St. Simon's Sin: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  St. Simon’s Sin

  The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington

  Book Two

  Sahara Kelly

  Copyright © Sahara Kelly 2017

  Cover art by Sahara Kelly for

  P&N Graphics, LLC

  Acknowledgement

  For all you marvelous readers who found a new hero in Edmund, Baron Ridlington, and embraced his family—their adventures continue. Thanks to you!!!

  To everyone who told me how much they enjoyed getting to know characters over the span of a series—also many thanks. You opened a door to a new challenge, which has turned out to be more fun than I could have anticipated. And to my family (including my future daughter-in-law), thanks for not being too embarrassed by me.

  Always supporting and encouraging—either with a kind word or a terrible joke—is my partner in crime, Scott Carpenter. So special thanks are flying cross country to him for pretty much everything he does to keep me from running away to join the circus. Which includes pointing out that I can’t juggle worth a dime or walk a tightrope. Although sometimes, writing seems more like that than you would imagine…

  Dedication

  This one’s for you, Mum.

  THE ROYAL DECREE…

  “And in October, the year of Our Lord 1661, our Sovereign Monarch Charles II did award to the Barons of the Realm the Distinction of a Coronet. Such Attribute may now be included upon Crests, and Coats of Arms, according to the wishes of the Most Noble and Right Honorable Family. The Coronet shall be distinguished by Six Short Points, each featuring a round Ball at their tips, henceforth to be known as Pearls…”

  …AND THE RIDLINGTONS

  A Baron’s coronet is distinguished by its six points, which are known in heraldic terms as “pearls”. So it was fortuitously convenient that Jack Holbury, Baron of Ridlington, produced six offspring during his lifetime. It took three wives for him to get there, but at the birth of the sixth child, the Ton immediately dubbed his family “The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington” and then promptly forgot about them.

  His first wife, Margaret, gave birth to Edmund, Simon and Letitia. They were followed by second wife Mary’s children, the twins Richard and Kitty, and the final addition—Hecate—was born to third wife Moira. The Baron outlived his wives by nearly two decades, ruling the Ridlington household with the iron hand of a stern father, while managing to almost completely ignore the unusual brood he had sired.

  Whether his children lived up to their sobriquet remains to be seen...

  Prologue

  Southern England, circa 1096 A.D.

  Lord Simon de Rideauville was quite proud of the small castle he’d built on the coastline. Although he couldn’t see his home in Normandy, he liked to believe that it was, in fact, merely a hop skip and a jump across the water to Chateau Rideaux.

  He had toyed with naming this new residence after his old one, but it lacked the hundreds of weeping willows after which the estate had been named eons before. Plus, he was well aware that local sentiment did not run in his favor. Norman barons were still not exactly welcomed with open arms by the local Saxon residents. He’d been quite fortunate, though. The land deeded to him by His Majesty King William II was not populated by a rebellious army of peasants ready to decapitate him with their scythes. Mostly they’d simply been trying to eke out an existence from the land.

  Overall, the land was indeed generous, in spite of the occasional years where the weather destroyed many hopes of good harvests, and conditions neared famine in those difficult winters.

  Lord Simon had been cautious, and occasionally glad of his entourage of lesser Norman knights. But overall he’d settled in and built his home with a minimum of dissension.

  The gold he’d distributed amongst his workers had helped. They were not slaves or servants, but men he’d hired; men to whom he’d paid a fair wage. His dispensation of coin had bought him a better regard amongst his neighbors than many of his peers in the aristocracy, but he felt the result was worth the price.

  His generosity and overall goodwill toward his fellow man, be he Saxon or Norman, had ensured a peaceable occupation, for want of a better word, and it enabled him to ride out one morning on his own, for the sheer pleasure of enjoying the sunshine and the sea.

  The cliffs were very sharp here, and he guided his horse with caution, hoping to reach the highest point and—since the air was fresh and clear—perhaps catch a glimpse of a dark line on the far horizon. Home.

