Simon's Brides (3 page)

Amelia--Amy, Ellie had called her, said nothing.

Simon glanced at her pale face, “Amy, you will not wed Harold.”

She offered no thanks as she turned ignoring them both.

Simon took several steps behind her, his heart slamming against his breast bone. He took a deep breath and tried to calm the chaotic beating of his heart. He frowned. No woman had ever affected him like this. Now, in retrospect, he didn’t like it.

But, before he could worry about his feelings or about the other women, he needed to return all of them to their home. It had appeared on first examination that much was missing from the house. They would have to confirm which items had disappeared.

“However, before Harold leaves,” Simon announced, “There are things that must be settled. When did you leave the Manor house?”

Ellie answered. “We left more than eight months ago. Just after Mother died, Harold tried to get into Amy’s room. We left the house then. We’ve lived here from that time to this.”

Simon grimaced. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the women had no knowledge of what he’d seen when he arrived. How to tell them without upsetting them more.

He cleared his throat.

“There appears to be many missing items. Discoloration of the carpets and walls indicate things have been removed. Also, I want to know what happened to the servants.”

Ellie supplied that answer as well. “He fired the servants the day after Mother died. He said he couldn’t afford them.”

Simon remembered that Peters said he had discussed the financial condition of the estate with Neville’s manager, and was told there were more than enough funds to cover estate expenses, including servants wages.
What had Harold done with the money for the servants?
This grew more suspicious with every moment.

Simon glanced at Harold who had started to edge away but Simon grabbed his arm. “You’re going nowhere until the women have inventoried every room of that house. After some arrangement for compensation has been made, you will leave.”

Harold groaned and Simon smiled. Then, he turned his attention to the women.

“Gather what you need for this night,” he told them. “I’ll wait for a time, then we will all go to the house. I want you to tell me as best as you can what is missing from each room. As complete a list as you can make.”

Minutes later, the small procession started down the path. The women, each with a small bundle in hand, followed behind Simon who dragged Harold behind him. Simon wondered what the women would say when they saw the inside of their home.

A sudden feeling swamped him. He felt an overpowering need to protect Amy from what awaited her. He dismissed the sensations. Sympathy was what he felt. After all, the estate would be hers when she married. Add to that the fact that he felt considerable guilt for not arriving soon enough to prevent at least some of the damage.

Amy appeared to be a sensitive woman. Naturally, Simon hated to have her view what appeared to be the destruction to her home. He also remembered her reaction to Harold’s insistence that she was his betrothed.

All of that explained his feelings well enough. He was feeling empathy for her. Nothing more.

Amy followed behind her half-sisters, her thoughts centered around Harold and his performance at the cottage. He seemed determined to marry her. He had proposed on the way back from the church cemetery after they had buried Patience. She refused him then, as she had for the next several days. But, he had insisted she would wed him. He willing would have ruined her to see the deed done.

She didn’t understand why he was so insistent. Perhaps Patience, before she died, had told him Amy would inherit the estate when she married. But, that was no explanation. Her father had never become a rich man even though the estate produced sufficient monies to run effectively. Could Patience have exaggerated the monies Neville had set aside for doweries?

Poor Patience. She was Neville’s fifth wife, a good stepmother but she had no concept of money or the value of the estate. Amy had handled all the household funds. She frowned wondering once again why Harold was pursuing her the way he was.

She smiled as she thought of Ellie’s defense before Simon. Ever since the afternoon of Harold’s attack in the orchard, Amy insisted none of them go out alone, except, of course, for Ellie. Since Harold claimed her as his niece, they had decided that Ellie would be safe. She became their spy.

But Simon had finally arrived. Gazing at the tall man in the lead of their small procession, she remembered the one time he visited ten years before. She had been fourteen at the time. Her hair had been close to orange in color, her complexion covered with freckles, and although she was tall for her age, she had ample flesh for her years. Truth be told, she’d been fat. And, she’d followed him everywhere. Did he remember her?

She brushed her hair from her hot face and groaned, thinking about how she trailed after him. At best, she had been bothersome. At worst... No she would not think about that.

She watched Caro limping in front of her.

“Caro, what’s wrong?”

Caro sat on the trunk of a downed tree and began to unlace her right boot. Amy gazed at the bottom of her boot.

“What did you use to cover that hole?”

“I folded a piece of paper and slipped it inside,” Caro informed her. “But, as you can see, it’s slipped. I’ll need more paper as soon as we get to the house.”

Amy heaved a sigh. For the past nine months, she had been forced to make every farthing count.

“It’s a shame your feet are longer than the rest of us,” Amy stated. “None of our boots fit you.”

“Amy, everyone’s footwear is in as bad a condition as these.” She pointed to her half boots.

Amy nodded. Caro never minced words. She and Amy were the best of friends as well as half-sisters and shared a special relationship. Bethany was the next to Amy in age, but Caro was closest to Amy even though they were three years apart in age. They shared a love of horses, both managed the estate, Amy the household and Caro the animals and the land.

