Miss Marcie's Mischief (To Woo an Heiress, Book 2)

by Randall, Lindsay

  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.

  *

  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 on
ly 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.”