He looked forward to introducing Felicity to Cordelia, who would be happy for him. Louisa would enjoy planning the wedding, and Mantis only hoped she was considerate enough not to step on Lady Brightley’s toes.
Which left his father.
Mantis never knew what to expect of the man who’d sired him. Would Crestwood be happy for him? Mantis doubted it.
Greys rubbed his chin. “Why interfere with your marriage prospects? Doesn’t he realize it’s his own lineage he’s sabotaging? I’ve said this before, and it bears repeating. Crestwood is an ass.”
Mantis ought to agree with his friend wholeheartedly. However, that particular ass also happened to be his father.
Feminine shuffling at the door effectively prevented Mantis from having to respond in one way or the other. Greystone’s great Aunt Iris entered first, clutching Miss Violet Faraday’s arm, with Lady Posy tucked in behind them.
Although at least thirty years of age, Miss Faraday, tall and elegant, with dark hair and olive skin, was a stunning-looking woman. Lady Posy, petite and curvy, might someday be equally as pretty in her own way if not for her lopsided spectacles and head of unruly ebony curls, which refused to be subdued in even the most severe chignon.
Greys and Mantis set their cues on the table. “Ladies.”
“Manningham-Tissinton,” the elderly lady nodded in Mantis’ direction.
“My lady.”
“Hello, Mantis,” Miss Faraday dipped her chin.
“Brandy?” Greys lifted the decanter questioningly.
“Much appreciated.”
“I’m starving,” Lady Posy announced in general.
“In that case, dinner is served.” Blackheart had silently arrived to stand in the doorway, a smirk on his ducal mouth as he glanced around the room. If Mantis didn’t know better, he’d think the duke was teasing Grey’s youngest cousin.
The evening could only have been more enjoyable if Felicity had been at his side.
After partaking of an extravagant ten-course dinner, excellent company, and copious amounts of champagne, Mantis and Greys reclined at the table to enjoy their port.
“I’ve been meaning to take my cousins to Vauxhall,” Greys declared. “Might as well make it a celebration.”
Mantis hadn’t been to Vauxhall for a few years. “A private box?”
“What else?”
“Count me in.”
“You’re an attached gentleman now. Don’t promise your time until after you’ve spoken with her. Who knows, she may have already made plans for the two of you?”
Mantis blinked.
He was anengagedman.
By god, he was getting married! Before he could so much as lift his glass, Blackheart appeared to refill it from over his shoulder.
Bloody duke was setting out to get him drunk.
“Didyou enjoy your session this morning, my lord?” Cornell, the young valet Mantis hired at Blackheart’s suggestion six years earlier, set aside the Hessian he’d just finished buffing to a high shine.
Not only was the man excellent at his profession, but he’d plenty of fighting experience as well.
Handy that was, having a valet who wasn’t the grandfatherly type.
“I did.” Although Blackheart had been on his toes and the two of them had split bouts.