Amy glanced at her sister. Caro was almost as tall as their father. At five foot eleven inches, she stood above most men. Of course, none of the Hargrove women were diminutive women. No wonder the superstitious villagers had believed all the tales Harold had spewed about them.

And, of course, there was the
curse
.

Two

Simon took the steps to the front door two at a time, dragging a protesting Harold behind him. He turned and surveyed the entrance hall once more before he moved aside to allow the women into the house. As they walked past him, he heard their gasps.

He kicked at a pile of dirt. “You’ll pay for this,” he told Harold who was still tightly clasped in Simon’s grip.

Neville had always prided himself in a clean, neat, well-maintained home. His friend had to be turning over in his grave with his daughters being faced with this disgusting mess. Simon wondered if this destruction was enough to make them run back to that neat little cottage where he’d found them.

Simon gazed at each woman and rather than bear their expressions of disbelief and horror, and still dragging Harold with him, he stalked out to the kitchen, the most recent addition to the manor. Neville had been so proud when he’d told Simon about it the last time they had dined together.

Simon swallowed hard, an attack of grief engulfing him. There would be no more dinners, no long discussions about life or politics. He sobered. Dropping Harold’s arm, he ordered him to follow. Simon clasped his hands behind his back and strode through the filthy rooms to the waiting women.

As he gazed at the dismayed expression on their faces, he resolved that he would rid Neville’s house of the vermin presently inhabiting it. Somehow he’d find men who would make decent husbands for Neville’s daughters. He owed Neville that and more, so much more.

Turning aside, he glanced at Amy. The thought of finding her a husband bothered him, but he refused to consider the implications. Neville wanted all of his daughters married. He crushed the sudden feeling of abhorrence that attacked him. He’d find a good man for Amy, if it was the last thing he did.

“I would like you to start your inventory here.” Simon directed them toward the front parlor. “List everything you remember that should be here but is presently missing.”

Amy glanced at him before she pulled the others into a circle. Simon heard her whispered directions.

“Dora, you take notes, the rest of us will try to figure out what’s been removed.”

The women trudged through the lower floor, their moans of disgust telling Simon a great deal had disappeared. He heard a sob or two, and knew he couldn’t handle their tears.

Damn it! Neville, what have you done to me?

He glanced again at Amy. Her intense green eyes, so sad now, did something to him. He didn’t remember that she had eyes the color of perfect emeralds. No, what he recalled was a young copper-headed nuisance who followed his every move.

Today, there was no sign of the child she had been. Just brilliant green eyes, lustrous hair, an oval face with delicate, creamy complexion and a perfect figure. She wasn’t short, but he suspected her head could rest on his shoulder with ease despite his six-foot four inch frame.

He fought a sudden desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Crushing the desire, he told himself it was nothing more than sympathy for what she was facing as the future mistress of this estate. And, of course, guilt that he had not been here to prevent the scoundrel from decimating their home. It had to hurt deeply to see so many items belonging to the estate gone from their accustomed places.

Simon turned to the thief at his side.

Bloody hell
.

Harold seemed not the least bit interested in this inventory, as if what the women noted as stolen was of no concern of his.
Why?
he asked himself as he again pulled Harold along.

The wretch seemed to have an agenda of his own.

Simon scratched his head. Harold should be shaking with fear. He had to know that Simon would make him responsible for everything the women found missing. Something about his attitude bothered Simon. Was he expecting remuneration from property he’d stolen? And what about Amy? Was Harold’s plan to force himself on her when Simon was not around to offer protection?

“Maybe sending you from the house is not such a good idea after all,” Simon announced. “I think you better stay right here because whatever you have planned you can forget.”

“I knew I wouldn’t have to leave.” Harold smirked.

His demeanor worried Simon. Something else was at work here. Best to lock Harold away, in an upstairs room, and place a guard on him until Simon figured out what was going to happen.

Simon dragged Harold to a stop and added, “I will see you imprisoned in one of the upstairs rooms.”

“Now, wait a minute...”

Simon smiled. At last! Harold didn’t like the idea of being locked in a room, so whatever he’d planned would be thwarted if he were confined.

“I’ll keep you under guard until the women have given me the information I need. I’ll also be sending for my men. They’ll keep you out of trouble better than any brig in service.”

“You can’t do that!” Harold screeched.

Simon ignored him. He commented to himself, “When the women have presented their list, I’ll send him away, possibly to gaol.”

However, would the women be able to help confine the thief until his crew arrived? He stopped. How long before his message was received and his men traveled north?

Too long. At least several days.

He couldn’t ask these women to guard Harold. He didn’t want Amy near this man.
Only because he knew she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with the blackguard
. No, the women could not be asked to guard this scoundrel. He’d have to get help from another source.
The village?
Yes, at least until his men arrived.

He glared at the filth. He also needed someone to clean the place. In fact, several persons. And, he’d need someone to carry his message to his crew. He could send his driver to London with instructions.

