Simon's Brides (12 page)

Oscar was much more robust in appearance. He had straight blond hair and big blue eyes. He was tanned and Amy wondered if he spent his days out in the sun.

Agatha nodded toward the last man standing, “And this is the Reverend Mister Robert Sudsberry. He is the assistant vicar of the local church.”

Amy frowned from her position across from the room. She’d never met the assistant of the church and she wondered how Agatha had managed to include him in this group of visitors. The vicar was slighter older than the other two. He had gray eyes and dark brown hair with touches of silver at his temples. He was tall and thin and rather plain looking.

Had Agatha asked him to visit, or had he come on his own? Amy had been under the impression he was still mourning the death of his young wife. Yet here was another woman from the village who had died in childbirth. Amy shivered as she remembered the words the old cook swore embodied the curse,
May you and all of yours die abourning
!

Good heavens! Did Agatha envision the man as a mate for one of them? No! That could never happen.
She stifled a groan. This whole scene was a tableau out of something surreal. She glanced at Simon. He was as furious as she was concerned.

He stared at their guests then at Agatha for a moment and then invited, “Aunt, may I speak to you--alone?”

Agatha turned to look at the young women, then the men and answered crisply, “Not at the moment. You see, it wouldn’t be proper. I’m chaperoning.”

Simon said nothing as he turned away, but tension vibrated through the room. “I’ll be in my office. I will speak to you later.”

Amy cringed herself, and for one moment she felt sorry for Agatha. Anger radiated from Simon and she knew his aunt was in for a severe tongue-lashing. She watched as the gentlemen present sensed the unease. In minutes they had all said their goodbyes.

Standing in the doorway between the dining room and the hall Amy watched the leave taking. Bolton showed the men from the house while Agatha paced back and forth over the parlor carpet, muttering to herself. It appeared that she was now as furious as Simon had been.

As soon as their guests departed she turned and shouted, “Simon Warner, you come here this instant,” breaking the silence of the house.

Amy scooted into the dining room. Caro disappeared up the stairs. Dora headed for the kitchen with the tea things and Ellie sidled into the music room, leaving the door open, Amy saw. Beth cringed from her place on the sofa.

Simon stormed out of his office. “Yes, Aunt?”

Amy could tell by the tone of his voice his own rage was barely contained.

“How dare you,” Agatha slipped her lorgnette to her eyes, “It took days to arrange that meeting. Those men are busy. They didn’t take well to being dismissed like school boys.”

“Aunt Agatha, I told you--”

“Any one of them would have made a fine husband for one of these girls.”

“Aunt, I told you that I would see to--”

“Well, you haven’t done a thing, now have you?”

Simon looked a bit embarrassed.

“You know I’ve been--”

“Simon, these girls must have husbands. I don’t expect you to know the kind of men they need.”

Simon placed his hands behind his back and began to pace the hall.

“I don’t even know those men. How do I know if they are honorable?”

Oh, Simon,
Amy thought,
you’ve done it now.

“Well, I never,” Agatha bristled. “One of those gentlemen was my own nephew. Believe me, he is honorable.”

“What about--”

“And the other one is his friend. I know my own nephews. You are all honorable. But Philip is the only one who is unmarried, other than you of course.”

“Look, Aunt, I appreciate what--”

“No, you don’t. You don’t care at all.”

Amy shuddered. Agatha sounded as if she was about to cry.

“I didn’t mean to imply that your nephew was--”

“But, you did,” she interrupted Simon again.
Wouldn’t the woman let a person finish a sentence?
Amy could only imagine Simon’s frustration.

“Well, I’m inviting them to the ball we are having,” she said then flounced toward the stairs, the ruffles of her black gown bouncing with her.

“A ball? What in the hell are we having a ball for?”

“Simon, don’t you use that kind of language around me. I am not one of your sailors. And, we are having a ball to introduce these girls to their future husbands.”

Amy watched as she climbed the stairs, her back as straight as a rod. She had reached the middle of the stairs when she turned and started back down.

“There is one other thing. You must get rid of Mr. Bolton.”

“Aunt, he is Bolton, not a Mister.”

She grimaced. “Well, it doesn’t matter. He must go. He wouldn’t even tell cook to provide tea for our guests. I ordered him to the kitchen but he told me plainly, it was not his job. Now, I can’t have that.”

Simon sounded defeated as he said, “I’ll see to it, Aunt.”

