Miss Marcie's Mischief (25 page)

Penelope's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain of this, Marcie? Are you sure the man wants nothing to do with you?"

"I am," Marcie whispered, and then she bent her head, trying not to allow her emotions to overtake her yet again.

Penelope was not fooled. She reached down to give one of Marcie's hands a gentle squeeze. "Take heart, my dear Marcie," she whispered. "Saint Valentine's Day is a time of lovely miracles. All manner of wondrous things might occur, you know."

"Do you really think so, Auntie?"

"I do," replied Penelope. "Now dry your eyes, take a moment to compose yourself, and then join us in the ballroom." With that, she turned and headed out of the drawing room.

Marcie stayed where she was for a moment, pondering Penelope's words. Though Marcie knew in her heart she would most likely never see Cole Coachman again, she also realized that she'd been blessed by being given such loving cousins and godmama... and, too, there remained the possibility of one day meeting up with her handsome coachman. After all, she intended to return to the vicarage and retrieve Freddie, and Masters Neville and Theodore. Who knew what the road from Stormhaven to the vicarage might hold?

Marcie, ever hopeful, decided then and there that she should join the Valentine's celebration and set her own woes aside. So thinking, she left the window seat and headed for the ballroom to join the others.

* * *

The guests danced and laughed amongst themselves. And they whispered about the mystery of who would be paired with whom for the final waltz. The room was filled with love and laughter.

Marcie felt like an odd wheel. She did her best to mingle with the crowd, and to look as though she belonged. But her thoughts remained with Cole Coachman.

Just before midnight, and before the last waltz began, Marcie slipped out through the terrace doors, glad her god-mama had thought to have the groundskeeper sweep away all the snow from the stone walkway leading to the inner fountain of the frozen garden. Even the garden walks had been brushed clean.

Marcie wrapped her arms about her and moved slowly toward the inner fountain that was coated in ice. From beyond, she could hear the laughter from inside the house.

She was alone.

Or at least she'd thought she was.

All of the other guests were inside the house. All but one, that is.

He stood—rather nervously Marcie thought—just to the right of the fountain. Marcie strained to make out his features, but the bright light of the lamps strung about the wintry garden on either side cast the man's face in shadows. She thought she recognized the broad width of the shoulders, the way in which he held his head high....

But no, she told herself. She was imagining things. The man wasn't Cole Coachman.

"There is punch and sweetcakes inside," Marcie offered, motioning toward the house.

The man did not move.

Marcie, though at first frightened, found she could not move from her spot. A chill wind whispered against her. The lights wavered. She heard the musicians begin to play the final waltz far off in the distance. Saint Valentine's Day was drawing to a close.

"Please," said Marcie, feeling an inexplicable and odd sort of connection to the lone man cloaked in shadows. She didn't want him to miss out on the last bit of gaiety in the ballroom. "Go inside and join the merriment. I'd hate for you to spend the final moments of Saint Valentine's Day alone."

"Why?" whispered the still figure.

Why indeed?
thought Marcie. But she knew why. It was because she believed in the wonder of Saint Valentine's Day. Though she had lost Cole Coachman for now, she very much trusted that she might yet again meet him, somehow, someway, in the future. And lastly, she remained very much a mischievous miss who could not turn her back on any mystery. The man standing in the shadows was somehow a very enticing mystery.

"Because it is Saint Valentine's Day," Marcie said in answer to his question, deciding also to join the others inside. "No one should be alone on such a night. Come." She motioned toward the walkway leading to the ballroom doors.

"You are quick to welcome me into your world," he said, still not moving. "I should warn you I have, in the past, been one to avoid a crush of people."

"Perhaps this night could be the start of something new for you. I have been told that all manner of wondrous things can happen on Saint Valentine's Day."

"And do you believe such words?" asked the stranger, his voice oddly familiar.

Marcie fought not to make a connection between the man's voice and the remembered sounds of Cole Coachman's. Her ears were playing tricks on her, that was all. "I was once told," said Marcie truthfully, "that I am a dreamer."

"And are you?"

"Yes," she admitted, thinking of Cole and her hopes of one day meeting him again. "I guess I am."

"Pity," replied the stranger. He stepped forward, into the light. "I was hoping you might be a believer... a believer in two people destined to meet."

Marcie gasped as the man came fully into view. "Cole!"

Cole Coachman nodded. "I am he," he admitted, "though I am also known as Lord Sherringham. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am the Marquis of Sherringham, the same who was intended to pay court to a certain heiress—though I had no idea you were she."

Marcie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Cole Coachman was actually the Marquis of Sherringham, the very man she'd been dreading to meet? She felt her cheeks flame, recalling all the heated words she'd flung at him.

"Oh, what a fool I must seem to you." Embarrassment engulfed her. "I had thought you to be a coachman and not a lord," she gasped, recalling all the outrageous things she'd done. "I wish that I had never stopped your carriage. You must think me impertinent and disrespectful and—"

"I find that you are all that is agreeable," he said swiftly. "Please, do not be upset, and never, ever say that you wish you'd not stopped my coach. I donned the guise of Cole Coachman because I was weary of my life as it was. And then you appeared, and suddenly I was invigorated again for the first time in a very long while."

Marcie felt dazed. "I—I don't know what to say," she replied.

"Say you forgive me," he suggested softly. "Say you forgive Cole Coachman for his brusque ways."

Marcie felt her spirits soar.
Cole was here, he was real... and he had returned to her.
"I do forgive you," she whispered.

