looked strong and fit. He could have passed for a man fifteen years younger. There was a sharp glint in his slightly faded green eyes. The hard lines of his face had softened little with age. There was a slight stoop to his shoulders these days, and he had lost some muscle with the years, but the physical changes were well concealed by his undiminished will and determination to control his world and everyone in it.
“I take it you and Octavia spend a lot of time together,” Rafe said as casually as possible.
“Some.” Mitchell nipped off another dead rose.
This was not going to work, Rafe decided. If Mitchell did not want to discuss his relationship with Octavia Brightwell, that was the end of the matter. His grandfather had never talked much about his affairs and liaisons over the years. When it came to women, he lived by an old-fashioned code. A man did not kiss and tell. He had drilled that same cardinal rule into both Rafe and Gabe.
Rafe went down the steps and came to a halt on the path beside Mitchell, who was examining a cluster of ferns.
“I understand you’ve been going into Portland on a regular basis,” Rafe said. “To see Octavia?”
“Nope.” Mitchell snapped off another dead flower.
Rafe knew that was the end of that conversation. Gabe would have been better at this, he thought
Mitchell squinted at him. “What the hell are you and Hannah Harte going to do with that damned house?”
“We haven’t decided.”
“Huh. Just like Isabel to do something crazy like this in her will. She had some romantic notion about you and Hannah patching up the old feud. Told her she was an idiot.”
“Telling her that she was an idiot was probably not real helpful.”
Mitchell grunted again. “Nobody more contrary than a Harte.”
“Except a Madison.”
Mitchell didn’t deny it. “You look pretty friendly with Hannah.”
“I wouldn’t say we’ve reached the friendly stage, but her dog likes me. That’s a start.”
“Heard she built herself a nice little business in Portland. Organizes weddings or some such nonsense.”
“Yeah. She says she gets a lot of repeat clients.”
“She’s a Harte, and that’s not an easy fact to overlook. But I’ve got to admit that she’s got gumption.” A thoughtful expression gleamed in Mitchell’s eyes. “Never forgot what she did eight years ago. Always felt like we owed her something for the way she backed you up.”
“I know.”
“There was some nasty talk around town for a while. The folks who believed her when she said she’d been with you on the beach that night assumed you’d seduced her just to score some points against the Hartes.”
“I heard that.”
Mitchell tapped his cane absently against the base of the sundial. “There are still one or two who think Hannah Harte flat out lied for you that night. They think you really did push Kaitlin Sadler off that cliff.”
Rafe felt the tension knot deep inside him. He’d always wondered if Mitchell had been one of those who secretly believed that he had been responsible for Kaitlin’s fall.
“Bottom line,” Mitchell continued, “is that we’re beholden to Hannah Harte.”
“Yeah.”
“Hate being beholden to a Harte,” Mitchell sighed.
“Like a bur under a saddle.”
Rafe looked at him. “Didn’t know it bothered you all this time.”
“It did.”
“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
“You can say that again.” Mitchell narrowed his eyes. “What are you going to do about it? Give up your half of Isabel’s house?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” Mitchell started off in the direction of the greenhouse. “Come on. I’ll show you my new hybrids.”
Rafe glanced back at the screen door. There was no sign of rescue. Reluctantly he trailed after Mitchell.
“I talked to Gabe a few days ago,” Mitchell said.
Rafe steeled himself. “Did you?”
“He said he could find a place for you at Madison Commercial.” There was not a lot of hope in Mitchell’s