed the door behind her. Only then did she press gloved hands against her face and cry openly.

* * *

Cole felt a perfect beast. Gad, what had made him bark at the lovely miss? Why the devil had he been so abrupt with Marcie when what he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her soundly?

No doubt the reason was because he loved her, wanted to make her his wife. Yet, she loved another—a man who did not return her love.

Cole blew out an exasperated breath and headed for his bench. He could not calm the roiling of his own emotions.

The fact that Marcie had addressed him as "Cole Coachman," and not "My Lord Monarch," pained him no small amount. He had quite obviously come to the end of the road with his Mistress Mischief.

Cole clenched his jaw tight. He whipped his team into motion, heading for the open road and for the inn at Burford.