Page 10 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

I f there was anything better than capturing the attention of one handsome young man, it would be having a second beau. At least, other young ladies seemed to think so. Last year, Willa had been fascinated by the way the Season’s diamonds held court, distributing smiles and attention to one gallant one day and another the next, as if it were an amusing game.

To Willa, those flirtation games had seemed like a waste of everyone’s time. They still seemed so now. She found nothing amusing about the tension between Mr. Radcliffe and his uninvited cousin.

Mr. Millington initially appeared charming, even suave—quite unlike shy, nervous Mr. Radcliffe. Willa was surprised by the way Mr. Radcliffe glared at Mr. Millington. Weren’t they cousins?

But as she listened more carefully, she detected cruel undercurrents to Mr. Millington’s conversation. His words were not necessarily offensive in themselves, but the taunting tone with which he uttered them grew stronger as the afternoon wore on.

In the curiosity shop, Mr. Radcliffe could easily match his more dashing cousin. He identified seashells at Phoebe’s request, found some curious rock samples that delighted Miss Hadfield, and somehow pulled a beautiful purple gem out of a box containing mostly blue and white sea glass. By the time they left the curiosity shop laden with souvenirs, Mr. Radcliffe walked with a more confident spring to his step. A smile lingered on Willa’s face at the sight.

Her smile fell when Mr. Radcliffe’s cousin got his revenge at the bakery. Phoebe announced that she was hungry, so Mr. Millington suggested stopping at the baker’s shop around the corner.

“This place is famous for their fairy cakes,” he explained. Phoebe’s eyes immediately brightened.

“They usually sell out of fairy cakes quickly,” Mr. Radcliffe warned. “At this hour, we will be lucky to find any kind of sweet buns for tea.”

“Oh, I hope they have fairy cakes! Those are my favorite.” Phoebe galloped at a most unladylike pace towards the shop, leaving Miss Hadfield and Willa trailing after her.

Miss Hadfield snorted. Willa caught her eye, and they exchanged a wry smile. Both of them tried to step faster without appearing to run.

“Evidently we need to devote more time to our deportment lessons,” Miss Hadfield murmured.

“There is only so much deportment lessons can accomplish,” Willa warned. Running down the street in search of cake might be undignified behavior, but it was very Phoebe.

By the time the rest of the party reached the bakery, Phoebe had discovered that there were indeed no fairy cakes left on display. She lamented the situation at length, though fortunately not very loudly.

While Phoebe complained, Mr. Millington began to whisper to the woman behind the counter.

“Phoebe,” Miss Hadfield said, “a lady does not lose her composure over something as trivial as being deprived of a preferred treat. There are hungry children in Ireland who would be happy to eat anything—”

“I know,” Phoebe interjected, “but the gentlemen got my hopes up talking about fairy cakes.” She sent a reproachful look over her shoulder at Mr. Radcliffe.

“I am very sorry about that,” Mr. Radcliffe replied. “But you know, the currant buns here are quite good. Can you make do with that?”

“I suppose that’s better than cabbage soup,” Phoebe agreed.

The mention of cabbages momentarily confused Willa. By the time she worked out that it was a reference to the hungry children in Ireland, Phoebe had turned back to the counter and was asking for currant buns.

“Wouldn’t you rather have the fairy cakes, Lady Phoebe?” Everyone turned to stare at Mr. Millington, who grinned broadly. “Mrs. Crofts just sold me the last ones.”

“I was saving ’em for my grandchildren,” explained the woman behind the counter, “but this young gentleman convinced me to sell them instead.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Oh, thank you Mr. Millington! And thank you, ma’am.” She beamed as Mrs. Crofts handed Mr. Millington a plate laden with fairy cakes and currant buns.

“I’ll fetch your tea in half a minute,” Mrs. Crofts promised.

Though the counter full of bread, cakes, and other baked goods took up most of one wall, there was room on the other side of the shop for a few small tables and chairs. Willa led Phoebe to one of the tables, assuming that Miss Hadfield would follow them. To her dismay, Mr. Millington took the last seat, forcing Miss Hadfield and Mr. Radcliffe to sit at a different table.

Willa knew Haddy wouldn’t mind that—she seemed disposed to like Mr. Radcliffe. But Willa minded it! She would rather have had Mr. Radcliffe at her table. To be sure, Mr. Millington had good conversation. He kept Willa and Phoebe well entertained throughout their tea. But Willa had agreed to this outing because she wished for Mr. Radcliffe’s company, not his cousin’s.

Besides, Willa had the uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Millington was trying too hard to charm her. He mentioned something about the Lake poets, but when Willa admitted that she preferred novels over poetry, he avowed a deep fondness for the works of Sir Walter Scott.

