Simon's Brides Read online

  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.

  She had tried to explain her feelings to her father, but he had laughed at her fears. He claimed there was no curse, that she was not to believe what she’d heard or seen with her own eyes. As much as Amy didn’t want to believe, as much as she considered her thinking advanced, evidence of the curse existed, proof that could not be disputed.

  She remembered the story she first heard after her sixth birthday.

  It seemed her grandfather, the third Baron Kirkley had been a lecher and spent his time chasing every female working in the manor. According to their cook, her father had reached his eighth year, when her grandfather seduced the daughter of the village herbalist.

  When this daughter demanded that Amy’s grandfather recognize the child she carried as his, a fight ensued and the girl fell, or was pushed, down a flight of stairs. She died in a pool of blood, the child with her. Her mother, the herbalist, thought by the villagers to be a witch, cursed all who lived on the estate.

  Cook had repeated the curse word for word. Amy shivered as those words rolled through her head.

  May you and all of yours die aborning!

  Then, the witch disappeared, never to be seen again. The villagers also refused to go near the cottage where she and the daughter had lived. To this day people still went out of their way to avoid that dwelling.

  Besides, Amy had proof the curse had its effect. Even before she was born, her mother’s maid died in childbirth. All five of her father’s wives had died, her own mother the first. Even her horse died trying to deliver a colt. Although her father denied the curse, it was accepted by almost everyone on the estate. Indeed, almost every married couple upon learning a child had been conceived left the estate, refusing to return until after the child had arrived. It was said of the women who died in childbirth, that they had waited too long to leave.

  Marriage and children were not for her. The curse made that vocation impossible.

  Again she glanced around her at the debris littering the once beautiful rooms and felt sick. She glared at Simon as he followed them from room to room. He couldn’t make her marry, no matter what her father had willed him to do.

  But, perhaps she misjudged Simon? He might understand. She wouldn’t tell him about the curse, but if she made it clear she had no desire to marry...

  If he argued the subject, she could point out that she had already reached her twenty-fourth year. She doubted a decent man would want a spinster for a wife, one set in her ways as she was. She knew enough about Simon to believe he would insist they marry decent men.

  She’d have to assure him she could manage well on her own--once she inherited the estate. Perhaps, under the circumstances, Simon would allow her the freedom she had to have.

  Just the thought of talking to Simon made her heart beat a little faster. She grimaced at the thought. Whatever was happening to her had to stop. Perhaps there was a simple explanation.

  Could these feelings for Simon be nothing more than--what? Admiration? Fear that he wouldn’t listen to her? A combination of anticipation and a recollection of the past? Whatever it was, she had to ignore it.

  However, she had to consider her sisters. Each of them deserved to be settled in a home of their own with a loving husband. And, of course, they must reside far from Kirkley Manor. Then, they would be safe from certain death.

  Satisfied with her analysis, she turned back to the job at hand. Again, despair and nausea mounted. Harold had ransacked the house. The front parlor once held a big portrait of her own mother. It hung above the fireplace, but now it was gone. So were several of the French chairs her father had ordered from Paris. Trinkets, pictures of family--all gone. She wondered how much china and silver had been stolen. Her heart wasn’t into finding out today.

  But, the filth was the worst. None of her father’s five wives had ever allowed their home to get into this condition. She spotted filthy dishes piled on one of the mahogany tables her stepmothers had seen polished to a mirror shine. The velvet drapes that hung from the windows were crushed, several so dirty she doubted they would ever come clean. She swallowed against the shaft of pain that lodged near her heart and glared at Simon. If he had come when he had been summoned...

  The ballroom was even worse. Couches, chairs, even the beveled mirrors that helped provide light for the huge room were gone. Gold inlaid sconces had been removed from the walls and the pianoforte her father had purchased several years ago that had pride of place in the corner of the room was no longer there.

  “The pianoforte,” Caro gasped.

  “Oh, no,” Dora cried.

