She Said Yes
“The Marquess is in his billiard room.” Blackheart slipped into his butler persona like an actor playing a favored role.
“Alone?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Considering it was in his best interest that Blackheart fulfill the terms of the wager, Mantis kept himself from scoffing as he made his way down the familiar corridor and into the masculine abode.
Greystone glanced up before taking his shot, which he missed, and Blackheart picked up an abandoned cue and studied the table.
“Where is everyone?” Mantis asked. It was unusual for neither of the two Spencer brothers to be present, if not Chaswick, or Westerley, despite their recent marriages.
“Peter has taken up his apprenticeship with Sir Bickford-Crowden in Brighton.” Greys folded his arms across his chest and scowled at Blackheart’s perfect shot.
Ah yes, Mantis recalled hearing about the younger Spencer’s brother’s opportunity to advance his career as a world-class cellist.
“Stone, Chaswick, and Westerley are tracking Lady Tabetha down. Gretna Green. She’s run off with Culpepper.”
“What the devil?” Culpepper, a duke, was also an ass. Caught up in his own affairs, Mantis had undoubtedly missed a good deal of goings-on.
“Don’t ask.” Greys’ scowl deepened as Blackheart sunk another solid. “I don’t imagine they’ll be back for a few weeks.”
The duke finished out the table, returned his stick to the shelf, and tipped a non-existent hat. “I’ll leave the two of you now. Cook will want my approval of this evening’s courses.”
“She said yes,” Mantis sauntered around the table, collecting the balls for another game. He was feeling particularly lucky that evening. “But even more importantly, so did her father.”
Blackheart spun around, opening the door as he did so. “In that case, I’ll bring up a case of Greystone’s champagne.”
“Excellent, old man,” Greys chuckled. Once the door closed behind him, the marquess met Mantis’ gaze. “I’m going to miss having such an excellent butler. He will be most difficult to replace.”
“Do you think he’ll endure the entire season?”
Greys allowed a slow smile—a slow,slysmile. “We’ll see.”
What the devil did the marquess mean by that?
Greys waved a hand. “So you won’t be following Spencer and Westerley to Gretna Green?”
“Not at all.” Mantis racked the balls and then stepped back, watching as Greys tossed a crown in the air.
“Heads,” Mantis said automatically.
Heads it was.
“My fiancé wants a traditional church wedding.” Felicity would have all pomp and circumstances. He lined up the cue and broke, resulting in a satisfying scatter with two striped balls dropping into corner pockets. “Banns are to be read at St. George’s beginning this week.”
Smirking, Mantis lined up his next shot.
“Brightley gave his blessing, eh?” Greys scowled as another striped ball dropped.
“With some inducements.” Fourteen thousand, two hundred and fifty of them, to be exact. The Earl’s debt hadn’t been quite as large as Mantis had assumed, as it turned out. Brightley had insisted, however, that another twenty-five thousand be put in trust for Felicity and any children they had.
Mantis planned on fifty anyway.
“And what of your parents? Crestwood’s reaction ought to be interesting.”
“I’ll tell them tomorrow morning.” It would actually be the third item on his list. First, he would spar with Blackheart, then go to the papers, and then face his family—which was always an ambiguous proposition.