He stared at a pile of twigs. Damn! Who among his men could he trust with the five beautiful women, women who were young, gorgeous, exquisite enough to send even the best sailor to his knees. And, then there was the oldest daughter. Just the idea of one of his crew gazing at Amy bothered him, sent a sharp sting of feeling through his gut, a feeling he refused to identify. No, he didn’t want any of his men around these women.

He glanced at Amy and frowned. He watched her move through the rooms and shudder. When she thought he wasn’t looking, she glanced at him. He’d caught her gazing his way several times.

At first, when he’d led them to the house, he thought she was pleased he had come to their rescue. Then, as she moved through the house, she appeared stunned and appalled. Now, she glared at him. Did she blame him for the missing items, for the filth? She couldn’t think it was his fault Harold had stolen things from the estate, could she?

He watched as she turned to her sisters. Swearing silently, he gulped air into his lungs. Her beauty sent his senses reeling. If she bothered his equanimity this much, then what would she do to his men? He’d need someone here whom he could trust. But who? He stroked his chin with his right hand. A thought suddenly occurred.

The
Sea Wench
was due in port in the next day or two. Ben, its captain and a close personal friend, would make a good choice, but it would be days before Ben could unload his cargo and arrange for another to take her out to sea. However, Ben was the perfect choice. Simon would send for him. And perhaps several men from Ben’s crew. Ben could keep them in line. He sighed with relief. At least that situation had been resolved.

In the meantime, someone from the village made a better choice. His plans made for the moment, he followed the women from room to room, watching the sway of Amy’s skirts as she strode through the house. He had to force himself to remember to drag an unwilling and complaining Harold behind them.

~ * ~

As they moved through the rooms, despair laced through Amy. Their beautiful home was littered with dirt, twigs, even what looked like animal droppings. Soiled places on the rugs could have been anything and she glared at Harold. She’d named him a pig before, and this house shouted that word for everyone to hear.

Simon pulled Harold with him through the house. She looked over her shoulder. She was more conscious of Simon than she had ever been of any man of her acquaintance. Again, his handsomeness stunned her.

Her breath had caught when she’d seen him standing in the doorway of the cottage. And, she’d studied him as each of her sisters presented themselves. She had no explanation for the thrill that shot through her as she marched forward to introduce herself, even in her stained gray gown.

And, the kiss he had pressed against her fingers! The touch of those lips sent a surge of heat rushing through her whole body. She wanted to pull her hand away. At the same time, she wanted more than a kiss on her fingers. She wanted to feel his lips against her own.

Her face warmed at the thought. None of this made any sense to her. She’d never wanted a man to touch her, especially after Harold’s attempt to force her to his will. Yet Simon, for some reason, affected her.

Again she remembered following him all those years ago. Back then, she wanted to be with him, to have him notice her, but nothing like what she experienced today. No! Today, his appearance, his touch, even his voice had twisted her soul into knots of pleasure. But, it could not be.

He was so much better looking than she remembered. He was tall, even taller than her father who had measured six foot and two. Simon’s complexion, dark, golden skin, proclaimed the life he led in the sun. He smelled of fresh air and sandalwood.

His brown hair had streaks of blond, no doubt bleached by the sun. He had the look of a golden god. And those eyes! Oh, yes, she remembered his eyes, crisp, deep blue, the color of a calm sea. When he had visited them all those years ago, his eyes had gleamed with laughter, but now, those same eyes glistened with anger. He looked tough, strong, and Amy knew she wouldn’t want to make him her enemy.

Deep lines around his mouth hinted he was much more experienced, more somber than when he had visited before. For a second, she wondered if he recalled the young girls he’d met on his stay here.

Whether he remembered or not, it made no difference. Despite her objections, her father had explained the clear directive he’d left for Simon. Their guardian was to see them all married, even her.

She glared at Simon, as she followed her sisters through the downstairs rooms. How unfortunate that she’d not been able to convince her father that marriage was not for her. Somehow, she had to convince Simon. Despite the sensations his touch inspired, in spite of his effect on her, regardless of his handsome demeanor, she had to steel her heart.

She could never marry. Simon would find that out soon enough. No matter what her father commanded, she had to remain a spinster and there was nothing Simon could do to make her change her mind.

If Simon intended to follow her father’s orders, then it meant she and Simon were destined to do battle. Eventually, Simon would give in, as he would have to do. She wasn’t going to marry and he couldn’t make her.

There was also the pledge she’d made to her father. Just before he died, she’d promised to stay and care for their people. On more than one occasion he had reminded her there had been a Hargrove tending the property for more than a hundred years so she could never leave. All those on the estate were aware that her father had willed her the property, that her inheritance meant staying at Hargrove and taking care of them.

But, she couldn’t forget the curse. She would inherit Kirkley Manor on the occasion of her twenty-sixth birthday, a year and a half from now, but she could never wed, not now, not anytime in the future. As a child, she learned that bearing children meant certain death for any woman who lived on this estate.