What a stupid, idiotic chit she’d been. The Cole Coachmans of the world would never find someone as green as her intriguing. They would toy with her, certainly, but they would never take her seriously… not when the likes of the worldly Miss Deirdre offered all a man could desire.
As Marcie and Freddie reached her portmanteau and began sorting through the fossils, searching for some that caught Freddie’s fancy, Marcie felt the sting of bitter tears burn her eyes.
“Miss Marcie?” Little Freddie suddenly forgot the fossils. “You are crying. Why? Have I made you angry? Do you not wish to share your fossils with me?”
Marcie dashed the wetness from her eyes. “Oh, no, sweetheart, that is not it. Not at all.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“IâI am just tired, I think. I’m so very tired.” And cold, she thought. Her heart had frozen at the sight of Cole so easily trailing after the comely Miss Deirdre.
“Come,” said little Freddie softly. “I know a very special place where you can rest.”
Marcie, her thoughts with Cole and Miss Deirdre, blindly followed little Freddie along a maze of hallways and then up a steep set of back stairs that wound round and round. She felt as though she were climbing up into a dark, solitary place. Marcie didn’t care. She only wanted to get far away from the place where Cole and Miss Deirdre were no doubt locked in each other’s embrace.
*
Cole stumbled into an unlit room.
“Such a web I’ve made for myself!” Miss Deirdre wailed once she latched the door behind him. “You must help me, Cole!”
“Oh, bother,” muttered Cole, having slammed his left knee into something hard and ungiving. “Why the devil did you have to lead us into the darkest room of this monstrous place? Light a light, I beg you!”
Miss Deirdre clicked her tongue in exasperation, moving away from him even as she did so. Cole heard the swish of heavy drapes. He winced as daylight streamed inside the frosted windows.
“Much better,” he muttered, looking down to see the object he’d smashed into was a wing-backed chair.
Miss Deirdre whirled away from the windows, facing him with all the calm of a coming hurricane.
“I have quite fallen in love with the wrong man!” she cried.
Cole blinked. Could she mean him? He hoped not.
Feeling guilty for having been so attentive to her during his run, he said: “There is something you should know about me, Miss Deirdreâ”
“Please,” she interrupted hastily, “but I haven’t the wherewithal to deal with your confessions of undying love. I tell you, man, I am in a fix! I am quite head over heels in love with your highwayman!”
Stunned, Cole could do nothing more than gape at her. “Whâwhat did you say?” he asked, not able to believe the words she’d just uttered.
“I know, I know,” Miss Deirdre said, pacing the floor. “You thought me to be quite enamored of you… and I was, to a point. But then I met Jack.”
“Jack?”
“Yes. Jack. Do keep your voice down! I shouldn’t want word of this getting around. Not, that is, until I wish it to be known. Oh, Cole, whatever shall I do?”
Cole plunked himself down into the wing-backed chair, getting a nose full of dust for his troubles. He began to laugh.
“I find nothing amusing in all of this!” Miss Deirdre cried. “How dare you laugh at me! I’ll have you know I have been mistress to the Regent himself! Indeed Prinny is expecting me to grace his bed again very soon! But the fact is, I find him quite dullâheaven help me for admitting thisâin comparison to our wonderfully unkempt but manly highwayman!”
Laughing all the more, Cole threw back his head.
Miss Deirdre stamped one foot on the floor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “What would a lowly coachman know of such things! I don’t know why I ever bothered to let you in on my secret.”
Cole sobered somewhat. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is because I am not a lowly coachman but rather the Marquis of Sherringham. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cole Charles Edward Sherringham, known to the ton as Sherry… and known along the road as simply Cole Coachman.”
“Say it isn’t so!” exclaimed Miss Deirdre.
“Ah, but it is,” he said. He lifted one eyebrow toward her. “I, too, am in a fix, Miss Deirdre.”
“You? How so? Obviously, you’ve coin and prestige enough to dig yourself out of any coil.”
“Not by far, for, you see, this coil has to do with a woman… and my heart.”
“Ah,” whispered Miss Deirdre, enlightened. “You mean Marcie.”
