Author's Note:
Dear Reader
Welcome! This is the third and final instalment of the 'Blackwood & Friends' books. Though it isn't necessary to read any of them in order, there are a few links... except in this one. This one you can totes read independently!
This story will be intrinsically lighthearted and favouring old-school romance, with added levels of hawtness and smut...
To my devoted readers and voters and commenters- this story is dedicated to you. Just know that your support keeps those ideas becoming real, in a sense.
Before you continue reading, you may find I drop a few 'Easter Eggs' in the stories I write since I've picked it up again. This is mostly in dedication of the mum and dad I've lost. Oriana had seasickness (same, but was a quickly added addition when I completed that story), Nicola had a necklace with a rose and Blanche had a greyhound I named Penelope after my mum. In this story, you will see a bigger role of the parish and in chapter 3 a hymn called How Great Thou Art will be referenced (not accurate by a few decades but I chose this particular hymn at my mom's funeral). They have been placed with a significance :) My dad's will come up in this story more obviously and I don't want to ruin it yet.
As usual, enjoy and love,
Ash
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents (and badly drawn artworks) either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 Ashlyn Montgomery
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to author directly.
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Prologue
Oliver's Memory of 'That' Day
It's not every day one's best friend makes a proposition to sleep with you. The stone that Oliver Bennet Hollingsworth, the only heir to the Gravewood Earldom, had been about to skip across the heavily wooded stream they were standing beside dropped with an unceremonious plunk into the dark, rippling water.
"You do not have to look so shocked, Ben," Griff said, ignoring him after a moment and continuing to skip her own flat-topped stones against the surface of the water with perfect precision. He gaped at her then, not because of her use of his shortened middle name- only Griff ever called him that, and he only ever called Griff, well, Griff, when in actuality her name was Miss Amy Letitia Griffiths- but the fact that she could remain so cavalier when she had outright propositioned him... absurd, really. "I am merely being sensible, is all," she pressed casually, blithely unaware of his continued horror at the notion. And the more that he dwelled on it, the more horrified he became. She was Griff for crying out loud! "You are now nineteen years old, and I am eighteen years old." She stopped tossing her stones into the stream and turned to face him. "We both have the misfortune to reside in this miserable little village and we both have the misfortune to, er, well- be us."
He blew out his cheeks at that. Griff did have somewhat of a point. Haventry, a small eccentric village surrounding Gravewood Park embodied a humour only the blunt side of a plank of wood would find funny (none at all) and was only renowned for its Late Harvest Apple Orchard Festival in honour of the sturdy fruit that some of the townsfolk grew in abundance in the vast, surrounding orchards. The fall months would be inundated with anything apple-related to the extent that he had once even been compelled to don a malodorous item of clothing made from fermenting apple peels. The people were profoundly and extensively proud of this heritage and namesake... making it all the more droll and dull to reside in such a place. It was a tiny and rather uneventful village, and everybody knew everybody's business, including his, and everybody knew that Oliver was decidedly unattractive. He was tall and thin, with a nose that had grown faster than his body. His hair had thankfully begun to darken, favouring less the bright orange that it had been a year ago, and his skin was almost unhealthily pale. Whenever he had been in London for his schooling, it had been torturous to endure the lightly insinuating ridicule from his peers at his inability to attract the attention of the fairer sex and even now, on the brink of his twentieth year, it was astoundingly awkward and unusual that he still found himself a virgin.
He could have, he supposed, and it had been suggested many a time especially now that he had boarded at Oxford, paid for the attentions of a woman, but the notion had shamed him almost as much as his awkwardness. Since he had met Griff all of ten years ago, he had always been upfront with his insecurities and so had she, and they both began to step onto the precipice of adulthood with very little interest shown from respective suitors, which had possibly compelled her to draw this ludicrous conclusion. "You absolutely cannot be serious," he said at last which caused her to huff out an impatient little sigh.
"I am," she said firmly, plunking her hands on her hips. "You know I am."
He did, but he did not want to consider it really. Griff was unfortunate in that her family was broke. And her family consisted only of herself and her aging mother who resided in a small cottage on the outskirts of the village of Haventry. Heather Griffiths simply did not have the funds to afford her only daughter a season in London and the likelihood of Griff ever attracting one of the available gentlemen, or even any man, in the village were next to none. Like him, she had not been blessed with an appearance that was considered fashionable or favourable. Oh, she was pretty enough with hair so dark it could be black and eyes so vividly rich and brown they reminded him of cinnamon, but she was... uh... decidedly plump. It was, he thought, rather unfortunate that such a thing would make her unattractive in the eyes of a suitor because she was just about the nicest and most decent person he had ever encountered. Her appearance bordered on somewhat exotic, her skin darker and freckled from the sun. She could be likeable to a pirate queen or an Arabian princess.
