Miss Marcie's Mischief (19 page)

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 myself—no, I swore to myself—that 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."

"I—I 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."

"Now how the devil did you know she'd taken an interest in you?" demanded Cole, quite perplexed by it all.

"Why, she smiled at me just so. A man knows such things. And there is the matter of her warming to me once she'd had a chance to scratch old Bart's ears."

"Bart?" Cole said, quite exasperated. "Who the devil is
Bart?"

"He is the sheepdog I delivered years ago. A right sunny beast, always wagging his tail. Miss Deirdre took a liking to him straight away, she did."

"And so you knew then that she would accept your offer of marriage, did you?" asked Cole.

"That I did."

Cole rolled his eyes heavenward. Miss Deirdre had no need for a Cupid. As Cole saw it, the woman needed a protector from Jack's overeager pursuit.

"Now," said Jack, getting cozy in the hay and commencing to make a show of cleaning his fingernails with the blade of a knife, "I be thinking about yourself and the fine Miss Marcie."

"Oh?" said Cole.

"Aye," said Jack. "Miss Marcie is needing a firm hand in her life. I do declare you are that firm but gentle hand she needs."

"You don't say."

"I do at that."

They looked at each other, man to man, and Cole suddenly grew wary. "Are you perhaps playing matchmaker on Marcie's behalf?" asked Cole, a mite too anxiously.

Jack shook his head. "Never." And here he winked. "It was little Freddie's idea."

Cole frowned. "I thought as much."

"Miss Marcie might have asked it of me, but, of course, being the fine lady she is, she did no such thing." With that, Jack continued happily scraping away the dirt from beneath his fingernails.