  Intent on these thoughts, he missed the slight figure, dressed in humble garb, that emerged from behind a gorse bush with a basket in her hands.

  Lord Simon’s horse reared, and the girl gasped aloud as the hooves threatened to crash against her head. She stumbled backwards and fell awkwardly, ending up in a pile of limbs and homespun skirts beside the bridle path.

  He calmed his horse, then leaped to the ground, hurrying to the prone and inanimate figure. “Merde, what have I done…” French words tumbled into his English.

  He knelt beside her, gently touching her forehead, noting the golden silk strands of hair that had fallen around her face. She moaned a little, then lifted her lids to look at him.

  “Êtes-vous blessé? I am so sorry. I was not paying attention…” His words faded away as he found himself drowning in a gaze from the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

  Lord Simon de Rideauville’s life changed at that moment. He had just fallen down the first stair on his way to becoming a sinner.

  Three hundred years later, he also became a saint.

  Chapter One

  “So this was where the castle stood, Vicar?” Miss Smethurst posed the question as she pointed toward the cliffs that marked the edge of the Ridlington estate.

  The Very Reverend Simon Ridlington smiled at her and her companions. “Well it would have been further out to sea, of course. As I mentioned earlier, what was left of Rideauville castle was destroyed during a severe storm around 1700 or so, we think. It was a very bad storm too. Blew the lead roof of Westminster Abby, I’m told.” He winced at the thought. “There are still a few hewn stones at the water’s edge though, to mark our castle’s former presence. These cliffs are constantly eroding, and this present coastline will probably look quite different to our great-great-grandchildren.”

  The little party stared over the gentle rise and fall of the hills, and the bright blue of the ocean. It was a late spring day of perfect beauty; an ideal moment for a stroll around the more historically important parts of the land.

  Which explained the presence of the Ridlington Ladies Historical Society, all of them, hanging on the Vicar’s every word.

  Simon took a deep breath and let the scent of the air fill him with comfort. To him, it was home, for better or for worse. And there had been more worse than better in the past. But now, with his brother’s ascension to the title and the acquisition of a new sister-in-law, things were looking up.

  “So do tell us, Vicar. How did Lord Simon sin?” The artful question was accompanied by much simpering and blushing on the part of Miss Tedworthy.

  “Don’t embarrass the man, Dorothea.” Mrs. Frost nudged her companion. “He’ll get to it in his own time, I’m sure.” She shot a speaking glance at Simon.

  Thus reminded of his duties, Simon nodded and stepped back on the path leading to the Church. “Of course, ladies. We must walk on and I shall continue the tale for you.”

  “How lovely, and how kind. I know we are all eagerly anticipating the next part of the story…” Miss Susan Frost ignored her
mother’s sideways frown and inserted herself next to Simon, slipping her arm through his.

  Squelching a most un-vicarly thought that involved dropping the persistent young lady into one of the many gorse bushes that still dotted the area, Simon merely smiled and adroitly disengaged himself by dint of pretending to ensure they were all on the right path.

  “Watch your step here, if you please, ladies. It can be quite muddy.” He shepherded his personal flock toward the top of the rise, from which vantage point the entire area could be viewed. There were some convenient rocks for chairs, a small copse of evergreens for shade and mostly grass underfoot. Man and nature had combined to make a most pleasant location for visitors.

  Reaching the “Lookout” as it was known locally, Simon encouraged the ladies to seat themselves, and observed with interest the two baskets brought by the FitzWalter sisters as they were unpacked. A small picnic was well underway when he finally found a moment to finish the tale of his ancestor.

  “I say, these are excellent pork pies, Miss FitzWalter.” He had made that acute observation after snabbling three of the bite-sized pastries on the sly, without arousing undue attention.

  “I’m so glad you like them, Vicar.” Tight rolls of greying hair beneath a fluttering lace cap nodded his way. “My grandmother’s recipe, you know. Passed down through the generations, I hear.”

