Page 36 of The Virtuoso
“Cheatham. Good to know.” Val watched for a moment as Rafe, apron tied over his potbelly, continued to scrub at the gleaming wood.
“I’ll tell you something else good to know.” Rafe’s rag stopped its polishing of the scarred bar. “Them Bragdolls are hard workers, make no mistake, but they work your home farm, and I don’t think they quite have Mrs. Fitz’s permission to do that.”
“Mrs. Fitz?” Val raised an eyebrow and let the silence grow.
“Cheatham comes in for his pint now and again. I know how to keep my mouth shut, contrary to what you might think. Talk to Cheatham.”
“Believe I will,” Val said, finishing his ale. “Save me an entire fruit pie, and I don’t care what you charge me for it.”
“A whole entire pie.” Rafe nodded, good cheer abruptly wreathing his cherubic countenance. “For growing boys and strappin’ lads.”
Val walked out of the tavern into the hurly-burly of a small town on a pretty market day, trying to puzzle out what Rafe had been telling him. Clearly, a visit to Cheatham was in order, but Rafe had almost admitted Ellen had some sort of claim on the land as well.
“I see your goods are disappearing quickly,” Val remarked as he approached Ellen’s wagon where it was parked on the green. “Can you take a break? I’ll have Rafe pull you a lady’s pint.”
“We can manage,” Dayton volunteered. “Can’t we, Phil?”
“We’ll guard your flowers with our lives,” Phil assured her. “Now that Sir Dewey has fortified us with raspberry scones.”
“Sir Dewey?” Val asked.
“John Dewey Fanning. He’s over there.” Ellen gestured with her chin. “Playing chess with Tilden between Rafe’s interruptions. Why?”
“He might have served with my oldest brother. You’ll introduce us?”
“I can.” Though she did not sound enthusiastic about it.
By the time they retrieved a pint for Ellen, Sir Dewey was alone at the chessboard.
“Valentine Windham.” Val introduced himself, though in all propriety, Ellen or even Tilden should have made the introductions. “At your service and overdue to make your acquaintance. I believe we are neighbors.”
Sir Dewey’s smile took in both Val and Ellen. “My good fortune, then. Axel Belmont warned me the Markham place was being refurbished. Here.” Sir Dewey appropriated a spare chair and set it down between the other two. “Shall we sit while you tell me how your progress fares at the Markham estate?”
Fanning was probably five years Val’s senior, tall, blond, and a little weathered, which made his blue eyes look brilliant. He was genial enough, but beneath his country-squire manners, he had a certain watchful reserve, even when he turned to address Ellen.
“Your late husband would have been pleased to see the progress on the estate, I believe.” In the beat of silence following Sir Dewey’s pronouncement, Ellen wasn’t quick enough to hide her surprise from Val.
“You knew my late husband?”
“His term at university overlapped my cousin Denham’s by a year, and Denham and I are very cordial, as were Denham and the baron. By the time I returned from India, Baron Roxbury had gone to his reward. I am remiss for not calling on you.” He shifted his gaze to Val. “Heard you had a bit of mishap on Monday.”
“If you gentlemen will excuse me.” Ellen smiled at them briefly before passing Val her half-empty mug. “I see the boys are in need of assistance and will return to my post.”
“You are fortunate in your immediate neighbors,” Sir Dewey remarked as both men rose to watch Ellen’s retreat. “She’s as pretty as the flowers she grows.”
“Gallantly said,” Val allowed, resuming his seat. “Though I gather you hadn’t previously mentioned her marriage to Roxbury.”
Sir Dewey continued to watch Ellen across the way. “Had she indicated she wanted it acknowledged, I might have taken that for a social overture, but she hasn’t.”
Val watched her as well. “You knew Roxbury?”
“I did, years ago, and not that well. The last baron, that is. The current holder of the title does no credit to his ancestry.”
“I won the place from him in a card game.” Val forced himself to take his gaze from the sight of Ellen laughing at something Day said. “He struck me as a typical young lord, more time on his hands than sense, and ready for any stimulation to distract him from his boredom.”
Sir Dewey cocked his head. “An odd assessment, coming from Moreland’s musical dilettante.”
Val looked over at his companion sharply, only to find guileless blue eyes regarding him steadily. “How is it you come to know of Monday’s mishap?”
