She strode into the kitchen just as Eli was washing his dish in the sink.
Gone was the mossy satin gown from the night before.
Her long limbs were clothed in men’s leather breeches. A wide-shouldered coat to aid range of motion hid her bosom completely. Her scuffed riding boots were outfitted with shiny spurs. A pair of kid gloves flopped out from her pocket.
She looked magnificent.
Eli, on the other hand, was uncomfortably aware of the unsuitability of his olive frock coat with its matching silk waistcoat. He looked like he was on his way to White’s for a glass of sherry and a round of cards, not about to stomp through a farm to inspect the stables.
“Washing dishes?” she said, as if there could be no greater offense. “Don’t think for a moment that your false kindnesses to my father will sway my opinions ofyouin the least.”
So far, so splendid.
Eli dried his hands on a cloth and tried to think of what to say. Any attempt to explain that hehadn’tbeen toadeating in hopes of recognition would be met with disbelief at best.
Mr. Harper made rapid hand gestures to his daughter.
A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “He says hetoldyou not to bother with the dishes, and it’s nothisfault you don’t understand sign language.”
“Is there no maid?” Eli asked, and wished he hadn’t. The indelicate question would win him no favor.
“There are three,” she replied after she’d interpreted. “Plus two footmen and a half dozen stable hands.”
Eli glanced around dubiously.
She took pity on him. “We always give them the week of Christmas to be with their own families. Papa and I are not so helpless that we cannot manage ourselves for a few days, and besides, we rather like the reminder that we can always rely on one another.”
That... was... a wonderful sentiment, which would never in a hundred years occur to the Marquess of Milbotham, much less appeal to him if someone else were to make the suggestion.
Eli respected and admired the Harpers’ obvious shared love. He might also be the tiniest bit envious.
Mr. Harper gestured again.
“Papa wants to know if you’re excited to meet our horses.” Miss Harper cocked her eyebrows expectantly, as if the answer to this question was an obvious and foregone conclusion.
“Er,” said Eli. How could he answer without lying? “I’ve heard so much about them.”
Her eyes sparkled. She exchanged brief signs with her father before turning back to Eli. “Whatever you’ve heard is only the beginning.”
Yes. Precisely what Eli was afraid of.
As the son of the man who owned the largest, most celebrated horse farm in the southern half of England, one might presume Eli lived and breathed horses.
One would be wrong.
His knowledge of the beasts was more theoretical than practical. Oh, he’dtried, for all of the good it did him. As a child, he’d been thrown from the back of a horse more often than he’d remained seated.
Even back then, Eli would rather have been left alone with his books.
“What do you do when you’re not with your horses?” he asked.
Surely, he and Miss Harper could findsomecommon ground.
She stared at him as though he’d sprouted a shaggy mane and plaited tail. “What is... ‘notwith my horses?’”
Stiff upper lip. He smiled as if the question had been in jest.
“Well?” She crossed her arms. “Go and put on your riding clothes.”