"You are my best friend," he blurted for lack of anything better to say.
"Obviously." She rolled her eyes. "Ben, it is an easy solution- like fixing the broken axle of a carriage wheel or mending the hem of one of my frocks. We both have a problem and we both have the required parts to fix that problem."
"You don't have any problem," he grumbled disparagingly. "I don't see why you are rushing headlong into this idea. You have ample time to acquire a suitable husband-" he cut off at her exceedingly dry expression and bit his tongue before he said anything that would make him sound like an insensitive ass. "Granted, it may take some time..."
"I do not wish to wait," she said simply. "And from what I have gathered, neither do you. It is very unlikely that I will be married anytime soon. Or you, for that matter. You have complained long and hard whenever you have returned from Oxford about your lack of success. Perhaps, if you consider it, this will help you with at least your confidence in the matter, don't you think?"
He wasn't going to admit it, but she may have a small point there. "And what about you? This hardly benefits you, Griff. You'll be ruined."
She scoffed, a small sound that flipped the heavy dark curl draped across her brow. "Should I ever find a husband," she told him pointedly, "he won't care a whit about that sort of thing."
"Fine, alright, but... but you're my best friend." Now this, he believed, was a very valid point. As awkward as he was, he did not feel that way around Griff. He was himself and they had a wonderful, carefree relationship that was decidedly uncommon in his small circle of acquaintances with other people. He couldn't bear it if the camaraderie he shared with her disappeared because of their decision that day.
Her head tilted to the side and she looked at him as if he were possibly the most stupid human on the planet... it was not uncommon for her to look at him like that. He had done and said a lot of stupid things in her company before. "And you think that if we decided to do it, that would change? Why?"
"Because," he whined, gesturing madly at his body with a wide, sweeping arc of his arm, "of this. And-" he repeated the action towards her, "of that."
"Oh, you are shy. I see."
"I am not shy, I just do not really see how we could return to being normal friends once we have, you know, seen each other."
"Oh for God sakes," she mumbled to herself. "If it will help, I will squeeze my eyes shut and you can remove your spectacles and I know you can't see much else but blurs anyway. Regardless, I do not see how anything would change. If we did it, it does not mean you are going to marry me instead of Miss Augusta Fleetwood once she comes of age, does it? The way I see it is that nothing is going to change our futures, which have quite frankly been preordained from the very beginning, so why let it?"
He consciously touched the wire-rimmed spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose, yet another reminder at how utterly hopeless he was. "How do you know it won't change anything?"
At that she folded her arms under her full breasts. "You are my only friend. Otherwise, besides my mother, I am horribly alone in this dreadfully boring little village. I won't let it change anything, believe me. You will merely be bestowing me with a favour and I, you. A fair exchange. Are you not curious about what it is like? I know I am. Of late, it is practically all we talk about, anyway."
Oliver took a moment to consider her proposition, to consider her, to really consider it. Amy was his longest standing friend. He trusted her more than anybody else. And presently, with sunlight dappling her long, curling hair as she stood regarding him with a patiently curious expression on her face, he rather thought she was quite lovely. Attraction to her would certainly not be an issue, he realised as he briefly considered the generous swell of her breasts and the nicely rounded flare of her hips, and the more he took her in, the more he realised that he may actually want her, and why shouldn't he? They trusted each other and there was a mutual, platonic love they shared. So long as they both resiliently endeavoured to maintain their standing friendship after the deed then they could reflect on it as a moment, a special moment, between them for years to come. Of course, he realised, there would be the possibility of a child and he would naturally do right by her if that occurred, and he said as much now.
To which Amy replied, "There are ways to prevent it, you know."
He blinked at her incredulously. "And how the devil would you know that?"
"Mr Coppinger has finally allowed me to work three afternoons a week at the bookshop." She shrugged, her eyes lighting with ebullience at mention of her news. It was one of the things Amy had been talking about whenever she had the chance and no doubt the old man who ran and owned the only bookstore in the village had finally caved to her relentless and daily whinging about it. For as long as Oliver could remember, Amy had been obsessed with the bookstore and she harboured dreams about owning it herself once she had the funds to do so. "A lot of pamphlets and reports are written that I handle on a daily basis and one of them said that there are tonics a woman can drink or a sheath-"
Oliver held up his hand. "I believe I have the gist of it, Griff."
"And I would never hold you accountable, Ben. This is entirely my idea, after all."
His smile was tight as he regarded her further, the sounds of the stream, birdlife and insects loud to his ears. "When do you propose this takes place, then?"
She bobbed a little bit in her excitement, her eyes darkening slightly with what he thought was anticipation. "I don't see why we need wait any longer, do you?"
And if he did, his words left him entirely whenshe began to unbutton the front of her bodice.