“Yes. Marcie.”
“You have taken a fancy to her?”
“It goes deeper than that, I am afraid.”
“You are in love with her.”
“I wouldn’t know, exactly. I have never been in love with a woman before.”
“I find that difficult to believe. I have heard of you, Sherry… er, Cole… er, my lordâ”
“Let us keep things simple, shall we? Call me Cole and be done with it.”
She nodded. “You are considered quite a catch among the ladies of the ton, Cole. Surely, you have fallen in love a time or two.”
“‘Twas only lust I’d fallen into in the past. But with Marcie, everything is different. All things are new and fresh and exciting, andâbother it all, but I cannot articulate all she makes me feel.”
“I think you just have.”
Cole blew out an exasperated sigh. “It matters not a whit,” he said. “The miss has her sights set on reaching Burford, at which point she fully intends to embark on a life of unfettered freedom. No doubt she would balk at becoming my wife and forced to endure the insufferable hectic social whirl I took to the roads to escape.”
“Yes,” sighed Miss Deirdre, staring off into a dark corner of the room. “My Jack seems to like his freedom as well.”
The two of them fell silent, stewing in their own miserable thoughts. Miss Deirdre commenced pacing back and forth in front of the windows, while Cole stared at his booted toes as though the answer to his predicament might suddenly appear there.
“I have it!” exclaimed Miss Deirdre suddenly.
“Have what?” Cole demanded, startled by her loud exclamation.
“A plan, of course!”
“Of course. Do tell,” he said. “I am all ears.” Fact was, he hadn’t any plans of his own short of tearing through the vicarage in search of Marcie and then throwing himselfâand his undying loveâat her pretty feet. Not a very imaginative plot, to be sure. And one, certainly, that would leave him to lick his wounds in private once his mischievous miss learned of his title and that he wasn’t a true monarch of the road.
Miss Deirdre tapped one long-nailed finger against her lovely chin. “All our troubles would be solved if only we had a Cupid in our midst,” she said thoughtfully. “The only question remains, whom shall we choose to play Cupid?”
“I haven’t a clue,” said Cole, though thoughts of little Freddie, who believed in Cupids and arrows of love, tripped through his brain. But no. He’d not stoop to using a young orphan to do his bidding.
“The answer is simple,” said Miss Deirdre. “I shall be your Cupid, and you, Cole, shall be mine!”
“What the devil are you proposing?”
“A very simple thing, actually. You need only become a tick in Jack’s ear. Sway him in my direction. That is all I need; I assure you I can handle things from that point on. As for your Marcie, I shall sing your praises to her. I’ll have her realizing that any day not spent with you would be an utter bore. Oh! Do you not think it a wonderful idea?”
Cole had his reservations. “Jack and I haven’t exactly been bosom friends during this run,” he said. And Marcie, he knew, wasn’t exactly enamored of the too-beautiful Miss Deirdre.
Miss Deirdre waved away his worries. “Jack has a huge heart. He’ll warm to you soon enough, but you have to make the first move.”
“And Marcie?” he
asked.
“She’s a woman, isn’t she? We speak the same language. Do not fear. I shall have your bird-loving miss eating out of your hand in no time,” Miss Deirdre assured him.
Trouble was, Cole didn’t want Marcie “eating out of his hand” as Miss Deirdre put it. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. He desired, begad, to meet her on equal footing. No subterfuge. No half-truths. Just the two of them, coming together because they could do no less. And he wanted, more than anything, to join her on the road to freedom and happiness, their hands clasped together and their hearts and their steps in tune with each other.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, wary. “Perhaps Nan should be my Cupid.” Or even little Freddie, he thought.
“Dismiss that idea!” said Miss Deirdre, moving toward him to pull him up and out of the chair. “Nan would no doubt lose her train of thought should a bit of food be whisked beneath her nose! No, I am the person to play your Cupid. After all, I have caught the jaded eye of Prinny himself. I know exactly how to make your young Marcie turn her head your way, do not worry!”
But Cole did worry.
