“No.” Blackheart tapped his chin and then leaned forward. “Not in yours.”
Both men were aware of the struggles Mantis had experienced in school, and at one point, had no doubt witnessed any of Crestwood’s thinly veiled barbs. They rarely spoke of them, however, and it was his friends who had helped him successfully finish out his schooling.
“Were either of you aware that Crestwood’s been disparaging me publicly?” The back of Mantis’s neck burned with a combination of white-hot anger and embarrassment. That his father would go so far was mortifying. Such a public humiliation would affect their entire family.
Blackheart’s jaw ticked, but it was Greys who answered.
“I’d heard rumblings but hoped them to be isolated incidences.”
The duke pinned his gaze on Mantis. “It isn’t true. You know that.”
Mantis clenched his fists. “I thought I did. What the hell am I missing?” He got by well enough but knew his limitations.
His friends exchanged a loaded glance. Greys exhaled loudly and announced, “He’s a bloody cocksucker. That’s what you’re missing. I cannot comprehend why you’ve chosen to reside at Crest House. You’re more than welcome to stay here. Or take bachelor’s quarters, for God’s sake.”
Greys had the right of it, but Mantis couldn’t help wonder when he would see Cordelia and Conner if he moved out. Cordelia would be perfectly fine without him, but he worried about Conner.
He pressed his fist against his forehead.
Moving out would be the beginning of the end. The end of what?
Rather than begin to answer such an unanswerable question, Mantis chose to address his more urgent problems.
“Lord Brightley poses something of an obstacle.” One he could overcome, but that could prove troublesome long after Mantis and Felicity married.
Marry they would, though, and soon.
They could elope. He could take the decision out of her father’s hands, but Mantis deplored the idea of robbing Felicity of a wedding.
“Tell them the truth,” Blackheart stated baldly. “The earl will have no choice but to concede his blessing.”
Grey’s brows rose. “The truth?”
Neither Mantis nor Blackheart expanded because, of course, Greys could figure it out.
“When Brightley discovered Westerley intended to call off his betrothal to Felicity,” Greys pointed out, “Lady Felicity’s father did not take it lying down. My advice is that you be prepared to elope regardless. The man seems pleasant enough, but…” Greys shrugged. “I wouldn’t take his approval for granted even after he’s aware… well, when you meet with him again.”
Mantis nodded. “I need to talk with Felicity, but—” Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded. “He’s ordered me away from her.”
“That reminds me.” Blackheart opened a drawer and removed an envelope from his desk. “Your valet delivered this just before you arrived.”
Mantis stared at delicate handwriting. Had her father directed her to write to him demanding he leaves her alone?
Her scent on the envelope teased his senses as he broke the seal.
The missive was short and to the point. “She wants to meet me in the park tomorrow afternoon.”
A Bench in the Woods
Felicity clenched her hands in her lap, seated as she was, in the exact spot, on the exact bench where she’d seen him last.
She hadn’t slept well the night before and had then spent half the morning staring into the bottom of a chamber pot. She’d been so hopeful yesterday and hadn’t been prepared for the despair that settled on her today.
“Felicity?” His hand dropped on her shoulder and squeezed from behind. “We aren’t afforded privacy here. Follow the path around to those trees, and I’ll meet you there.”
Why hadn’t she thought of this? She nodded, ignoring the urge to turn and glance up at him, and then rose. What would her father do if he discovered she was going against his wishes? She smoothed her skirts and then glanced across the lawn, just barely catching the back of the viscount before he disappeared down a different walking path.
Sure enough, a handful of strolling couples, two nannies with prams, and a few gentlemen on horseback were present. A shiver of unease shook her—and guilt. In all her life, she’d never defied her father, not knowingly, anyway. Not deliberately.
