family. But John had the misfortune or being the seventh of seven children, a position which almost guaranteed that none of life's favors would come his way. His parents, the seventh Earl and Countess of Westborough, certainly hadn't intended to neglect their youngest child, but there were, after all, five ahead of him.
Damien was the eldest, and as the heir, he was cosseted and given every advantage that his parents could afford. A year later, Sebastian came along, and since he was so close to Damien in age, he was able to share in most of the perks that come with being the heir to an earldom. The earl and countess were nothing if not pragmatic, and given the childhood mortality rate, they were aware that Sebastian had quite a good chance of becoming the eighth Earl of Westborough. Soon after, Julianna, Christina, and Ariana arrived in rapid succession, and as it was apparent at a very young age that all three would become beauties, much attention was paid to them. Advantageous marriages could do much to fill the family coffers.
A few years later a stillborn boy arrived. No one was particularly happy about the loss, but then again, no one grieved overmuch. Five attractive and reasonably intelligent children seemed an abundance of riches, and truth be told, another baby would have been simply another mouth to feed. The Blackwoods may have been living in a magnificent old house, but it was a trial each month just to pay the bills. And it certainly never occurred to the earl to try to
But then tragedy struck, and the earl was killed when his carriage overturned in a rainstorm. At the tender age of ten, Damien found himself with a title. The family scarcely had time to mourn when much to everyone's surprise, Lady Westbor-ough discovered that she was once again with child. And in the spring of 1787, she produced one last baby. The effort was exhausting, and she never quite regained her strength. And so, tired and irritable, not to mention more than a little worried about the family finances, she took one look at her seventh child, sighed, and said, 'I suppose we'll just call him John. I'm too tired to think of anything better.'
And after that somewhat inauspicious entry into the world, John was-for the lack of a better word- forgotten.
His family had little patience with him, and he spent far more time in the company of tutors than relations. He was sent off to Eton and Oxford, not out of any great concern for his schooling, but rather because that was what good families did for their sons, even the youngest ones who were irrelevant to dynastic lineages.
In 1808, however, when John was in his final year at Oxford, an opportunity arose. England found herself entangled in political and military affairs on the Iberian peninsula, and men of all backgrounds were rushing to join the army. John saw the military as an area where a man might make something of himself, and he presented the idea to his brother. Damien agreed, seeing it as a way to honorably get his brother off his hands, and he bought a commission for John.
Soldiering came easily. He was an excellent rider and quite handy with both swords and firearms. He took some risks that he knew he should have avoided, but amidst the horrors of war, it became apparent that there was no way he could possibly survive the carnage. And if by some stroke of fate he managed to come through the conflict with his body intact, he knew that his soul would not be so lucky.
Four years passed, and still John managed to surprise himself by escaping death. And then he took a bullet in his knee and found himself on a boat back to England. Sweet, green, peaceful England. It somehow didn't seem real to him. Time passed quickly as his leg healed, but truth be told, he remembered very little of his recuperation. He spent much of the time drunk, unable to deal with the thought of being a cripple.
Then, much to his surprise, he was made a baron for his valor, ironic after all those years of his family reminding him that he was not a titled gentleman. That was a turning point for him, and he realized that he now had something substantial to pass on to a future generation. With a renewed sense of purpose, he decided to get his life in order.
Four years after that he was still limping, but at least he was limping on his own land. The end of the war for him had come a little sooner than expected, and he'd taken the price of his commission and begun investing. His choices proved extremely profitable, and after only five years, he'd saved enough money to purchase a small country estate.
He had finally taken it on himself to walk the perimeter of his property the day before when he'd run into Lady Arabella Blydon. He had been thinking about his encounter with her for quite some time. He probably should go over to Westonbirt and apologize to her for his rude behavior. Lord knew she wouldn't come over to Bletchford Manor after the way he'd treated her.
John winced. He was definitely going to have to come up with a new name for the place.
It was a nice house. Comfortable. Gracious but not palatial, and easily served by a small staff, which was fortunate, as he couldn't afford to employ a fleet of servants.
So there he was. He had a home-one that was his alone, not some place that he knew would never be his owing to the existence of five elder siblings. He had a nice income-a trifle depleted now that he'd bought a house, but he was fairly confident of his financial abilities after his earlier successes.
John checked his pocket watch. It was half past two in the afternoon, a good time to examine some of his fields to the west to see about farming. He wanted to make the soon-to-be-renamed Bletchford Manor as profitable as possible. A quick glance out the window told him that there wouldn't be a repeat of the previous day's downpour and he left his study, heading upstairs to fetch his hat.
He didn't get very far before Buxton, the aged butler who'd come with the house, stopped him.
'You have a caller, my lord,' he intoned.
Surprised, John halted in his tracks. 'Who is it, Buxton?'
'The Duke of Ashbourne, my lord. I took the liberty of showing him the blue salon.'
John broke into a smile. 'Ashbourne's here. Splendid.' He hadn't realized that his old army friend lived so close when he'd bought Bletchford Manor, but it was an added bonus. He turned around and headed back down the stairs before coming to a bewildered halt in the hall. 'Hell, Buxton,' he groaned. 'Which one is the blue salon?'
'Second door on your left, my lord.'
John made his way down the hall and opened the door. Just as he thought, there wasn't a single piece of blue furniture in the room. Alex stood by the window, looking out over the fields which bordered his own property.
'Trying to figure out how you can convince me that the apple orchard is on your side of the border?' John joked.
Alex turned around. 'Blackwood. It's damned good to see you. And the apple orchard is on my side of the border.'
John quirked a brow. 'Maybe I've been trying to figure out how to fleece you out of it.'
Alex smiled. 'How have you been? And why haven't you stopped by to say hello? I didn't even know you'd bought this place until Belle told me yesterday afternoon.'
So they called her Belle. It suited her. And she'd been talking about him. John felt absurdly pleased about that even though he rather doubted she'd had anything nice to say. 'You seem to forget that one is not supposed to call upon a duke unless the duke has done so first.'
'Really, Blackwood, I would think we'd be beyond the trivialities of etiquette at this point. Any man who has saved my life is welcome to call upon me any time he likes.'
John flushed slightly, remembering the time he had shot a man who had a knife poised to plunge into Alex's back. 'Anyone would have done the same,' he said softly.
One corner of Alex's mouth tilted up as he remembered the men who had lunged at John as he took his aim. John had taken a knife wound in his arm for his bravery. 'No,' Alex said finally. 'I don't think that anyone would have done the same.' He straightened. 'But enough talk of war. I prefer not to dwell upon it myself. How have you been?'
John motioned to a chair, and Alex sat down. 'The same as anyone else, I suppose. Would you like a drink?'
Alex nodded, and John brought him a glass of whiskey. 'Obviously not quite the same,
'Oh, that. Got made a baron. Baron Blackwood.' John shot Alex a jaunty grin. 'Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?'
'A very nice ring.'
'And how has your life changed in the last four years?'
'Hadn't changed much at all, I suppose, until the last six months.'
'Really?'
