Cole paled. A miss of means? When would she cease this jest of hers? And the coinsâwhere 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.
Marcie asked the maid to inquire if there might be room for her aboard the wagon.
Nan frowned. “So you are giving up on Cole Coachman, are you? Does this mean you’ve decided to take up your cousins’ offer of introducing you to the Marquis of Sherringham?”
Marcie, not forgetting her promise to Nan, nodded. Besides, she was too tired to argue again about consenting to consider some stuffy marquis.
“Well, then, I guess this is good-bye for now.”
“It would seem so,” said Marcie. She turned toward her friend, giving her a warm hug. “I’ll not forget you, Nan. Let us promise to keep in touch.”
They hugged each other tight for a moment, and then, when the maid returned with news that Marcie could indeed find a ride to Stormhaven, they parted company.
Marcie watched as Nan headed out the inn door. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. She wouldn’t. But as the latch dropped into place, and as she imagined Nan scurrying for the Mail coachâand ColeâMarcie’s tears fell unchecked.
It would be a very, very long time before Marcie would be able to forget Cole Coachman. Indeed, Marcie admitted to herself, she knew she would never forget him.
*
Cole saw Nan returning to the coach. “That was a quick good-bye,” he said. Too quick, Cole thought. Though the parcels had been unloaded, he felt somehow unsettled, as though he’d left something undone. No doubt it was because he had not had the chance to say a proper farewell to his Mistress Mischief.
As for Jack and Miss Deirdre, the two would be staying on at the inn for an indefinite time.
“I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf in life,” Miss Deirdre explained to Cole, as Jack unpacked the last of her baggage. Miss Deirdre’s voice dropped a note as she said, “Jack and I will soon be married.”
Cole shook his head, not a little amazed. “You must love him very much to give up your life of luxury.”
Miss Deirdre nodded. “I do love him… but I’ll not be giving up any luxuries.”
“Pray do not tell me Jack has encouraged you to join him in his highwayman’s antics!”
“Certainly not,” said Miss Deirdre, crinkling her nose. “You shall be the first to know that I have decided to write my memoirs. I am certain there are those among the ton who would pay a handsome price to ensure their names do not appear in print.”
“Ah,” said Cole. “I see.” And then he laughed, very glad that Miss Deirdre had at last found happiness. He had little doubt but that her memoirs would prove vastly entertaining.
Miss Deirdre gave him a rueful smile in return. “I wish things had turned out differently for you and Marcie.”
“As do I!” It was Jack who said the words. Having finished unloading Miss Deirdre’s baggage, he’d come to stand beside her and was now looking at Cole with an accusing glare. “You are a fool not to go after the girl, Cole Coachman.”
Cole did not argue with the man; he was thinking the same thing. But Marcie was exactly where she’d wanted to be. He had brought her to Burford, just as he’d promised. All that was left to do was to get on with his life.
Cole tipped his hat in a final farewell to both Jack and Miss Deirdre, then motioned for Nan to sit with him on the box. He had no desire to ride alone. Not now.
*
They’d no sooner headed out of the courtyard than Nan skewered Cole with an angry glare.
“How could you?” she cried.
“How could I what?”
“Abuse Marcie in such a way?”
“Abuse her?” Cole said. “Me abuse her? Devil take it, Nan, but thoughts of Marcie have haunted me this entire ride!”
“And did you tell her so?” Nan demanded.
“T-tell her?” Cole asked. “Well, no, of co
urse not. How could I? She is clearly in love with another man. How could I confess my thoughts while she pines for another?”
“Oh!” moaned Nan, quite theatrically. “What a perfect fool you have been, Cole. There is no other man. Marcie loves you! She’s loved you from the first, yet you thwarted her at every step.”
“What the devil are you saying, Nan?”
Nan waved one hand in the air. “No matter. You still have a chance to make things right. She is, after all, the heiress your sisters-in-law have arranged for you to meet.”
“What?”
