Felicity bit her tongue. She wasn’t keen about revealing the name of that cad to her father. He was capable of holding onto grudges forever.
“Felicity?” He demanded an answer.
“Manningham-Tissinton.”
“Oh, well, I believe he departed with Lord Chaswick following the garden incident. For the best, though, dear. I’d rather you not encourage that particular viscount.” He jerked his chin for her to follow him.
“What garden incident?” She hurried her steps to keep up. “And why would you have me avoid him?” For a man as stocky as her father, he certainly could move swiftly.
“Disgusting. I dare not speak of it with you. No doubt you’ll hear all about it from your mother.”
Felicity trailed in her father’s wake. She’d managed to fulfill all of her dancing obligations, but in between sets, she’d located a chair placed conveniently behind a rather tall plant and made use of it to avoid having to make conversation.
When had attending a ball become so exhausting?
“Why should I avoid Manningham?” She persisted. All her life, she'd obliged her father’s wishes, not once questioning that he knew what was best for her—that her future was set.
“Because I asked you, that is why.” His question brought her up short. His word had always been reason enough in the past.
The Willoughby butler awaited them, her wrap in hand as she and her father arrived in the foyer. “Lady Brightley is already waiting in your vehicle, my lord,” he addressed her father. Felicity tied her cloak, lost in thought, and then allowed her father to lead her outside to their carriage.
Sitting across from her parents in the dark as they drove home, the niggling annoyance she’d felt at her father’s condescending answer did not go away. It became louder. “I’m just curious, that’s all,” she said.
“About what, dear?”
“Father has asked me to avoid Manningham-Tissinton. I simply wondered why.”
“The viscount? I’d thought he was a decent sort, but in the end, your father’s opinion is all that counts. He has our best interests at heart—always has.”
“The man is simple.” Her father’s grumbling response surprised her. “Lord Crestwood, his father, has made it known that as a boy, Manningham was intellectually years behind his peers. I have no wish to enter a simpleton into my bloodline.”
“But—” That made no sense whatsoever. Manningham was well-spoken, eloquent, clever. She shook her head but didn’t argue.
But if something didn’t happen quickly… Felicity splayed her hand over her belly, feeling as though all the air swooshed out of the interior of the carriage.
Her father may not have a choice.
Try Flowers
Mantis tapped Blackheart’s arm, who immediately relaxed the hold around his neck, making this his third loss out of four today.
Sprawled on the floor and breathing heavily, Mantis eyed his sparring opponent thoughtfully. He was not accustomed to being bested like this.
“That last toss was unexpected.” When did the bloody duke have time to pick up new moves? The two of them were ordinarily dead even, having learned under the same sensei from the age of ten and four. Mantis remembered such a significant time of his life quite distinctly. Blackheart had suggested Mantis join him in his lessons the very day he’d taken a slash to the face—the sword brandished by his own father.
“Masaki used it on me while you were at Westerley’s.” Blackheart offered a hand and pulled Mantis to his feet.
The reason he’d remained at Westerley Crossings had him frowning.
Since the Willoughby Ball, Mantis had presented himself at Bright Hall three afternoons in a row now. On each occasion, he had been turned away.
True, he’d stood her up, but he hadn’t much choice but to assist Chaswick home after the baron had perpetuated the scandal of the century. In retrospect, Mantis could have sent a message, but time had been of the essence. How long did she intend to hold it against him?
“I wasn’t sure you’d have time to spar while in service,” Mantis said. With the season underway, Blackheart was already installed as Greystone’s butler. God help them all if Blackheart failed and was forced to marry the woman of Grey’s choosing.
Of all of them, Blackheart seemed the least concerned of such a possibility.
The duke’s lips barely tilted up, giving Mantis the impression that escaping his butlering duties posed no difficulty whatsoever. “Matters at Knight House are well in hand.” Confidence lurked in the man’s black eyes. “One more?”