  Amy watched as Dora and Ellie pulled handkerchiefs from sleeves and wiped at their eyes. Of all of them, Dora and Ellie were musical and they would miss the instrument the most.

  Amy whipped around and glared at Harold. “You sold the pianoforte.” It wasn’t a question.

  He attempted to move behind Simon, but was unsuccessful. Simon jerked him forward and promised, “We’ll find it, Amy. And, we’ll buy it back.”

  Amy stomped toward the dining room, kicking at some of the dirt as she went. She and her sisters couldn’t
stay here. She wouldn’t allow it. No civilized person would tolerate the present condition of their home. She wouldn’t and she’d not force her sisters to endure this catastrophe. They would return to the cottage as soon as the list Simon requested had been prepared.

  He interrupted her thoughts.

  “I’m locking Harold in one of the bedrooms.”

  “No,” she shouted. “You said he was leaving. He must leave; I don’t want him in this house a moment longer.”

  “Amy, please. Be reasonable,” Simon pleaded. “We have no idea yet how much property he’s stolen. Until you and your sisters can detail the missing items, Harold can’t leave.”

  “He’s sold it all,” she snapped. It didn’t take much intelligence to know that Harold had disposed of everything not nailed to the floor or attached in some other way. The only thing he could have done with the household goods was sell them. She knew it and she was certain Simon knew it, too.

  “Is that how he provided for you?” Simon asked.

  “Provided for us? He gave us not one farthing. Anything he gained from selling our property, he spent on himself.”

  Simon looked puzzled. “How did you survive? Are there village accounts to be settled?”

  She snarled, “There are no accounts to settle. I took what monies were left when we were forced to leave. I made due. After all, I’ve handled the estate finances for many years now.”

  He looked even more distressed. “What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  He jerked Harold forward, “What have you done with the property that was not yours? Tell us now and save yourself a lot of trouble.”

  “Ain’t none of your concern,” he snapped.

  “These women are my responsibility. Anything, anything at all, that affects them is something I need to know about. The missing items affect them, so it is my right to know what happened to them.”

  “You ain’t learnin’ from me.” Harold tried to step back, but Simon grabbed him by his shirt collar and shoved him into the wall.

  “He must go,” Amy reaffirmed. “He’s not going to admit to anything, especially to stealing our property.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t turn him away, at least not yet,” Simon replied. “It appears that he has some kind of plan afoot. We must find out what it is and stop it. He’s going to stay, but, don’t worry. You will have nothing to do with him.”

  She shook her head, but Simon continued, “With the servants gone, we’ll need to hire help. Several women to help clean. Men to help guard this scoundrel. Who can we send to the village?”

  Amy glanced at Simon and their gazes clashed. A searing heat raced down her spine. She took a deep breath. No! she wanted to shout. The rush of warmth had nothing to do with her reaction to Simon. It had to be fear of Harold, she told herself. Yes, it was fear.

  She turned back to her sisters. If Harold wasn’t to leave the house until it had been inventoried, then that must be accomplished as quickly as possible.

  “Sisters, you are tarrying. We must finish quickly,” she announced then muttered to herself, so that we can return to the cottage and Harold can be escorted from this place.

  She supposed she ought to tell Simon about Harold’s threats, but at the moment, she was too angry to explain. Besides, she had decided at the time Harold had sworn he’d sell her sisters to the highest bidder, no matter who did the purchasing, that he was only boasting. Harold didn’t have any friends, certainly no one willing to buy the Hargrove women. She grinned. They were all too tall to be acceptable. And, every one of them was too strong-willed.

  No, she had no intention of telling Simon what had happened when Harold attempted to force her to accept him. She hadn’t told her sisters; she wasn’t about to tell Simon, not when she was certain Harold’s comments were nothing but irrational blustering.

  Three

  Amy stood in the middle of the hall. None of her sisters could go to the village, but she wasn’t about to explain that to Simon, either. Harold had spread vile rumors about every one of them and the villagers had believed him.

