Miss Marcie's Mischief (22 page)

* * *

Inside the coach, Marcie watched as the vicarage became smaller and smaller and then was soon lost behind the very line of trees Prinny had fled toward. Marcie felt a horrible sense of loss. She'd not only lost Prinny but the Cole Coachman she'd come to love as well.

The fact that she was surrounded by all kinds of Saint Valentine's Day gifts destined for sweethearts, loved ones, and lovers in the Cotswolds did nothing to ease Marcie's sadness. She glanced around the interior of the coach, seeing small packages and large, all beautifully wrapped in varying shades of reds and pinks and, no doubt, containing bottles of scent, pretty bonnets, or perhaps some expensive lace purchased in the finest shops in London. Her eyes misted with more tears.

It was Saint Valentine's Day, but instead of feeling the pleasant heat of one of Cupid's arrows piercing into her soul, she felt as though her heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The sting of unrequited love burned through her.
Oh, Cole,
she thought,
why couldn't things have turned out differently for us? Why could you not love me as much as I do you?

Marcie's only comfort was in knowing that soon, very soon, she would return to the vicarage and make the needed preparations to adopt Freddie, and perhaps even Masters Neville and Theodore as well. But alas, this plan, too, proved lacking, for she could not yet give the children the father little Freddie dreamed of having one day. Marcie began to cry anew.

"I just knew it." It was Nan speaking.

Marcie snapped her head toward Nan, who was, as usual, perched amidst a pile of packages.

"Nan. Pray, forgive me for crying. I... I am just overly tired."

"Fustian," Nan muttered. "I've no doubt but your sweet heart has been abused by Cole. No, do not try and tell me otherwise," said Nan when Marcie opened her mouth in protest. "I have known Cole a long time. A
very
long time. I know what a beast he can be. I tell you now, I intend to have a word or two with him. Mark my words, Cole's ears will burn with shame once I've had my say."

Marcie gave her friend a horrified look. "No," she gasped. "Just let it be, Nan. I have no wish for you to speak to Cole on my behalf. I—I am crying because I lost my owl and—"

"And you are lying," cut in Nan, harrumphing soundly. She folded her arms across her chest and stewed. "Cole has ever been a thick-headed bore—save the moments when he was driving a coach along the open roads, and of course, save the few moments when he actually let his guard down and allowed himself to enjoy the freshness of your company. Do not let him fool you, Marcie. He is just so very insufferable at times, but I know him and I know that he has enjoyed your company."

"What he wishes," corrected Marcie, "is that he never set eyes on me."

"I cannot believe such a thing."

"Well you'd best face the fact, Nan. I have proved to be nothing but a thorn in his side. He—he despises me."

"On the contrary, I think he has fallen in love with you."

"You, dear friend, are confusing compassion with love." Marcie thrust herself back against the squabs and studiously stared out the window. "I no longer wish to discuss our coachman. The only thing I wish is that he deliver me safely to Burford... and that I get beyond this blasted holiday of hearts and flowers, and... and love."

"Oh, Marcie," whispered Nan. "To hear you, of all people, say such a thing about Saint Valentine's Day is sad indeed. From the moment I met you amid the book stalls, I knew I'd finally found a kindred spirit who loved romance as much as I do."

"On the contrary," Marcie said, "I've since learned romance is not the wondrous thing so many poets hope to make young women believe it is."

Nan looked as though she was about to shed a few tears herself. "If I can't change your opinion about love, perhaps I can sway you in your choice of stopping at Burford. Please, do not say that you've decided not to travel on to your godmama's home. You said yourself your cousins have found you a perfect parti in the form of some fine, titled swell."

"Haven't you heard a word I've said, Nan? I'm not looking for courtship, or even love. And I've certainly no need of a titled gent. I've blunt enough of my own to do as I please."

"And what might that be?" Nan asked, wary.