Nan cowered. “Now don’t go getting angry with me,” she gasped. “I knew all along that Marcie was the heiress for you, and you the titled swell meant for her. But I thought it would be best to let the two of you get better acquainted along the road. Oh, Cole, do not glare at me as though you’d like nothing better than to see me hanged! You know yourself what a crosspatch you’ve become since ascending to the title. As for Marcie, why she is far too spirited to agree to marry a stuffy marquis! And I just thought… well, I thought you and Marcie could have some fun together during this Mail ride. Could get to know each other.”
Cole gaped at her. “Marcie is the heiress my sisters-in-law have been sputtering about? She is the one I’ve been dreading to meet?”
“Yâyes,” admitted Nan.
“And you didn’t tell me?” Cole roared.
Nan winced. “How could I? Oh, Cole, but you’ve been known to make even a titled heiress cry! I didn’t want you thinking Marcie was one of those hen-witted heiresses you’d dealt with in the past. And I didn’t want Marcie believing you were some stuffy swell whose company she must endure. I wanted the two of you to meet on even ground. I wanted you to see what a treat Marcie is, and I wanted, blast you, for Marcie to see that the Marquis of Sherringham isn’t always such a complete bore!”
Cole couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Marcie was the heiress he’d been trying to avoid? And he was the stuffy swell she’d been doing her best to steer clear of?
“Nan,” he muttered, “I should be fully angry with you.”
“But you aren’t.”
“And how can you be so certain?” he demanded.
“Because,” said Nan, with utter certainty, “you are no longer the Cole Coachman or the Marquis of Sherringham I remember.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
“Because the both of them would have boxed my ears by now!”
“I may just do exactly that.”
Nan shook her head. “I doubt it,” she assured him. “You see, Cole, or Sherry, or whatever it is you’ve become, you are not the same person you were when starting out on this journey and you know it. Marcie has changed you.”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” Nan replied. “Now turn left, down this road.”
“What?”
“Left!” Nan called, reaching to help guide the reins.
The coach bumped over a rut in the snowy road.
Nan smiled up at her half brother. “You want to be at Stormhaven soon after Marcie arrives, don’t you?” she asked. “Well, since you must take me to my mother’s uncle’s house in Stow and you still must deliver the last of your parcels there, then you should at least stop at Stormhaven and let them know you have every intention of joining them as soon as possible. If my calculations are correct, we should be there well before Marcie.”
Cole, for once in his life, did not argue.
Chapter 14
The transformation of one Marcelon Victoria Darlington from a mischievous West Country girl into a refined young lady destined to capture the heart of a titled gentleman began that very late afternoon upon Marcie’s arrival at Stormhaven.
Marcie arrived at her godmama’s home cold and wrinkled from her trek aboard a creaky old wagonâa wagon filled with extra goods for her godmama’s Saint Valentine’s Day ball. The ball was to be the culmination of Penelope Barrington’s seven-day house party in honor of Saint Valentine, and it was set to take place that very evening. But though Marcie was much travel-worn and most likely looked a fright, her beautiful cousins, Mirabella and Meredith, swept her into warm hugs. Even her godmama, the outlandish Penelope Barrington, known for her eccentric ways, paid no mind to Marcie’s bedraggled appearance.
Nor were her cousins or Aunt Nellieâas she and her cousins called Penelopeâaghast to hear that Marcie had run away from her boarding school. They were, however, most upset that Marcie had endured the cruelties of the switch-wielding Mistress Cheltenham. They assured Marcie that, had she but hinted at her unhappiness, they would have hastened to Town to retrieve her from that horrible school.
Aunt Nellie declared that she would soon pay a personal visit to one Betina Cheltenham.
Marcie couldn’t help but smile. Ah, what she wouldn’t give to be a mouse in the room when the indomitable Penelope Barrington cut the nasty Mistress Cheltenham down to size! Marcie regretted that she’d been too stubborn to turn to her family for help, and she told Aunt Nellie as much when the older woman asked why Marcie hadn’t alerted them.