Amy fought a lump in her throat. Simon would not dismiss Bolton, would he? Bolton was old and persnickety but the fellow had no other place to go. This manor had been his whole life. She would have to explain that to Simon, no matter what effect he had on her.

As Amy deserted her hiding place in the dining room she heard Simon summon Bolton.

Oh, no!
She was too late. Simon was going to tell Bolton he was no longer needed. She swiped at the moisture forming in her eyes. She would not cry, not over this. She sniffed. She wasn’t crying over Bolton losing his position, no, she was crying over Simon’s uncaring attitude. If Bolton mattered so little to him, what of her own feelings about marriage? She held little hope that she could convince him to forget about a husband for her. That was reason enough for tears. She raced for her room, where her tears would be her own business.

Simon watched from the end of the hall as Amy rushed up the stairs. He’d seen the tears streaming down her face and something in him twisted. He couldn’t abide tears, especially not hers. Was it something he’d said or his confrontation with Aunt Agatha? Still, she didn’t upset easily. So what caused her distress and why did the sight of those tears feel like something tearing inside him?

Women. He would never understand them, or why this particular woman affected him so.

“Sir?” Bolton’s timid voice drew Simon from his thoughts.

“Yes,” Simon answered.

“You wanted to see me, my Lord.”

“Oh, yes,” Simon remembered. He supposed that Bolton had already heard Aunt Agatha’s shrill comments. How could he not? Everyone on the estate had undoubtedly heard her.

“Let’s go to the office, Bolton. We need to talk.”

Simon couldn’t help but notice the glum expression on the butler’s face. Well, the sizeable pension Neville had left him should change that expression quickly enough.

“Close the door,” Simon ordered.

Simon sank into his office chair and templed his fingers, “Bolton, when Neville died, he left a considerable amount of money for his faithful servants. He left you and Joshua, the stable master, enough funds so that you and he could do whatever you wanted. Jonathan Miller will have your money in a day or two and then you can decide what you want to do.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, my Lord, but I don’t want to do anything.”

“Bolton, you don’t understand. You don’t have to work anymore.”

The butler grimaced, “But, my Lord, what will I do, if I don’t work?”

“Whatever you want to do. Don’t you understand, you don’t have to work anymore?” Simon repeated.

“But, there is nothing else I want to do. I like to work. I’d feel useless if I didn’t have anything else to do.”

Simon shoulders sagged. He felt like the time the rigging of one of his ships had tangled in a sudden storm. There was nothing to do but ride it out, unless he fired the poor fellow. As old as he was, Bolton would never be able to find another position. Simon rested his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. “You may go, Bolton,” he mumbled through his fingers.

“My job, my Lord? I can still work?”

“Yes, Bolton, you may continue to work.” Simon raised his head, “But, could you try to get along with Aunt Agatha?”

Bolton made a face, “I’ll try, my Lord. I’ll try.”

Simon watched him leave the office then he stood and heaved a huge sigh. Now he must see to his aunt. The next few minutes would be unpleasant. And, there was that damned ball. How on earth had Aunt Agatha gotten the idea she would entertain the neighbors with a ball? This wasn’t London. Or did she intend to invite some of her London acquaintances?

He left the office and started for the stairs. He stopped in front of his aunt’s room and tapped on the door.

“Yes,” came a muffled voice.

Simon stuck his head around the door jamb. Aunt Agatha lay prostrate on her fainting couch, a cloth over her face.

Bloody hell
! Well, he was not one to put off saying what he had to say.

“Aunt,” Simon began, hating every minute of this. “I’ve talked to Bolton. Our butler doesn’t want to be pensioned off. He’s staying.”

Eight

Dinner that night was tense. However, it appeared as if Aunt Agatha had a complete recovery from her afternoon collapse. She carried on a discussion, mainly with herself, throughout the entire meal.

“I forgot you and Carolyn had to see to the horses today. I had invited the Reverend Sudsberry to meet you, Amelia. The poor man has a serious problem. His wife died birthing his little girl who’s now two. He needs a good woman to care for him and the child. He’s such a nice man, just perfect for you.”

Simon glared at his aunt as something hard punched him in the stomach. The vicar was not at all perfect for Amelia. Besides, where had his aunt gotten the idea she was responsible for finding husbands for these women?

He straightened in his chair. His responsibilities he took seriously and selecting husbands was
his
priority. Just because he hadn’t exercised his duties yet, did not mean that he didn’t intended to do as Neville had requested. Everyone knew he had been busy setting the estate to rights and trying to find Harold. He opened his mouth to tell his aunt just that, but she never gave him a chance.

