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

by Sahara Kelly

  Edmund raised one of his legendary eyebrows at her. “Make it soon, Tabitha. Although he’s dead and gone, we’re still trying to bury our father’s appalling reputation. A scandal of this nature, though not part of the old Baron’s personality, thank God, would give those who have no liking for the Ridlington name plenty of ammunition to interfere with our efforts.”

  Simon stared at his brother. “Really? In what way? This is a personal matter between Tabby and myself.”

  Rosaline sighed. “Your brother is attempting to mend matters with our banks, Simon. It seems your father treated those institutions—and the good men who run them—with what I understand is his customary disdain.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Tabby turned to him. “I take it Baron Jack Ridlington told them to take their rules and do something impossible with them?”

  “I didn’t know you’d met him, Tabby,” interjected Letitia.

  “I didn’t. But the few times he and my father had any kind of discourse, I couldn’t help overhearing.” She met Letitia’s gaze. “As did half the county, I expect.”

  “Your father didn’t like our father. That I knew,” said Simon. “But since nobody else did either, I never thought much about it.”

  “Reminiscing is all well and good,” said Edmund, laying down his napkin. “But this is now, and I reiterate. Please decide on your future course of action, you two. Time is moving on apace.”

  Thus addressed, Simon and Tabby glanced at each other, then stood as Rosaline pushed herself up from the table. “Forgive me, everybody. I am going to take a nap. You are all excused.” She grinned. “I hope to find out that when I wake everything has been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “Hah,” said Hecate. “Even I can’t do that.”

  “In that case, a cup of tea will be an adequate substitute,” answered Rosaline.

  “Very well.” Letitia nodded. “That I think we can manage.”

  Simon elected to return to the Vicarage. “I have a man coming over from Sherrifield to take a look at the organ. If he can replace the reeds that are broken, I’ll be a happy man come Sunday, and so will Mrs. Morris, who has taken to using cotton in her ears for more than a few of the hymns.”

  “Your organist?” asked Tabby as she walked beside him.

  “Yes. She’s been playing for the church for decades. Simple hymns, but favored melodies that have always struck me as being appropriate for a Sunday service.”

  “Are reeds expensive?” Tabby’s eyes wandered over the fields. “If I recall, they’re the things that air passes through. They help make the sound…”

  “Actually, air passes over them, not through them. They vibrate…” Simon stopped. “You’re not really interested in this, are you?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment or two, wondering if now was a good time to talk. Really talk. She sighed. “No, I’m not. But I am trying to be.” She daringly linked her arm through his, heedless of whether they were being observed. All she could see was a herd of sheep in the distance and a flock of birds circling a fallow field. But one never knew.

  “I appreciate that,” said Simon. “Tabby? About our engagement…”

  “Yes. We need to discuss it, don’t we?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “I only have a couple of weeks’ worth of work left on the report, Simon.” She looked forward, not wanting to meet his gaze. “And I have to caution you. I cannot be other than truthful.”

  “You would not be you, if you were otherwise.”

  “Thank you for that. But what it comes down to is that St. Simon’s is teetering on the edge of ruin.”

  “Given the roof situation, that is true in more ways than one.”

  “Don’t jest. This is important.” She turned her head to look at him, noting his wry grin. “What will you do, Simon?”

  “If I lose the church?” His face twisted. “I don’t really know. Beg a farm off Edmund. He has some empty ones. I think I could raise animals as well as anyone.”

  “You can see yourself farming?” She knew she sounded skeptical.

  “Or I could lease a cottage in Ridlington Vale and give bible lessons. Or open a bank. You heard Edmund’s complaint about London bankers. Maybe a small local bank would find favor in the eyes of the residents hereabouts.”

  “Simon…”

  He came to a halt. “I don’t know, Tabby. I simply don’t know. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything but the truth, Simon. This is not a matter for humor or absurd notions about farming.” She stopped walking as well.

  “You don’t think I could raise a damn fine herd of cattle?”

  “If you had the wherewithal to fund the initial stock, to lay in feed, to hire milkmaids and farm hands…then yes you could. Do you have that kind of financial backing?”

  He looked down. “No. You know I don’t. If I did I wouldn’t be waiting for a man to come and give me replacement parts for the church organ that have been used several times before in other organs.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tabby started walking again. She had asked for the truth but hearing it tore at her heart. “I’m truly sorry that I’m the one who has brought you to this pass.”

  He caught up with her and linked her arm through his. “You haven’t. Don’t be silly. St. Simon’s began struggling soon after my father became Baron, Tabby. It’s not your fault and it’s not my fault. Like a large number of problems around here, it can be laid directly at the door of Baron Jack Ridlington, damn his soul.”

  “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “You have to be here. We’re engaged, remember?” Simon nudged her. “At the moment, we are the topic of gentle gossip and rumor. When we wed, we will become interesting, rather than scandalous. “

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” He walked with her, arms linked, down the lane as the birds twittered and the sun warmed their shoulders.