Marcie shook her head, frowning. “It was because I was determined to carry out my father’s dying wish that I become a lady. He’d so wanted me to go to London and enroll in Mistress Cheltenham’s School for Young Ladies, and though I’d fought him tooth and nail for so long, I found I had to do just that after his death.” Marcie sighed. “Had my father known of Mistress Cheltenham’s true nature, and the state of disrepair her school has fallen into, he never would have made arrangements for me to go to her.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Aunt Nellie. She gave Marcie’s hand a squeeze. “But here now, let us forget this evil headmistress. You’ve become a beautiful young lady despite the woman’s harshness.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the blond-haired Mirabella, “this talk of being a lady has just reminded me that the Marquis of Sherringham paid his respects not an hour ago. Claimed he had some business to attend to but that he’d return for the banquet. I’d quite forgotten that Merry and I promised to introduce you to his lordship.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Meredith. “We must get you upstairs and ready for the evening’s gathering.”
Marcie was quick to explain that she had no desire to meet any peer of the realm. She wasn’t ready by far to meet such a gentleman, she said, adding to herself that she wasn’t of a mind to try and entice any manâunless, of course, that man should be Cole Coachman.
Both of her cousins told Marcie that Saint Valentine’s Day was a day for a lady to be swept off her feet by a man, and who better to do so than a titled swell? But they also assured Marcie that should she not find Lord Sherringham pleasing, they would, without hesitation, come to Marcie’s rescue. They reminded her of this fact just as quickly as they reminded Marcie that she had once written to them both, stating she wished above all other things to become a true lady.
“Come now,” said the amber-eyed Meredith. “Surely a part of you wishes to be clothed in a beautiful gown and paid attention by a handsome gentleman.”
“Please,” added Mirabella, “allow Merry and me the pleasure of fussing over you. It troubles us that we were not there to help you escape that horrible boarding school Think of this as our Valentine’s gift to you.”
“Yes, do,” enthused Meredith.
Marcie, not wanting to insult her cousins, whom she loved dearly and had long wished to emulate, finally relented.
“Very well,” Marcie said, though she didn’t exactly relish the thought of being primped and pampered and then sent off into the company of one Lord Sherringham. But who was she to dash her cousins’ hopes?
And so it was that Marcie was led upstairs to a frilly bed chamber where both Mirabella and Meredith commenced to make a lady of her.
*
Penelope, hanging back from the commotion, allowed her goddaughters to scurry out of the room and upstairs.
She turned to look over one shoulder, gazing beyo
nd the curtained windows to the wintry landscape there and hoping to espy a certain Mail coach.
Penelope had been present when Lord Sherringham arrived earlier, and hadâonly in thought, of courseâapplauded the man’s sense of adventure in taking on the guise of a coachman. Eccentricity was to Penelope a mark of distinction.
To Penelope’s further delight, she had seen in Lord Sherringham’s gray eyes the telling spark of interest when it was mentioned to him that a certain Marcelon Darlington, now an heiress in her own right, would soon be arriving.
In fact, Penelope had the distinct impression his lordship had met up with her goddaughter along the road. Why else would the man look as though he were suddenly beset with passion when Marcie’s name was mentioned?
And, too, there was the matter of Marcie’s becoming quite evasive about how, exactly, she’d traveled the distance from London to Burford. Penelope had smiled to herself; the road from Town to Burford was winding, filled with surprises… and long enough for two people cut of the same cloth to fall in love.
Though his lordship had tried his best to appear nonchalant about coming to the ball, the wise Penelope guessed otherwise. She could see the shimmer of hope in his stormy gaze. And could perceive the presence of Cupid hovering about him. Ah, yes, she’d thought. The ball would be a glorious ending to Saint Valentine’s Day. Love was indeed in the air.
Penelope had then decided she, Mirabella, and Meredith made the correct decision in dashing off an invitation to Lord Sherringham weeks ago. Thank goodness his sisters-in-law had managed to persuade him to make the journey to Stormhaven. Penelope had long ago guessed that the third son of her dear departed friends, the late Marquis and Marchioness of Sherringham, would be a perfect match for her own mischievous goddaughter.
Both Meredith and Mirabella, however, had been most concerned when his lordship commenced to make a quick exit, explaining rather hastily that he must deliver the last of the Mail coach’s parcels. Mirabella and Meredith worried that his lordship might not return in time for the ball. They also feared that Lord Sherringham might possibly have decided he wanted nothing to do with a Cit heiress and had truly taken flight so to speak.
Miss Marcie's Mischief (To Woo an Heiress, Book 2) Page 16