“Now, that nice Oscar Hazleton would be perfect for our Bethany. Squire Hazleton has several excellent farms, two in England and one more in Scotland. You would like Scotland, wouldn’t you dear?”

She didn’t give Bethany a chance to answer, but plowed on, “Yes, I know you would. Of course, we have to consider men for you other girls. I’m afraid Carolyn, with your height, we might have a bit of a problem, but we’ll see. Surely there is someone out there who would like a tall woman.”

Simon glanced around the dinner table and gritted his teeth.

“Aunt,” Simon began, “I don’t think--” But that was as far as he got.

Before he could finish his sentence she started in on the preparations for the ball.

“The ball will be in two weeks’ time. I just don’t see how I can plan anything sooner, and of course, you girls will all need new ball gowns. Invitations, food, there is just so much to do.”

Simon had had enough. The thought of Amy dancing with another man bothered him, but he couldn’t explain why. He stood, “Please excuse me. I’ll leave the planning of the ball to you women, but
I will review
the guest list. I imagine I’ll have names of my own to add.”

He strode away from the table, furious with Aunt Agatha. How dare she try to marry the women off without a by-your-leave. And a man with a child for Amelia. Besides, the vicar was too old for her, even if she’d reached her twenty-fourth year. He shook his head in disgust.

Amy sat stunned. She wanted Simon to intervene, but he had walked away. He had to know she had no intention of marrying any man, but he couldn’t know about the curse. No, marriage to a man whose wife had fallen victim to the curse was unthinkable.

She glanced around the table. Her sisters didn’t look concerned, but she was. She shuddered, and stood herself.

“I’m sorry,” she began, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice. “Our trip today tired me more than I thought possible. I beg you to excuse me. Whatever you plan for the ball will be fine with me.” She stepped away from the table.

Caro jumped up beside her. “I’m exhausted as well.”

Ellie stood. “It’s been a busy day. I must seek my bed.”

Dora followed suit. “Me, too.”

As Amy started up the stairs, she heard Beth say, “I can’t speak for my sisters, Aunt Agatha. We’ll have to wait to plan this ball. Now, I have sewing I must finish. Please excuse me as well.”

~ * ~

The next morning, Amy rose with the dawn. She needed to get away from the house. She wanted nothing more than to saddle one of the horses returned to the stables last evening and ride over the estate.

When he issued his restrictions, Simon said nothing about riding. Of course, at the time, they had no horses in the stable. However, he’d been clear about what he didn’t want them to do. He’d said walking any distance from the house was unacceptable. He explained his sailors watched the people in the village and there’s been no indication that Harold was close, so she had nothing to fear. And, she needed to get away, away from the idea of marrying the vicar. Away from Simon and the sensations her dislike of him created. Away from all of it!

She was delighted to see several of the stable boys who had cared for the horses before Harold fired all the staff. Smiling she realized that despite his attempts, Harold had not destroyed the loyalty of their servants.

She greeted several boys by name, let herself into the stables and selected a small gray mare.

“Can you saddle her for me?” she asked one of the boys. At first he balked, then, although he seemed to hesitate, he did as she requested.

“Going riding?”

She spun around when she heard that deep, husky voice. “Ye-yes, I thought I’d take a ride,” she answered.

“Not alone, I hope. None of you can ride alone. In fact, I insist I go with you.”

No!
she wanted to shout. She’d come to the stables to get away from him. However, if riding required a companion, she had an answer. “Oh, I hoped Caro would join me.”

Simon chuckled. “I’m afraid Aunt Agatha has Carolyn trapped in her bedchamber. They are discussing what kind of a gown would minimize Caro’s height. Besides, you can tell me more about the estate.”

“Caro said nothing to me about a fitting,” Amy snapped.

“I have a feeling my aunt has already decided on your mate.”

“I told you I will not marry,” Amy snarled then stamped her foot. How dare he ignore her wishes. “I will not say vows. You had best tell your aunt that.” She whirled around and grabbed the reins of her saddled horse.

“Now, Amy, let’s not quarrel this morning. It’s too nice a day to worry about what’s going to happen or not happen. And, if you want to ride, you had better agree to my company, otherwise, I’m afraid I must forbid you from leaving the stable.”

“But--” she spun around.

“No, I can’t permit any of you to go riding alone. It’s too dangerous.”