  She glanced at Simon and green eyes clashed with blue. Again, a searing heat raced down her spine. She took a deep breath. That rush of warmth had nothing to do with Simon. It couldn’t have; it had to be fear of Harold, of what he’d done to them, fear that the villagers would refuse to help, because of what he’d claimed about them. Fear! That was all it was.

  Caro must have sensed the tension affecting Amy for she volunteered, “Jacob Pinion goes to the village for us if we have a need. He lives in a cottage a mile to the east. He might be willing to go for you, my Lord.”

  Amy tried to bring her thoughts back to the present and ignore the heat rushing through her body. They were talking about help! Simon needed help. Aid she knew would never come. She turned and shook her head.

  Caro had mentioned Jacob. Jacob had been willing to assist them in the village. “Yes. Jacob is the perfect choice. I’ll send Beth and Dora to his cottage to ask him to come immediately.”

  “They’ll take the carriage,” Simon ordered. Then he turned and hurried into another room, dragging Harold behind him.

  Amy glared at Simon’s back. Already, he was usurping her directives.

  “Get your shawls, and ask Jacob to return with you,” Amy ordered, her tones curt and quiet. She didn’t want to give Simon another reason to countermand her. “Explain to him that Simon Warner has finally arrived and that Simon wants Jacob to go to the village.”

  The girls nodded.

  “Just Jacob?” Beth asked.

  “Yes,” Amy replied. “And, hurry.”

  A few minutes later, she leaned against the door frame as the driver helped the two chattering women into the vehicle. She listened as Simon stepped to the door and shouted out instructions to the driver.

  He brushed up against her and she gritted her teeth.

  An intense tingling raced through her and she caught a gasp before it could escape. Dear Lord! What kind of power did this man have?

  He seemed totally unaffected as he said, “In the meantime,” he turned toward the stairs. “I’ll secure Harold in one of the upstairs rooms and then we must see about something for a noon meal.”

  He acted as if everything had been resolved.

  No! Amy thought. She and her sisters were not going to eat a meal in this filth. Besides, she’d already looked in the kitchen. The larder held nothing that she considered edible and the pantry was nearly empty. The kitchen was so filthy no food could be prepared there that would not poison them all.

  But, none of that mattered now, for she refused to allow Simon to order her about. With Harold still in the house, she had no intention of remaining here. She and her sisters would return to their cottage.

  However before she recovered from the sensations he caused and she’d opened her mouth to disagree with him, Simon had disappeared up the stairs dragging a whining Harold behind him.

  Well, then, she would ignore Simon. She and her sisters were not staying here.

  Gathering Caro and Beth close, she announced, “When Dora and Beth return, we’ll return to the cottage. And, while we wait, let’s review the contents of the library. I’m certain Harold stole anything that he thought would bring a farthing or two.”

  A short time later, the sounds of a carriage brought Simon bounding down the stairs. Amy rushed from the library as her two sisters entered the house, their heads close together. Jacob followed, his hat in his hands.

  Amy introduced Jacob. Simon, with his hands clasped behind his back, began to pace the floor. The poor man looked bewildered as Simon began asking questions.

  “A smithy. Does the village have a smithy?”

  Jacob nodded and glanced through the door at the carriage horses who rested in their traces. “Beggin’ yer pardon, my Lord, but why do you need a smithy?”

  “Not for my horses. Does the smithy have any sons?”

  “N--n--
no, my Lord. What do you need sons for?”

  “I’ve confined Mr. Bottomsworth in one of the upstairs rooms and until I have answers to a number of questions, I’m going to need help to set a watch on him, at least until my own men arrived,” Simon explained.

  “Oh, then you need big ‘uns. The miller has three big boys, and they ain’t too fond of Mr. Bottomsworth.”

  “Good,” Simon paused before he began to pace again. “I want you to hire them, all three of them. Then they can split the watch.”

  He paused, “I’ll pay whatever their father thinks is fair seeing as how I’m taking his workers. I’ll need them for several days. You’d better tell the miller that.”