Chapter 12
Marcie, feet curled beneath her on the window seat Freddie had led her to, leaned her head back against the frame of the window and sighed heavily. Little Freddie had gone below in search of some tea for Marcie to drink, leaving Marcie alone in the cozy little alcove, where Freddie obviously spent much of her time.
Marcie smiled when she spied a ragged doll propped up against the opposite corner. She reached for the doll. Its porcelain face was chipped by wear and cracked with age, but the tiny dress it wore was clearly new and recently pressed. There was a snowy white blanket beneath it, and beneath that, Marcie could see a heart etched into the wood of the window seat.
Marcie cradled the doll in one arm, then leaned forward to better read the inscription carved into the center of the heart: C.C. loves Miss M. 1793.
Obviously, someone just as much in love as she was now had sat upon this very seat and painstakingly carved those letters. What bittersweet coincidence that her initials and Cole’s matched to perfection.
Marcie let out a soft, ragged sigh. Tears moistened her eyes. She sat there alone, clutching Freddie’s chipped and worn doll, and wishing, ever wishing, that things could turn out differently for herself and Cole Coachman.
*
Marcie, so caught up in her own miserable thoughts, scarcely noticed the sounds of little Freddie climbing the stairs, Jack in tow.
Freddie peeked through the archway leading to the secluded window seat high above the vicarage.
“She be crying!” Freddie gasped. “Oh, you must do something, Jack!”
“But what?” asked Jack, rubbing his whiskered jaw.
Little Freddie did not hesitate. “Why, tell her to march down the stairwell in search of your fine coachman. Marcie and Cole Coachman are ever so much in love with each other, I just know it!” Freddie suddenly slapped one tiny hand over her mouth. “Oh my,” she muttered. “I swore I’d never tell! Oh, but I’ve made a mess of it, I have.”
Jack screwed up his face in bewilderment. “A mess of what, child? Speak no more nonsense, please! You got me all in a tither, you have, what with your mutterings. Now what the blazes are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” whispered, Freddie. “Everything. Oh, just go to her, Jack. Tell her to hurry downstairs and search for Cole Coachman. She won’t listen to me as I am only a child.”
Jack stared at her, hard. “A child wiser than the lot of us put together,” he hazarded. “Stop your fussing. I’m going, my little Freddie, have no fear. But I don’t know that it will do any good. Miss Marcie is a headstrong lass. And Cole Coachman is as bendable as a bit of cold ore.”
“But he has a soft heart,” said Freddie.
“If you say so,” muttered Jack. And before he knew it, he was stumbling up the last step and then into the tiny window alcove.
*
Marcie dashed away her tears at sight of Jack.
“Is Freddie all right?” she asked. “She didn’t fall with the tea tray, did she? I told her I could get my own tea, but she was most adamant about bringing it up here to me.”
“Freddie is fine,” said Jack. “It is you I am worried about. Come now, what are you doing here, curled up like some sad angel?”
“Oh, Jack,” whispered Marcie, all of her troubles pouring out of her. “It is Saint Valentine’s Day, my most favorite of days, and yet… here I sit, being a perfect watering pot. My heart was broken by the passing of my father, and I told myselfâno, I swore to myselfâthat I would never, ever allow my heart to be broken again. And yet, I have. It is breaking now, breaking as it never has. I love him, Jack. I love Cole Coachman… but he does not return my love.”
Marcie fell against him, her tears running unchecked.
“Ah, sweetling,” Jack murmured, catching her in an awkward embrace. “Jack here hates to see you suffer so. Please don’t cry.”
“IâI am sorry,” Marcie said. She hiccoughed. “I thought… I thought that Cole might return my feelings. But I realize now he could never love someone as green as me.”
“You might be green, my lovely Marcie,” said Jack passionately, “but I never met a prettier or sweeter thing than you. Now you dry your eyes. Jack will set things right.”
“No!” she said. Marcie knew very well that Cole did not hold the highwayman in high esteem. There was absolutely no way she would have Jack suffer Cole’s moodiness on her account.
Marcie gently pulled away from him. “I thank you for your kind offer Jack, but I cannot accept. You have done more than enough for me.”