"And say, I pray you, that you love me as much as I love you." He lifted one gloved hand, showing that he held the lopsided heart she'd made for him. "I found this in the window seat," he said. "Penelope led me into the drawingroom, told me there was a special something to be found, then left me alone, adding that once I found my gift I should head out here." He paused a moment and then, his voice husky and soft, said, "The heart is lovely, Marcie. And so are you."

Tears suddenly stung Marcie's eyes. Surprise, happiness, and then supreme joy pumped through her as the meaning of his words penetrated deep into her soul, her heart.

"Oh, Cole," she whispered.

"Say it, Marcie. Say the words I've been longing to hear from you."

Marcie trembled. "I love you."

He flashed a broad grin that near lit the night. In two long strides he was beside her, sweeping her into a tight embrace.

"I thank God you said the words," he exclaimed, pressing his cheek against hers and breathing in the scent of her. "Oh, Marcie, my dear mischievous, wonderful Marcie, how I have longed to hold you like this." He tenderly kissed her cheek, her nose, her brow. "Until I met you, I never truly enjoyed life. I was only going through the motions of living. And then, suddenly, you sprinted into my path, challenged me, made me laugh and curse all at once. You taught me to find joy in children's laughter, to see hope in the eyes of a bedraggled highwayman, and to view the world in a new and exciting light."

"I did all of that?" Marcie asked, peering up at his handsome face.

"That... and more," he assured her.

Marcie snuggled against him, feeling safe, secure. "I feared you thought me too mischievous for your taste," she said.

"Ah, but that is what I find most endearing. I adore your wild, willful ways, my Mischievous Miss Marcie."

Marcie melted into his heated embrace, knowing that he loved her for who and what she was. She could think of no greater Valentine's gift.

"I know that all of this is happening very fast," Cole said, tipping her face up to his, "but I want to keep you close to me forever. I want to build a home with you, a life, a family, and I want, blast it all, to be the one to teach you how to dance—and not just a jig, either."

"I already know how to dance a jig," she teased.

"Then I shall teach you how to waltz," he said heatedly, his gaze heady as he smiled down at her. He lifted the lopsided heart she'd made for him. "I have your heart in my hand, Marcie. You must dance the final waltz with me and become my Valentine."

Marcie beamed up at him. "I already am your Valentine, Cole. And anything else you wish me to be."

His gaze darkened with passion. "My marchioness," he whispered.

Marcie didn't dare to breathe. She dared not do anything lest she shatter this magical moment.

"Well?" he asked, kissing her again. "Will you marry me, Marcie? Will you be my marchioness?"

Satisfied that it wasn't all a dream, she nodded. "Tomorrow, if you wish, my love," she answered breathlessly. Imagine, the first man she had spied on Saint Valentine's Day would become her groom before a year had passed.

Cole gave a low growl of pleasure. "Ah, I do wish it, but there are the banns to be read, and I want to squire you about Town first. And, of course, you must meet my family."

"I have met Patricia and Georgiana this night, and little Charlotte as well. Charlotte adores you, you know. How very sweet of you, Cole, to purchase a bonnet for Doll."

"Charlotte told you about that, did she?"

"She did," Marcie said and was both pleased and surprised to see Cole actually blush at mention of his gift. "Why, my lord, you are not as coldhearted when it comes to matters of your sisters-in-law and their daughters as you would like all the world to believe! Admit it, you love them as much as they love you."

"Shh," Cole said, placing one gloved finger atop her lips. "I wouldn't want word of it getting around. They are a frightfully demanding lot."

"Yes, and you have a wealth of love to give to them, my lord."

"I do now," he assured her. "Now that I've met you." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I shall have the banns read the first Sunday in spring, would that suit you, my sweet?"

Marcie nodded.

"But first," Cole said, "we must return to a certain vicarage and search for a broken-winged owl. Too, I have grown rather fond of Mistress Freddie and Masters Neville and Theodore. Would you be adverse to creating our family even before we are married?"

Marcie's tears came fast and unchecked once again. "I think that is the sweetest, most wonderful idea I have ever heard—save becoming your wife."

He kissed her again, and soon the two were lost to their passion. Their lips did not part until the sounds of the final waltz, now in full play, could be heard from the ballroom.

Cole, reluctantly, pulled his mouth a mere hair's breadth from Marcie's. "Though I would rather spend the night here, with you in my arms, I think we should go inside and partake in the waltz."

"Cole, you have been awake and at the reins for hours! You must be exhausted. We can dance another time. For now, we should go inside so you can rest."

"Rest?
Not yet, not now, when I've finally found the love of my life." He gazed deep and lovingly into her eyes. "I will dance this Valentine's Day night with the woman I love and choose above all others. I will waltz in candlelight with you, Marcie. And I will have all of your godmama's guests know that you, my sweet, are my own special Valentine."

"I—I've never waltzed before, Cole."

"I'll teach you."

Marcie thrilled at the thought of being swept around the ballroom in his warm embrace. "I fear I can deny you nothing, my lord," she said, her eyes shining with love.

"And I, my lovely Marcie, can deny you nothing. That is how it should be for two people in love."

He kissed her again, long and lovingly, and the feel of him, the mere presence of him, blotted out all her worries of making a spectacle of herself on the dance floor.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his gray eyes soft as twilight.

Marcie nodded. "I am," she murmured. "I love you, Cole."

"And I you."

Together, hand in hand, they headed out of the night, into the ballroom, and into a wonderful future to come.

The End