  “Well they’re delicious.” He smiled, happy that the two older ladies smiled back. “Now, to finish my story…”

  He noted his audience settling into the right stance. As a Vicar, and always observant by nature, he’d quickly come to recognize the right moment to deliver a sermon. There was something about the way heads leaned ever so slightly forward, or gazes were fixed on his face…whatever it was, he knew the time was right.

  “So let me see…oh yes, Lord de Rideauville had almost killed the young Saxon maid. Fortunately for both of them, he had managed to avoid that terrible occurrence, since she’d fallen backward away from his horse. She’d landed on a rather large rock however, which had rendered her senseless for a few moments, but she quickly recovered.”

  “Oh, that was fortunate,” breathed Miss Smethurst.

  “Indeed,” agreed Simon. “And from that point on, Lord Simon knew he had met the woman of his dreams.”

  “How delightful,” sighed Miss Frost. “To fall in love so quickly and so deeply…” She batted her eyelashes.

  It was probably supposed to be enticing, but Simon was hard pressed not to offer her something to remove the fly that must have gotten into her eye. He felt the safest course was to ignore such flutterings and move forward with his story.

  “Of course, given the time period, any kind of relationship between a Norman and a Saxon was troublesome, to say the least. Especially since the young lady turned out to already have a betrothed—a Saxon farmer, to whom she had been promised for several years.”

  “Goodness,” murmured Mrs. Frost. “An embarrassment of riches for the young gel, indeed.”

  “Lucky her,” added Susan, sotto voce.

  “It must have been most challenging for poor Lord Rideauville, knowing the woman he loved could never be his. One must feel sympathetic toward the poor fellow,” continued Simon, with a slight edge of determination in his tone. “He could have simply taken her and kept her as his bond woman, or leman as I believe they were referred to in those days.”

  There were several hushed gasps.

  “But he didn’t.”

  There were even more sighs.

  “Making a noble sacrifice, the Lord renounced his passionate desires and gave his blessing upon the marriage of his beloved to another.”

  He swore he heard a sniffle or two. If only his sermons could attract such rapt attention. “However…all was not as it seemed.”

  If there was one thing Simon had learned to perfection, it was the art of the dramatic pause. At this moment, even the birds seemed to have stilled in anticipation, and the only sound was the faint shushing of the tide on the beach far below the cliffs.

  “You see, Lord Rideauville was the bearer of a distinctive birthmark…the Rideauville Pall…upon his right—er—” he gestured toward his rear end.

  This time the gasps were quite clear.

  “Oh my gracious.” Miss Smethurst’s eyes were wide.

  “Well, I never.” Miss Tedworthy blushed.

  “What’s a Pall, Vicar?” Susan Frost leaned forward to ask the question, quite forgetting to bat her eyelashes.

  “As I understand it, ‘tis a heraldic term for a design resembling the letter Y.”

  “Oh, I see.” She nodded and sat back. “Quite unmistakable then.”

  Simon shot her an approving glance. “Indeed. And it was a well-known family trait. Such things are not uncommon, of course, and have helped to establish identities upon occasion.”

  Mrs. Frost lifted an eyebrow. “Cut line, young man. I think I know where this is going…”

  He grinned. “Yes, I’m sure you do, and you’d be quite right, Ma’am. Even though Lord Rideauville had renounced his Saxon angel, it soon became evident that such renunciation hadn’t been as effectively accomplished as people had been led to believe. The young woman became with child very shortly after her marriage, and everyone rejoiced…until the babe was born. A month early.” He paused once more, letting the implications sink in.

  “And there, ladies, bright and clear on the left buttock of the newborn lad, was the Rideauville Pall.”

  Several exclamations, a laugh or two, and a few minutes of intense discussion followed the disclosure of this not-unexpected turn of events. Simon let them chatter, turning off his ears for a few moments and letting his eyes devour the sunlit landscape around them.