Marcie hadn't a clue. What she wanted to do was turn back the hands of time to the moment when Cole Coachman had held her close and kissed her. What she wanted, was for Cole to pledge his love for her, and she for him. To dance with him at the Valentine's ball her godmama was no doubt planning. She wanted to dance the night away in his warm embrace, to have him guide her around a candlelit ballroom. What she wanted, blast it all, was to share a life with Cole... a life that included the orphans she'd come to care for and, God willing, children she and Cole would create....

She drew in a ragged sigh. Silly dreams. That's what her thoughts were. Dreams that would never, ever come true.

"Please, Nan," Marcie begged, suddenly weary. "Do not speak to me of Cole Coachman. He has made it quite clear he wants nothing more to do with me. I just—I wish to spend the remaining miles with my eyes closed and my mind empty." Marcie leaned her head against the cushions and forced her eyes closed.

"Wait," pressed Nan.

Marcie opened one eye. "Wait for what?"

Nan fidgeted. "Just promise me that you'll reconsider traveling to your godmother's home. After all, Marcie, it isn't every day that a girl has the chance of capturing the interest of a marquis. And since you've chosen not to pursue our coachman, well, you must promise me at least to consider the Marquis of Sherringham."

"Nan, I just told you I'm not—"

"I know what you told me. I also know
you,
Marcie. You need love in your life, and laughter, and to be surrounded with tender hearts, and flowering blooms, and all of God's creatures. Please. Promise me you'll at least give the marquis a chance. Who knows? He may be the man to bring such things to you. Meet him. That's all I ask."

Marcie let out a long breath.

"Promise me," insisted Nan.

Marcie thought the girl too swayed by romantic melodrama. But Nan's request had been too heartfelt not to be considered. "Very well," Marcie said, knowing her friend was only trying to help and seeing no other recourse. Nan would no doubt plague her to death if she didn't relent. "I promise to meet the man. Now, will you leave me be?"

Nan nodded, complacent at last.

And Marcie, finally left to her own miserable thoughts, fell into a restless slumber. Her dreams were filled with visions of Cole's wintry gaze, his haunting smile, and memories of his lips pressed against hers. And she dreamed of the sweet nothings Cole would never whisper into her ear. Though she knew she should open her eyes and stop tormenting herself with such visions, she couldn't. She didn't want to. Marcie knew she'd spend the rest of her life dreaming of Cole. For only in her dreams, would he truly be hers.

Marcie didn't come awake until she felt the coach rattle to a halt in the coachyard of the inn at Burford. It was time to say a final farewell to her monarch of the road.

* * *

Cole, having charged his team along the snowy roads, frowned at sight of the inn. There came a rush of folk hastening toward the coach once he'd pulled his horses to a halt within the wide courtyard. Cole barked the usual orders, and was rewarded with two early flowering crocuses found somewhere amid the snow by a fetching maid. Fortunately, the bulk of the packages were destined for this station.

He was just unlashing a keg of ale, an action meant merely to keep his miserable thoughts at bay, when Marcie and Nan alighted the coach. Cole wished he could be the one to help Marcie down the steps, but Jack was awarded the chance to make that gentlemanly gesture. He watched as Marcie gave the highwayman a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, obviously saying farewell to her friend.

Cole felt the unholy urge to toss Jack into a snowbank. He pulled too hard on the barrel, breaking the lash that held it in place, and nearly toppled himself onto his backside. He managed to catch his balance just as Marcie moved toward him.

Embarrassed that she'd nearly seen him fall on his rump, he slammed the barrel onto the ground then glared in her direction.

"What's the trouble now?" he demanded. Gad, but he was being snappish. But he couldn't help himself. He loved her. And she, blast her, loved another.

Marcie stood rigidly before him. "I meant only to pay you for your trouble, sir," she said, emphasizing the last word.

To Cole's dismay, she pulled a small purse out from her pocket and began to count out an exorbitant sum. Cole blanched.

"Bother it all" he uttered. "Where in the devil did you come by such a sum of coin? Do not tell me you won it in that ridiculous dice game miles ago!"