Before Willa had time to get too irritated, Miss Hadfield rose from her chair and interrupted their conversation. “Wilhelmina, if you wish to visit the bookseller, we had better go now, before the afternoon gets much later. We would not want to be late for dinner.”

“Oh, yes! I do want to visit the book shop.” True as that was, Willa’s smile owed more to her relief at no longer being stuck at a table with Mr. Millington.

As the group wended their way down the street, Phoebe began whining again. “Can’t we just go home?” she begged. “I am too tired to keep wandering around town.”

“It’s a pity that I haven’t got my gig with me,” Mr. Millington said. “It would be ideal for navigating these narrow streets.”

The streets were no narrower than those of other market towns, so far as Willa could tell. Mr. Millington merely wanted to brag about his horse and carriage. The smile he directed at her now might look friendly, but having seen how Mr. Millington sneered at his cousin, Willa had tired of his charm.

It didn’t hurt that Mr. Radcliffe, with his golden hair and striking green eyes, was better looking than Mr. Millington.

“Only if you can control your horse better than you did the last time you were here,” Mr. Radcliffe retorted. “I seem to recall you crashing into a fence post on your way into town.”

The look Mr. Millington gave his cousin could have frozen over a hot spring. “That was not my doing! It was the fault of that blasted nag I used to own. My new horse has a much softer mouth.”

Mr. Radcliffe opened his mouth, looking as if he meant to argue further, but Willa intervened before the conversation could grow more heated. “Is this the bookshop you patronize?” she asked. “How charming!”

She did not exaggerate: The shop was charming. Thatcher’s Stationery occupied the corner of a long building. The plate-glass window displayed open folios, artful bookends, and elegant inkstands.

“Ah, yes, this is the best stationer’s shop in the county, and the only place you can find a tolerable selection of books.” Mr. Radcliffe scored a point on his cousin by holding the door open for the ladies.

Maybe that was why Mr. Millington scowled as he strolled into the shop. Or maybe he did not really care for reading. He did not seem particularly interested in any of the books on display.

Willa, on the other hand, pounced when she saw a familiar name in gilt lettering. “Oh, you stock Mr. Kirkland’s books! Do you have the new one?” She held her breath as she waited, hardly daring to hope.

“You mean Terror at Carringford Park ?” The bookseller gave a regretful shake of her head. “We did have it, but we only had a few copies, and someone bought the very last one yesterday. We have a copy for our circulating library, but the waiting list is already half a page long. I would be happy to order a copy for you, though, miss.”

Willa’s shoulders slumped. She had expected as much, but it was still a disappointment. “No need to order it, ma’am. I am sure I will have a chance to buy it later.” If worse came to worst, she would ask Uncle Rowland to send her a copy. He generally knew where to find the most fashionable books.

Mr. Radcliffe peered over Willa’s shoulder, studying the copy of Midnight Secrets on display. “G.W. Kirkland? I don’t recognize that name. What does he write?”

Willa paused to figure out how best to characterize Kirkland’s work. “They are stories in the Gothic line, I suppose, but more like the The Mysteries of Udolpho than like The Castle of Otranto or Beckford’s The Monk . Kirkland’s plots are full of secrets and mysteries, but they never contain supernatural events. His first book was about Recusants.”

Mr. Millington grimaced. “I prefer books with some excitement in them, like The Monk . Recusants sound like something out of a history lesson, don’t you think?” He smiled perfunctorily before walking away to look at a display of printed murder trials.

He would like a book like The Monk ! Willa thought scornfully. She turned away from him to study one of Sir Walter Scott’s recent novels. Hadn’t The Monk been John Thorpe’s favorite book in Northanger Abbey ? She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Millington, wondering if he played the part of John Thorpe in her story. If so, did that make Mr. Radcliffe a stand-in for Henry Tilney?

She stole a quick glance at Mr. Radcliffe, who was now deep in conversation with the shopkeeper. In personality, Benjamin Radcliffe did not resemble any of the heroes of Miss Austen’s novels. Nor did Willa herself share much with the foolish, overly imaginative Catherine Morland. At least, she hoped not!

But... did she want the same thing of Mr. Radcliffe that Catherine Morland had wanted of Henry Tilney? Merely asking herself the question unsettled Willa. When she tossed the bottle into the ocean a few weeks ago, she’d hoped for nothing more than a friendship that might alleviate the months of boredom ahead. Surely, that hadn’t changed.

“I believe I will take this book,” Willa told the shopkeeper. The Pirate might not be as thrilling as the newest G.W. Kirkland book, but it had to be more entertaining than the late Mr. Trimmer’s collection of sermons.

As Willa walked out of the shop with her purchase tucked under her arm, she wondered how she would even know if her feelings for Mr. Radcliffe had changed. She knew what it was like to fancy a young man from afar, or to enjoy a light flirtation with a gentleman who intended nothing more than amusement. But she had no idea what it might be like to go from friendship to romantic love.

