Simon's Brides Page 10

  She didn’t appreciate having to go with him this afternoon, but Caro had insisted. Agatha had heard the conversation and insisted Caro and Simon could not travel alone. Someone had to accompany them and since Amy was the oldest, Agatha insisted Amy should go.

  A door opening and closing announced Simon’s approach. She bit her lower lip as her heart began to pound and her blood raced through her veins. Her breath caught and she felt like shouting her displeasure. Every time he came near her she had trouble breathing and her heart pounded against her breast. But, why him? She flounced down the steps toward the waiting vehicle.

  “Caro, you’re certain you’ll recognize your father’s animals?” Simon asked as he followed the women toward the vehicle.

  Caro chuckled. “I’ll bet they’ll know me as well. Some of those horses I helped train. Wait and see. They’ll let us know the minute I approach them.”

  Simon helped Caro into the shay and then turned to Amy. She gritted her teeth, prepared for the tingling that always accompanied his touch.

  Sure enough, the minute he put his hands around her waist she felt that strange surge of sensation that raced through her. Why? she wanted to scream. Did she dislike him so much that his touch sent tremors through her? It was the only answer that made sense to her.

  She took her seat and sucked in air, praying neither Simon nor Caro would notice the quickness of her breathing.

  She managed to avoid their scrutiny because they spent the time discussing the missing mounts. Amy scooted closer to the edge of the shay and fingered the reticule on her arm. These sensations that Simon caused in her had to stop. She couldn’t go through another day dreading his approach.

  Whatever was causing the problem must be discovered and removed.

  If she didn’t dislike him, perhaps he wouldn’t affect her so much. She decided to spend the rest of the day and tonight thinking about the things she should like about the man. Enveloped in her own thoughts she ignored Simon and Caro as they moved through the estate gates and continued down the road.

  “You are too quiet,” Caro said, reaching over and giving her a quick punch in the ribs. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

  Amy sighed. She couldn’t tell Caro what she was thinking. Her sister would never understand. And, Amy didn’t want Simon to hear her comments. He was arrogant enough already.

  Quickly, she said, “There’s so much in the house that must be addressed. I was wondering where Harold might have sold the portraits and the bric-a-brac. Some of Mother’s collection is gone, Priscilla’s jewelry is gone, and some of Irene’s silver is missing.”

  Simon turned and patted her shoulder. “We’ll find as much of it as we can,” he said as she flinched. She sighed. If she didn’t stop reacting to him as she did, they’d all guess she and Simon had a problem with each other.

  Simon and Caro continued their conversation about the horses and Amy slumped back in her seat. She’d just as soon not enter the discussion, not when the wrong remark might draw attention to her.

  It took the better part of an hour before they arrived at the stables. Jonathan Miller approached the shay followed by the man Jonathan identified as the stable master.

  Amy watched Simon exchange pleasantries. She heard him explain why they had come and what he wanted. Then he asked if there were any papers for the horses Harold had sold him. First Simon offered Caro his help. She started toward the stables. Amy refused Simon’s aid in descending from the carriage. One bout of dizziness was all she could handle this afternoon. Once her feet touched the ground, she had to laugh at Simon’s facial expression. The noise from the barns indicated Caro had found the horses and they were welcoming her.

  Amy chuckled. There was never any point in telling people about Caro’s affinity to her animals. Seeing was believing. And, Simon was just about to see.

  Caro led first one then another of their father’s horses from the stable; five mares strutted through the doors as if Caro had told them they had to put their best foot forward. Amy chanced to look at Simon as Caro led the stallion from his confinement. To say he was stunned, didn’t describe his expression. Amy giggled. She couldn’t help it.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Amy asked.

  “Dear God, if I hadn’t seen it I wouldn’t have believed it.”

  “Now,” Amy said quietly, “Do you see how Harold convinced the villagers there was something wrong with Caro, with all of us?”

  Simon nodded and turned his attention back to the master. Money exchanged hands and they started back the way they had come, leaving Jonathan Miller to make arrangement for the transfer of the animals back to Kirkley Manor.

  They accomplished their return in record time. Simon seemed in a hurry to be done with the business at hand and Amy couldn’t have agreed with him more. The sooner they were back at the house, and she was away from him, the happier she would be. It was obvious, at least to Amy, that Simon felt as she did. Out of sight and out of mind.

  Simon drove the shay up to the house and they all stared at the vehicles parked in the circular drive.

  “What the...” Simon muttered as he dragged both Caro and her from the conveyance.

  He rushed up the stairs and threw open the front door, not bothering to wait for Bolton or for them. Amy followed him as he strode into the parlor.

  The scene that greeted them had Amy frowning. Simon seemed furious and she could only guess what was going on.

  Aunt Agatha sat on the sofa between Bethany and Ellie. Dora sat in a chair opposite them, beside a tea cart. Three men sat in other chairs.

  “Aunt,” Simon snarled, “what is going on here?”

  “Simon, you’ve ignored you responsibility long enough. I want you to meet my nephew and his friend. Philip Anderson is Clarence’s sister’s boy.”

  Amy stood in the doorway looking at the three men who now stood. Clarence’s sister’s boy could not be called a boy. Close to thirty, Amy figured, and good looking. Tall, taller than Caro, he had brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and dark brown hair that tended to curl against the collar of his shirt. She made a mental note to find out just who Clarence and his sister were. Agatha pointed to the other young man standing.

  “This is Oscar Hazelton, Esquire. He and Philip hunt together.”

  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 to
ngue-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 f
or 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.