"Certainly not," Marcie replied, clearly miffed. "As I tried to tell you once, I am, in fact, a miss of means." She thrust the bundle of coin toward him. "Go on. Take it. Consider it payment for your countless troubles in seeing me safely to my destination."

Cole paled. A miss of means? When would she cease this jest of hers? And the coins—where the devil had she gotten them? He doubted Marcie had had this sum of money on her person when he'd first met her at the mews for if she had, she need not have bothered to steal a ride with Nan.

"Put it away," Cole demanded. "I've no need to take your coin. No doubt you will need it in the future."

"I assure you, Cole Coachman," Miss Marcie said, her words coming fast and clipped, "I've a fountain of blunt to see me not only through my lifetime but that of three generations of descendants as well. Now take what I offer you so that I may be once and for all truly done with you."

Cole, tired of the mischievousness that had led him to fall in love with her, turned away from the sight of her beauteous face. He'd be damned if he'd take so much as a half penny from her. That he had to leave her at all was painful enough, but to rob her of her coin as well? He wouldn't do it.

Cole reached for yet another keg lashed to the coach. Again, he pulled too hard. This time, however, the barrel split a seam, and a gush of ale came spilling down to cover his shiny boots.

"Drat you!" he shouted at the barrel, truly vexed.

Marcie managed to dart out of the way of spilled ale, but Cole heard her cry of anguish nonetheless.

"And drat
you,
Cole Coachman!" she gasped, choking on tears. She threw down the bag of coin and then scurried away.

Cole swung round. "Wait!" he called, meaning to stop her and explain that he'd not been speaking of
her
but the barrel.

But his tearing of the keg from the hind boot resulted in a veritable flood of more barrels, frozen hams, crates of imported oranges, and boxes filled with mincemeat pies from the best pastry houses in London tumbling down upon him. Cole found himself caught beneath an avalanche of goods. A heavy barrel hit him full on the shin. A heavy ham slammed down upon his chest, and several oranges, spilling free of their crate, hit him squarely atop his coachman's hat. Cole, fastened to the ground beneath the goods, could only groan in angry frustration.

"Need a hand?" said a too familiar voice from above him. It was Jack, standing arm-in-arm with Miss Deirdre, the two of them peering down at him.

Cole growled deep in his throat. "Don't just stand there, man! Get that blasted barrel off me!"

Jack hastened to oblige while Miss Deirdre shook her head at Cole.

"Ah, Cole," she whispered sadly. "Why ever did you shout at Marcie so? You've completely frightened your miss away."

Cole didn't need Miss Deirdre to tell him that. He got to his feet, with Jack's help, and watched as Marcie, eyes filled with tears, turned at the doorway of the inn to glance one last time in his direction.

Her eyes were just as lovely as he remembered. But her mouth, so pouty and full, was turned down. Their eyes met and held for a fraction of a second, and then she turned away from him and hurried into the inn.

Cole felt as though the sun had just slipped forever behind a dark and ominous cloud.

* * *

Nan, having followed Marcie into the inn, tried unsuccessfully to sway her friend's emotions toward Cole.

"Cole Coachman isn't always so horrid," offered Nan. "He can be quite a gentleman. Oh, please, Marcie, do not judge Cole so harshly. I am certain he will deliver you to your godmama's home if only we ask him to do so."

Marcie shook the snow from her pelisse, motioning for one of the maids. "I've no further need of your Cole Coachman," she said. "I intend to hire a local conveyance to take me to Stormhaven."

"Cole will take you there."

Marcie's lips tightened. "He's manning a Royal Mail coach not a stage coach! And besides Cole Coachman has made it quite clear he wishes to be done with me. I've granted him that wish. I have paid him in full for his troubles."

"Cole has no need of your money, Marcie. Oh, please, just say you will allow him to take you to Stormhaven."

Marcie shook her head. "I have made my decision, Nan." She commenced to give her instructions to the maid now beside her. The maid informed her that a wagon of goods was even now being readied to travel into Stow-on-the-Wold, and also to the nearby Stormhaven.