There must be some kind of sign when one’s feelings changed. But although she had been advised on how to tell if a gentleman was interested in her, she had never been taught how to evaluate her own feelings or desires.

Maybe Mama could explain it. Willa resolved to ask when she got back home.

“Mr. Radcliffe,” Phoebe chirped, “what book did you buy?”

Willa glanced up at him, surprised. She hadn’t realized he’d bought a book at all. Even more surprisingly, the tops of his ears turned red with embarrassment.

“Oh, um. Well, I thought I should try one of Mr. Kirkland’s novels. I bought the first one, Midnight Secrets .” His blush deepened when he caught her eye.

A jolt of pure delight made Willa’s heart skip a beat. Mr. Radcliffe had gotten the book because she liked Kirkland’s novels. She was certain of it.

“You’ll have to tell me how you like it.” She looked steadily ahead at the waiting carriage, certain that anyone who caught her eye would see her excitement.

Of course, him buying a book because Willa liked the author did not mean he was sweet on her, Willa reminded herself. Friends often recommended books to each other. Half the fun of a good book came from talking about it afterward. Hadn’t that been one of the things she’d hoped to find when she sent her message out into the world? She was lucky to have found a friend here in Dorsetshire, and she ought not expect more than friendship from Mr. Radcliffe.

He did look rather sweet when he blushed, though.

On the way home, the lively good cheer from the start of the outing faded. People were tired and, at least in Phoebe’s case, cranky. Mr. Radcliffe disappeared behind the pages of his book. Willa, pleased to at last have an interesting new book to read, needed no urging to do the same.

At first, she worried that Miss Hadfield would scold her for being unsociable. But Haddy, who had closed her eyes, looked to be on the verge of falling asleep. If Haddy were ill-disposed for conversation herself, she was unlikely to scold Willa for reading instead of conversing with others.

After a few failed attempts to engage people in conversation, Mr. Millington opted to read, too. Instead of a novel, he’d bought an account of a woman tried for poisoning her husband. It seemed like morbid reading to Willa, but at least it held his attention, thereby preventing him from bothering her.

Her own book seemed promising, but by the time the barouche finally rolled up to Cousin Sarah’s house, Willa felt half-asleep. She must not have been the only one—Phoebe unsuccessfully tried to smother a yawn.

Willa caught Mr. Radcliffe’s eye and smiled ruefully. “It has been a rather long day, hasn’t it?”

“A very pleasant one, though. We are most grateful to you for accompanying us, Mr. Radcliffe, Mr. Millington.” Miss Hadfield nodded briskly at the gentlemen, then urged Phoebe to gather up her things.

“Yes, thank you very much.” It was probably rude of her, but Willa ignored Mr. Millington as she bestowed a grateful smile upon Mr. Radcliffe.

He returned the gesture with a sweet, uncertain smile of his own. “It was my pleasure. Perhaps”—he darted a glance at his cousin, who had put his book down to listen—“I am sure I will see you about, Lady Wilhelmina.”

Willa felt a flicker of disappointment; for a moment, she’d thought he meant to suggest a future meeting. But Mr. Radcliffe caught her eye and shook his head fractionally, and she realized that, whatever he’d been about to say, he did not want to say it in front of Mr. Millington. Interesting.

“Yes, I am sure we will see each other soon,” Willa agreed. She let Mr. Millington help her out of the carriage but paid him little notice aside from a nod of thanks. She did not want to encourage his attentions.

Once they were inside, Miss Hadfield handed her bonnet to the waiting servant, then turned towards Willa. “I think that went very well, despite a certain visitor tagging along when he wasn’t wanted. But I daresay the presence of a rival may have a salutary effect on Mr. Radcliffe.”

Willa narrowed her eyes as she studied her former governess. “What do you mean, a salutary effect?”

The corners of Miss Hadfield’s mouth lifted, giving her a distinctly smug expression. “Sometimes an admirer needs the sting of competition to move him to action. Much like the way some racehorses run faster when surrounded by competitors, you know.”

Willa’s heart pattered unevenly. “I don’t know that Mr. Radcliffe admires me in that way,” she cautioned. “Maybe he only wanted to show us around because he knew we were unfamiliar with Market Caseton. He might only have meant to be neighborly.”

Miss Hadfield snorted. “Do you think he would put up with his cousin’s insults for an entire afternoon out of disinterested kindness? Because I do not. I daresay he feels more than neighborly towards you, my dear. Watch him closely next time if you do not believe me.”

Willa tried to ignore the blush she felt rising on her face. “We shall see,” she said, unwilling to commit to more. She had no idea when she would have another chance to observe Mr. Radcliffe.