  She wished she could share his enthusiasm, but her mind warned her that this idyllic little interlude they’d shared must come to a conclusion. And soon. “I must go back to the Cottage, though, Simon. My arm is all but healed now. There is no excuse, and no Hecate to give us at least a veneer of propriety.”

  He sighed as the Vicarage came into sight. “Stay one more night with me, love. One more. Then tomorrow we shall put our plans in order.”

  “I shouldn’t…” and she knew it. But her body yearned for his, and she was very afraid that the ache she felt at the notion of moving out of the Vicarage affected a great deal more than her desire.

  She was in love with Simon Ridlington. And that, all things considered, was most unwise.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That night seemed made for Simon and Tabby.

  They shared a light meal out in the Vicarage garden behind the kitchen, since it was warm and although the sun finally set, the light lingered like a child intent upon staying up late.

  The scent of night blooming flowers drifted over them as they sat sharing a snifter of brandy, and holding hands like simple lovers often do.

  Simon put it best. “A magic moment, isn’t it?” He leaned over the space between their chairs and kissed her, the lightest touch of their lips, but it was enough to send heat flaring down to his loins.

  She smiled back. “Indeed.”

  “Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting it go and reaching for the snifter. “To us.” He sipped and held it out.

  She took it and raised it. “To us.”

  He had to wonder. It was back, that sense that she had shielded her emotions. The smiles were there, the willing acceptance of his caresses.

  But there was something…some place he couldn’t quite reach.

  And it scared him.

  He searched for a comment that might start a conversation he felt he needed to have. “This wasn’t a bad place to grow up,” he mused. “If I’d had a normal parent, it would have been fun.”

&n
bsp; She nodded. “It was. My father suffered greatly at the loss of my mother, but overall I would say that yes, it was a good place to grow up.”

  “You know there’s one thing…” he took a breath. “I’m not sure if I have apologized.”

  “For what?” She put the glass back on the table in front of them.

  “That day we were together…in the field by the ocean…”

  “I remember.” She gazed at him, her face a beautiful mask.

  “I didn’t get to say goodbye, Tabby.”

  “I know.”

  “I should have. I should have come to see you the next day.”

  “And said what? That you had been accepted to Oxford and had to leave immediately?”

  “You knew?” She never ceased to surprise him.

  “Of course I knew. Word travels quickly here. I knew before you’d reached London.”

  “Thank God. All I could think about was that it seemed I’d run from you. And after what we almost did…”

  She blinked. Once. “I understood how important education was. It would have been nice had you managed to pen a note at some point, but I expected nothing.” A touch of ice in her words, most certainly.

  “And for that I apologize.” He looked down at his hands. “I have no excuse, Tabs. Only that I was a youth on the verge of manhood, which I’m sure you’ll understand is the polite way of describing a brainless nincompoop.”

  She let out a surprised snort. “How apt.”

  He grinned. “Did you miss me at least?”

  She lifted her nose into the air. “Not at all. My life continued most happily. Not long after you left, I was lucky enough to visit Bath with my father’s cousin and her family, and from there—London. I had quite forgotten you by then.”

  He chuckled. “Dear liar.” He just had to kiss her for that flagrant falsehood.

  She responded as he hoped she would, parting her lips and reaching to slide her fingers through his hair. He loved these moments, loth to rush them and savoring each one, but knowing where they would lead and eager to begin that journey, Tonight, it seemed that Tabby also felt the urgency rise between them. “Take me up to bed, Simon. Make love to me.”

  His answer was to stand and hold out a hand. She placed hers in it, and as the light of the day finally faded from the sky, they closed and locked the kitchen door, blew out the candles, and together walked upstairs to Simon’s room.

  Several hours later, exhausted and limp, they tucked their naked bodies into each other and fell asleep.

  When Simon awoke early the next morning, he was alone.

  *~~*~~*

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Simon stared at Letitia from his desk. “Tabby hasn’t gone. She’s probably in the Cottage.”

  “Have you seen her today?” asked his sister patiently.

  “Well…no. But she said yesterday that she was returning to the Cottage, since her arm is pretty much healed. And first thing this morning I had the organ chap from Sherrifield, and then…” he frowned. “No, actually I haven’t seen her.”

  “She left you this, dear.” Letitia put a sealed note in front of him. “She walked over to the Chase early this morning and asked me to deliver it at lunchtime. Then she went to FitzArden Hall.”

  Something wasn’t right with Simon’s hearing. “Tabby went to see the new building?”

  “She went to meet James. She’s traveling to London with him.”

  There was a buzzing, a humming sound in his ears. He shook his head to clear it. “She’s gone?”

  “I’m sorry, Simon. Yes. She’s gone.”

  “But she’ll be back, of course?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What do you mean you can’t say?” This conversation was making no sense. He tried again. “So you’re telling me that Tabby has gone to London with James? Without a word to anyone? Except you and James, of course, because she couldn’t go to London with him without telling him…”

  “Simon,” Letitia laid a hand on his. “You’re babbling. Read the letter.”

