Dancing at Midnight (3 page)

unintelligible which was meant to convey her

agreement, and then shut her mouth.

After a few moments, Emma's complexion returned to its normal color, and

she sighed. "There. I feel much better now.

It's amazing how quickly this sickness passes. It's the only thing that

makes it bearable."

A maid entered, carrying a tray with morning chocolate and rolls. She

set the tray down on the bed, and the two ladies

positioned themselves on either side of it.

Belle watched as Emma hesitantly took a sip of her chocolate. "Emma,

could I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"And you'll be frank in your answer?"

One corner of Emma's mouth tipped up. "When have you ever known me not

to be frank?"

"Am I not likeable?"

Emma managed to grab her napkin just in time to avoid spitting out her

chocolate all over Belle's sheets. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think I'm not likeable. I mean, I think most people like me."

"Yes," Emma said slowly. "Most do. Everyone does. I don't think I've

ever met anyone who /didn't /like you."

"Just so," Belle agreed. "There are probably a few who don't care about

my existence one way or another, but I think it's

rather rare for someone to actively dislike me."

"Who dislikes you, Belle?"

"Your new neighbor. John Blackwood."

"Oh, come now. You didn't speak with him for longer than five minutes,

did you?"

"No, but—"

"Then he couldn't have taken you into dislike that quickly."

"I don't know. I rather think he did."

"I'm sure you're mistaken."

Belle shook her head, a perplexed expression on her face. "I don't think

so."

"Would it be so terrible if he didn't like you?"

"I just don't like the idea of someone not liking me. Does that make me

terribly selfish?"

"No, but—"

"I'm generally considered to be a nice person."

"Yes, you are, but—"

Belle squared her shoulders. "This is unacceptable."

Emma choked back laughter. "What do you plan to do?"

"I suppose I have to make him like me."

"I say, Belle, are you /interested /in this man?"

"No, of course not," Belle replied, rather quickly. "I just don't

understand why he finds me so repugnant."

Emma shook her head, unable to believe this rather bizarre turn of

conversation. "Well, you'll be able to work your wiles on

him soon. With all of the men in London who have fallen in love with you

without the least bit of provocation on your part,

I can't imagine you won't find success in getting this Blackwood fellow

to fall in /like /with you."

"Hmmm," Belle murmured. She looked up. "When did you say he's coming to

dinner?"

*  *  *

Lord Blackwood may not have been born a lord, but he did come from an

aristocratic, albeit impoverished, family. But John had the misfortune

of 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 /earn

/a living.

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 Westborough 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

mat 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, /Lord /Blackwood."

"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?"

"I went and got myself married," Alex said with a sheepish smile.

"Did you now?" John raised his glass of whiskey in a silent toast.

"Her name is Emma. She's Belle's cousin."

John wondered if Alex's wife looked anything like her cousin. If so, he

could easily see how she would have caught the

duke's attention. "I don't suppose she has also read the entire works of

Shakespeare?"

Alex let out a short laugh. "Actually she started to, but I've been

keeping her busy lately."

John raised his eyebrows over the double meaning of that comment.

Alex caught his expression immediately. "I've got her managing my

estates. She has quite a head for figures, actually.

She can add and subtract much faster than I can."

"Brains run in the family, I see."

Alex wondered how John had learned so much about Belle in such a short

time but didn't say anything. "Yes, well, that may

be the only thing the two of them have in common, besides their uncanny

ability to get exactly what they want without your

even realizing it."

"Oh?"

"Emma's quite headstrong," Alex said with a sigh. But it was a

comfortable, happy sigh.

"And her cousin isn't?" John asked. "She struck me as quite formidable."