“But,” she tried again, “there’s been no sign of Harold.”

“No, not of him, but we have no idea who he has employed, or when they might strike. I can’t risk your safety, or the safety of your sisters. I owe it to your father. Now, come, let’s not waste anymore of this morning. You can let me accompany you, can’t you?”

He grabbed the reins from Amy’s hands and led the animal to the mounting block. She followed and after he helped her into the saddle, she bit back a sigh. It seemed she would not be able to get away from him, no matter how much she desired to be alone.

As they rode away from the stables, Amy decided to savor this outing. She would ignore Simon. In fact, she would pretend she was alone. She would enjoy this ride no matter what. She spurred her mare into a gallop relishing the breeze blowing in her face. Freedom! At least for a short time.

Suddenly, she felt the presence of another horse beside her. Simon’s mount raced beside her own. He reached over and grabbed her bridle slowing the mare.

“Slow down,” he shouted.

She just grinned. She had no intention of slowing. And she had no desire to let him tell her what to do. Slapping at his hands, she tried to knock him away.

She didn’t succeed.

Her mare slowed more, then stopped as Simon’s mount moved close to hers. He reached across their horses and for one frightening second she hung suspended in air.

Before she could scream her opposition, she slammed into hard muscled thighs. She gasped in surprise. Then anger consumed her. She twisted and turned, fighting against his hold.

“How dare you,” she shouted struggling to get free, her heart beating in double time.
Of course, it was fear. It had to be fear. What else could it be?

“Hold still,” he ordered. “I can’t control you and my horse.”

Amy glared at him, “Control your mount. You don’t need to control me. Just let me down.” She couldn’t stand the effect he had on her.

He held her against him, “You were being foolish, stupid in fact.”

“Why? My mare was under my complete control. How dare you stop me and drag me out of the saddle!”

She took a deep breath planning to further condemn his actions. Once again, sandalwood and the smell of horse invaded her soul. She fought against the effect of his scent trying to gather her anger. She needed to make some kind of scathing remark.

She didn’t get a chance to say another word. He lowered his mouth to hers.

One second she was fired with rage, the next she was consumed with a burning need she could not identify. As his tongue ravaged her mouth, his heat slammed through her and she melted against him. Pleasure thrummed through her and she sought to press herself closer and closer yet.

The field disappeared, the shifting of the horse faded from comprehension. The only things to register were the warmth of his lips pressed to hers, the play of his tongue against hers, and his heated breath caressing her face.

Then he pulled away.

Amy shuddered. She battled a sense of rejection. She didn’t want him to end the kisses. She didn’t want to face the reality that he’d pulled away from her. She didn’t want to admit that Simon Warner affected her the way he did. It couldn’t be.
It just could not be!

Suddenly ashamed of herself, she straightened. She had no business letting him kiss her. Warmth invaded her cheeks and she suspected her face had turned red with shame.

Pulling away, she mumbled, “You can release me now.”

Simon glared at her. Something about Amelia Hargrove affected him as no other woman had ever done before. He kissed her when he had promised himself he would avoid her.

Damn
.

How was it he couldn’t keep his hands and his mouth to himself? After all, he was no untried youth. He was a ship’s captain, a business man, a leader of men, a man destined to claim the sea as his mistress. He had no business claiming the lips of the daughter of his mentor. He had no business wanting to claim more.

He closed his eyes for the briefest second. This would never do. He’d planned his life years ago when he’d decided that marriage was not for him--ever.

He deposited Amy on the ground. Swiftly, he dismounted and led her to her mare who stood nibbling on grass.

“I’d like to see more of the estate. However, I would much prefer to do so at a leisurely pace,” he slipped his arms around her waist and hoisted her into her own saddle. Then he stepped back.

She nodded, and Simon wondered if she’d been as affected as he had been. Well, he wasn’t going to apologize. It was best forgotten--if he could.

He mounted and they rode on at a gentle canter. Simon asked questions and Amy answered in clipped tones
. She’s angry
, he decided as they passed yet another field of sheep. He gritted his teeth and vowed to find her a husband soon. The ball! He’d find her someone at the ball.

He had to return to his ships, the sooner the better. Something about this estate, the guardianship, drew him in a way he didn’t want to think about. He’d speak to Jonathan Miller in the next day or two about finding someone to help with the estate. Then, once he had husbands for Neville’s girls he’d be free, free to return to his ships and the sea.