“Here now,” he argued, “I managed to do nothing more than land you in hot water what with the dice throwing and all. And we both know your coachman was none too happy about that.”
“But you led us here, to the vicarage. And,” she added softly, smiling, “you taught me to how to dance.”
“It was only a simple jig,” he insisted.
“It was lovely, and a very gentlemanly offer on your part. I thank you for it.”
Jack blushed. He bowed his head, scratched his chin, and began to shift his weight from one foot to the other.
Marcie, realizing she’d embarrassed the man, decided to end the conversation. She placed Freddie’s doll back on the window seat. That done, she turned to Jack, slipped one arm through the crook of his, and motioned toward the stairs.
“Shall we go below and join the others, Jack?”
He nodded, a twinkle lighting his eyes.
As Marcie led the way down the stairs, she told herself that she’d only been imagining things when she thought she’d perceived a plan forming in Jack’s mind. Surely Jack would not be so bold as to speak to Cole on her behalf, would he? She hoped not.
A few minutes later, Marcie joined Nan and the vicar’s wife in the huge kitchen downstairs. Nan was busy tasting the cake batter the vicar’s wife was stirring. Both females greeted Marcie warmly. Freddie joined them all a second later, balancing a tea tray in her arms.
Marcie hurried to help the little girl with the tray. Now how did she manage to miss Freddie on the stairs? she wondered. Of course there remained the possibility that Freddie had taken another set of stairs up to the loft, found Marcie gone, and then come back downstairs. Marcie shrugged away the question, then turned to offer Jack some tea.
The man was no longer present.
*
After giving Marcie over to friendly folks, Jack set off to find the gruff Cole Coachman. He’d draw the man’s cork should Cole not fashion to seek out Miss Marcie once Jack had had a word or two with him! Though Jack hardly approved of Miss Marcie’s choice, he had to admit to himself that Cole Coachman had a certain air of respectability about him. But Jack was no fool. He knew that any man worth his salt needed to think there be a challenge in snaring the lady of his choice.
Jack met Cole Coachman just as Cole was stepping out of the library.
“Ho! You there,” called Jack. “I would have a word with you, my fine coachman.” Jack expected the man to turn away, but surprisingly he did not.
“Ah, Jack, my man,” Cole Coachman greeted him. “Shall we commence to my buried coach together?”
Jack blinked in astonishment. Fancy that! Getting Cole Coachman alone proved to be a simpler feat than Jack had imagined.
“Lead the way, man,” Jack said enthusiastically.
And the two of them headed out the front entrance of the vicarage, arm in arm, and looking as though they’d been friends for a lifetime.
*
Miss Deirdre, grinning, watched the two men head out the door. Her plans were already in motion. She was but one step away from having Jack as her own. Now, all that was left to be done was make certain Miss Marcie soon felt the gentle touch of one of Cupid’s arrows.
*
Cole and Jack met Vicar Clarke, his orphan wards, and several of his male neighbors at the footbridge where the sled and its plow horse had been pulled to a halt. Jack made quick work of climbing into the sleigh, Cole following after. The incessant jangling of bells accompanied them as they made haste back to the main road.
Cole decided the moment would be as good as any to sway the uncouth Jack to courting the wily Miss Deirdre. Problem was, he didn’t know quite how to phrase the suggestion.
In what he deemed a sorry attempt, he began: “Ah, Jack, my man, what think you of the lovely and… uh, available Miss Deirdre?”
Jack surprised his lordship by leaning back a pile of hay that had been put in the sled to be used later as traction beneath the carriage wheels. He grinned mightily.
“I think she be the sun that rises atop this sorry soul of mine. She is both angel and siren, and she is the one for ol’ Jack here. Fact is, Cole Coachman, I intend to offer her my hand, that is, once we see to it your coach is set free of the snow and all.”
Cole nearly choked on the chilling air coursing into his lungs. “You intend to ask her to marry you?” Cole asked, thunderstruck.
“Of course I do,” answered Jack. “I would be addled not to, seeing as how she’s taken an interest in me and all.”
Miss Marcie's Mischief (To Woo an Heiress, Book 2) Page 13