She allowed certain customers to mate their mares with her stallion or purchase a foal, but she would not part with her favorite horse. Duke was part of the family.
“What if I offered...” The stranger named a figure five times higher than Prinny’s best offer and gave her a hopeful grin.
“Not even for ten times as much,” she informed him and quickly glanced away.
Her tight-lipped smile wasn’t because she found the question offensive—a stud farm was meant to breed and sell horses, after all—but because Olive didn’t want the cheerful stranger to see what she hid behind her smile.
When she was younger, Papa had assured her she’d grow into her too-wide mouth and over-large teeth.
Olive had not.
It was the only lie Papa had ever told her.
She knew it was because he loved her. To Papa, his daughter was beautiful. He probably thought shehadgrown into her features. But there was no reason for her to subject strangers to her oversized teeth. Or to open herself up to ridicule.
Instead, she smoothed her hands over her prettiest gown and did her best to smile with her eyes instead of her tightly closed mouth.
The sound of champagne popping filled the air.
“A toast.” Nottingvale held the foaming bottle aloft. “To my sister, on her betrothal.”
Glasses clinked and cheers filled the air.
Olive was thrilled for the duke’s sister, she really was. But Olive was even more glad that she need never worry about being in the same shoes.
Her fulfillment came from her work. Olive wasn’t missing anything. Papa was the best companion anyone could ask for. They had each other, which was more than enough.
She knew her purpose and excelled at it. Even before the Prinny Incident, the Harper horses had been famous. Olive was no shrinking wallflower. She was a very busy spinster, and she liked it that way.
Papa had been making noises about retiring, and Olive was more than ready to take the reins. She was in control of her own future, and soon would be in charge of the entire Harper farm.
“After this, we’re singing carols,” called out one of the guests. No doubt they would be at it for hours.
“I believe I’ll return home,” signed her father.
“I’ll go with you.” Olive was happy to interpret, but the struggle to switch back and forth between languages for long periods of time was exhausting. She looked forward to a peaceful evening with her father. She turned to the duke. “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon.”
There was almost too much revelry for her to be heard over the noise, but the duke bowed and invited them back later in the evening for dancing.
Olive relayed the invitation to her father before addressing their host. “We’ll see.”
This meantno. There was no reason to dance with gentlemen she was uninterested in flirting with, and besides, keeping one’s mouth guarded for twenty-minute sets at a time was exhausting.
“Don’t forget my Twelfth Night ball,” Nottingvale reminded her. “If you can’t come tonight, I’ll save you a dance then!”
Absolutely not.
Olive retrieved their hats and coats from the butler and followed her father out into the brisk winter day. The sun was still an hour from setting, but the air was cold enough that snow glistened everywhere without any sign of melting.
They could have flagged any one of the sleighs Cressmouth used as hackneys for a ride home, but it was easier to walk and talk, and Olive enjoyed quiet moments like these with her father. She and her father conversed using their usual signs.
“Can you believe the Duke of Nottingvale’s sister is marrying a tailor?” Olive made an expression of faux shock as she gestured with her hands. “His Grace is toastingnow, but I can only imagine what his face looked like when he first found out.”
Papa screwed up his features and clutched his chest in an exaggerated parody of apoplexy.
She grinned at him, over-large teeth and all. Her father’s love was unconditional. “I’m glad for her. They seem to suit each other well.”
“About that.” Her father’s typically merry eyes grew serious. “I’ve decided on a husband for you.”