  On a day like this, Ridlington was the best place in the world.

  “Vicar…oh Vicar…”

  Sighing, he turned his hearing back on. “Yes, Miss Frost?”

  “Her husband. Did he turn her out into the snow?”

  Simon shook his head. “No, the man was a little too canny for that. He simply took the babe, marched to Rideauville Castle and demanded to see Lord Simon.”

  “Well, now, there’s a brave man,” said Miss Smethurst. “Or a very angry foolish one.”

  “Both might well have been true, I’ll admit. But we shall never know his state of mind at the time.”

  “The babe? Her mother?” Both FitzWalter ladies were almost bouncing up and down in their eagerness to learn the fate of the innocent principals.

  Simon smiled. “Well thankfully, all ended well. And that was only because Lord Rideauville up and confessed his sin. He admitted carnal knowledge of the young lass prior to her marriage. It wasn’t a serious crime in those days, since he had, in fact, exercised his Droit du Seigneur, even though it was with the girl’s willing permission.” He shrugged. “Although I have to believe that a certain amount of gold also changed hands. Which, I’m sure, had a lot to do with the peaceful resolution.”

  “Money does work miracles, sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  A new voice intruded into the group, making heads turn suddenly toward the bright sun. She stood there quietly, a parasol folded neatly in one hand and a bunch of wildflowers in the other. Her bonnet shielded her face for the moment, but Simon was in no doubt as to who she was.

  “Good morning, Lady Ellsmere.” He bowed.

  *~~*~~*

  “Vicar.” She curtsied.

  “Tabitha? Tabitha Worsley?” Mrs. Frost rose and tipped her head to one side. “Can it really be you?”

  “Indeed yes, Ma’am. I’m honored you remember me.” Tabitha inclined her head respectfully. She outranked the older woman, but still…this was someone who had plied her with sweetmeats when she was five.

  “Of course I do.” Mrs. Frost beamed. “Such a lovely gel.” Her face fell. “And we were all so sorry to hear of your loss.”

  The usual platitudes ensued at that comment; those who had met or remembered Tabitha also offered their condolences on the
loss of her husband, and more recently her father. The younger ladies, who hadn’t known her as anything other than the daughter of Lord Worsley, were polite—and clearly curious.

  Tabitha couldn’t blame them.

  “Won’t you join us, Lady Ellsmere?” Simon’s voice was the pinnacle of correctness.

  “How kind of you. Thank you. I would enjoy learning the fate of the poor babe with the birthmark.”

  She accepted a seat on one of the rocks near the Frost ladies and folded her hands tidily in her lap, assuming an expression of interest. It was one of the many bland looks she’d perfected over the years, and she believed it to be one of her most effective.

  Except when she met Simon’s gaze and felt the heat that burned behind his blue eyes dart through her like a spear to her gut. Damn the man.

  He seemed unmoved, however. “Well to conclude this tale of misplaced passions…”

  Tabitha restrained a snort. He was a fine one to speak of such things.

  “I’m happy to say that the babe was, in fact, fostered by none other than Lord Rideauville himself.”

  “Oh how nice.” Miss Tedworthy applauded with approval. “Most appropriate.”

  “Indeed it was,” continued Simon smoothly. “Even though his Lordship wed sometime later—a more eligible Saxon noblewoman was found for him—the match produced only daughters. So the presence of a male child, even though illegitimate, was held to be fortunate.”

  “Could he inherit, though?” Tabby leaned forward, even though she’d heard this tale before. It always intrigued her.

  “A good question, my Lady,” Simon acknowledged. “The young man was, for all intents and purposes, the heir, so after many years had passed, the old Lord formally adopted him. I believe there was some discussion in London at the time, of course, but common sense triumphed. It became clear that having a substantial property such as Rideauville’s under the control of a Lord who was half-Saxon…well it certainly changed the perspective of the local residents about their Norman conquerors. And so the illegitimate son became Lord Rideauville upon the old man’s death.”