He could not tell what they were saying. Miss Harper’s father was deaf and did not speak. Miss Harper responded to him with sign language in silence. Their hands moved so quickly, their fingers were a pale blur.
But one needn’t understand all their gestures to get the gist.
Mr. Harper said yes.
Miss Harper said no.
Eli’s heart clenched. He hated that he was hurting her all over again. At least the shock would be over soon enough, and then they could put the ugliness behind them.
Once again, her father’s forefinger jabbed in Eli’s direction. Twice, thrice, four times.
Miss Harper’s arms did not stop flying, but she began to speak the words aloud too.
“—unnecessary and unfair,” she apparently motioned. “He’s heir to an even bigger stud farm in the City. He deals with Tattersall’s on a regular basis and is the supplier of choice to London’s elite. He doesn’t needourfarm.”
Her father signed his reply.
When Miss Harper glared back at him stonily, he began the gestures anew, larger and more forcefully.
“‘But then you’ll have two, which means both of you benefit,’” she interpreted, and shook her head. “No. Thenhe’llhave two. Neither will be mine.”
Eli shifted uncomfortably. He moved slightly to see both their faces and hands.
She replied first using sign language, followed by interpreting aloud for Eli.
Her father was using signs again. “Keeping grudges leads to an early grave. This will heal the rift. Milbotham and I will see our offspring married before we die.”
“Neither you nor the marquess are at death’s door,” she shot back, once she’d repeated his comment aloud to Eli. “You’ve decades of life left. Can we discuss this when I’m fifty-four instead of twenty-four?”
“It will happen this week.” Mr. Harper turned toward Eli. “Did you bring it?”
“Bringwhat?” Miss Harper signed. Her voice strained with trepidation when she repeated the words verbally.
Eli nodded in assent to her father. He pulled the wet leather glove free from his numb right hand, and reached beneath the lapel of his coat to the warm, dry pocket hidden within. Slowly, he pulled out the folded square of parchment.
“Yes.” His voice sounded calm. Nary a crack. “I brought the license.”
Miss Harper looked like a sail in high wind. Pale and tattered and struggling to hold on. “Amarriagelicense?”
Eli knew how unfair this was. The saving grace was that it would be over by tomorrow. Her father would say,you must do this, and she would acquiesce, even though she didn’t wish to, because children were obedient to their parents. Especially daughters, who had neither choice nor recourse.
It was not what Eli would have wished for her or for anyone. But here they were.
“No,” she stammered, her finger movements disjointed. “Absolutely not.”
“Take him to Nottingvale’s for this evening’s dance,” Mr. Harper suggested. “The duke will toast your betrothal as cheerfully as his sister’s.”
Her signs were as sharp as her voice. “Hell will freeze over before I introduce this knave to my friends as thoughhenumbered among them.”
Eli returned the license to the safety of his pocket. “I will do whatever it takes—”
“Oh?” Her tight-lipped smile turned calculating. “Then win me.”
He blinked. “What?”
“If both of you want this betrothal to happen, then Weston must earn my acceptance.” She turned a mulish look to her father as she signed. “You cannot consign me to less.”
Of course he could. Mr. Harper was her father.