  He stared at it as if it might bite, his ears vaguely registering the fact that his sister had left the room.

  Tabby’s gone. She’s left me. No, that’s ridiculous. She would have said something.

  He looked at his name, written in a bold hand yet with a feminine touch. Yes, it was definitely like her, he thought.

  Taking a breath, he picked it up and broke the seal. Laying it flat, he tried to read it, but found all the words were blurred.

  Rubbing his eyes, he tried again.

  “Dearest Simon,

  Forgive me for being one of those annoying women who write letters and then leave—but there are things you must know, and I am not bold enough to relate them in person. So perhaps it is best this way.

  I have gone to London to finish things. Although that sounds rather dramatic, it is quite true. Recent events at Ridlington have indicated to me that my previous engagements might not have concluded as fully as I had hoped. I would not have trouble from my past follow me to St. Simon’s, and I am concerned as to the presence of M. De Pontcarré. So I must delve into that matter, and others, to ensure that any future I might have is unencumbered by what lay before.

  I am not a very good woman, Simon. I have done things, committed sins, walked down paths that would shock you. I have seen death and I have caused death, and these experiences have necessitated that I close down part of me. The part that feels hurt or pain, or any emotion at all, for that matter.

  Being with you re-opened that door. I became aware of joy, passion, desire, the urge to laugh and to simply enjoy your company.

  And that is dangerous to my well-being, in that should you learn the true nature of my character, and discover some of the shameful things I have done, you would turn away from me. And that pain, dear Simon, would destroy me.

  So I have run, like the coward I have discovered myself to be. I shall endeavor to conclude those open-ended issues to which I referred earlier, and I carry with me my report on St. Simon’s. It is as favorable as I can make it, and presents the parish as struggling but full of potential. I shall endorse it with a personal recommendation, and one kindly penned by the Baron, your brother. My hope is that the Diocese will view these with a gentle eye and allow you more time to rebuild your congregation.

  Once again, I ask your forgiveness for leaving so abruptly. And I ask that you understand how craven I am for running from the pain our parting would have caused. I do not yet know what the future holds, but I can be sure of one thing. I will always cherish the warmest of feelings for you, Simon. That will never change.

  Forever yours,

  Tabby”

  “Damn the woman. Just damn her.” Simon slammed his fist down in fury. “How dare she leave me without talking to me?” He pushed away from his desk and paced the floor of his small study. A futile effort, since a mere four paces brought his nose smack up against the wall.

  Three more “turns” around the snug space and he was completely out of patience. There was only one place to go, the place where he knew he’d find solace at any time, along with wise counsel.

  Rosaline.

  He was in her sitting room less than twenty minutes later. Fortunately, it was a much larger room than his study, thus his pacing produced a more satisfactory exercise.

  Tucked into her favorite chair with a light blanket over her growing belly, Rosaline regarded Simon with barely-concealed amusement. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down, Simon?”

  He tossed her a look over his shoulder that indicated his response. “Thank you, no. I can’t seem to sit. This entire situation is…is…” he waved his hands helplessly.

  “I’m sure it’s worrying, I’ll grant you that.” Rosaline waved the letter he’d shared with her. “She sounds quite contrite, though. And the contents are logical…”

  “Logical?” He spun on his heel at her words and nearly knocked over a vase of gladioli spikes. Catching it before it f
ell, he glared at the flowers. “Damn…damn stuff.”

  She made an odd sound, and he noticed her biting her lip. “Oh, dammit, Rosaline. Laugh if you want, because yes, I’m making a complete and utter clodpole of myself.”

  She smiled. “I’d never laugh at you, Simon. You know that. But you’re reacting very dramatically to this situation, which is so very unlike you. I find the contrast to be…fascinating.”

  He walked to her and sat down on the sofa across from her chair. “I don’t know what to do, Rosaline.”

  “Oh, my dear.” She shook her head. “It’s terribly difficult when you’re in love with someone and everything seems so uncertain.”

  “I…”

  “Please don’t try and persuade me that you’re not head over heels in love with Tabby, Simon. That would be to insult my intelligence.”

  He paused, feeling that in some odd way his world had either just straightened or completely reversed itself. “I’m confused.”

  “That’s a good place to start.”

  “It is?” He blinked at her.

  “Of course. Accepting the confusion is the beginning of enlightenment.”

  “Ah.” He thought about that. “What comes next?”

  “Deconstructing the chaos, simplifying the elements and then proceeding to implement a course of action.”

  “Are you jesting with me, by any chance?”

  Rosaline looked mildly offended. “Why would I jest? This is a most serious topic of major importance to your life.” She looked at him. “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “What? Why what?”

  “Why is it so important to your life?”

  Exasperated, Simon clutched at his hair. “Because I love her, dammit, and I want her here. At home. By my side. Forever.”

  “Excellent.” Rosaline beamed. “You have completed the first three tasks. Now all you have to do is implement a course of action and the problem is solved.” She gestured at the small table beside her, which held a tray of china and a plate of scones. “Tea?”