Page 12 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

I t was a pleasant ride, except for all the undercurrents in the conversation. Sometimes Willa thought she imagined them. Other times, the sight of a bashful or thoughtful expression on Mr. Radcliffe’s face convinced her that both she and Mr. Radcliff contemplated sentiments they were not yet ready to share.

Not that Willa could have said anything, even if she had known what she wanted to say. That would be unladylike. Unless Mr. Radcliffe brought up the subject of matrimony, she could not say anything about it—no matter how much she might wish she could turn to him and ask, “Do you view me purely as a friend or as a potential wife?”

She would not have been heartbroken if all he wanted was friendship, but she wanted to know . It was hard to know how to interact with him when she did not know what he wanted.

All the uncertainties disturbed Willa so much, she blurted out something she would normally have kept to herself. Their ride took them on a loop around the park, and the gravel trail ran alongside the edge of the cliffs overlooking the sea. Mr. Radcliffe suggested they dismount so they could get a better look. The groom held their mounts, leaving them free to explore on foot.

Willa’s heart beat faster as she approached the edge of the cliff. She had hoped to avoid going anywhere near the water. The ocean was much rougher here than at the cove. There was no lovely strip of sand below: only rocks and the angry, whitecapped breakers crashing over them. The wind blew the briny scent of the ocean straight into Willa’s face, making her stomach churn.

Beyond the breakers, the ocean spread all the way to the horizon: dark, unknowable, deadly. Every muscle in Willa’s body tensed at the sight of it. Normally, she avoided staring out over such seascapes, but they had stopped here to admire the view. It would seem decidedly odd if she refused to look at the ocean at all. She clenched her jaw and prayed that they did not linger here long enough for her to get a headache.

Politeness demanded a positive response to the panorama spread before her, so Willa did her best to hide her anxiety. “This is a lovely view.” That felt like a safe compliment. She might wish herself elsewhere, but she knew most people would consider the view beautiful rather than dreadful.

“I have always thought being so close to the ocean was the best thing about Marlowe Tower,” Mr. Radcliffe confided. “When I was a child, I would bring a shovel and pail and play in the sand on the beach. When I got a little older, my grandfather sometimes arranged for one of the fishermen to take me out on a boat. There’s nothing quite like spending a day on the water!”

Willa shuddered at that image. “I have only been on a boat once, and that was enough for me! At least when it comes to the ocean. Boating on a lake might be tolerable, but the ocean scares me too much.”

“Really?” He looked surprised, but only for a moment. “I remember you saying you did not like the ocean, but does even being on a boat bother you?”

She nodded. “In fact, being on a boat is worse than being on a beach.” She studied his face for a moment, wondering whether she could trust him with the truth. She had not known him that long, after all.

But she did not see a hint of judgment or disdain in Mr. Radcliffe’s face. He simply looked curious, as if he wanted to understand her. She drew a deep breath and tried to explain. “When I’m near the ocean—whether it’s a cliff like this, or the deck of a boat—I am always afraid I might fall into the water—or, worse, jump into the water—and drown.”

The one time she’d ventured out in a sailboat, she had spent the whole time as far from the edge of the boat as she could. She’d sat, gripping the bench, trying not to look at the water. Her father had been very kind about her fear, but she could tell he did not understand her panic.

Nor did Mr. Radcliffe understand it now. He stared at her, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why would you be afraid of jumping in? I mean, why would you even think about it? Did you want to jump in?”

Willa hugged herself tightly, trying to hold back the anxiety that emerged just in response to the memory. “No, of course I did not want to jump in! But I could not stop thinking about it, all the same.”

She sighed, knowing no good way of explaining this. “Have you ever had a thought that kept popping into your head, even though you did not want to think about it? Even though it was something you would never actually do?”

“Yes,” he replied, much to her surprise. “I do know about that. Sometimes rather terrible thoughts, too.” He fell silent as he stared out towards the horizon. Then he turned to her and offered her his arm, as if he were escorting her into a ballroom. “But, you know, there are sometimes things one can do to change that.”

“Of course,” Willa agreed. “That’s why I stay away from the ocean.” Even as she spoke, she felt as if the weight in her stomach had been lifted, simply because they had turned to go back to their horses. Every step they took away from the cliff loosened her tense muscles.

He nodded. “Yes, sometimes distance is the only cure. When I was up at Cambridge, one of my friends succumbed to an illness. In my grief, I became melancholic. I had terrible thoughts that I did not want at all. In fact, my nerves became so bad, I had to leave in the middle of the term. But a few months at home helped me recover.”

Willa bit her lip, struggling to hold back a series of impertinent questions. She wondered what he meant by “terrible thoughts” or when he said his nerves were “bad.” But she did not have the right to ask such personal questions. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.

“But,” he continued, “I am sure it is possible to decrease one’s fear of a specific object. My father had a very promising spaniel puppy who was unfortunately gun shy. Everyone told him he would have to get another shooting dog. Instead, he cut up bits of meat and took the dog out with the gamekeeper. He had the gamekeeper fire a gun, and at the same time, my father would toss the dog a bit of meat. They started off with the gun quite far away, but eventually, they worked their way up to being able to shoot near Ponto.”

Willa’s eyes went wide. “You mean he could work as a hunting dog?”

“Yes, except that he expected a treat every time someone fired a gun.” He grinned ruefully at her. “Ponto probably wasn’t the best gun dog my father ever had, but he did overcome his fear. I wonder if your fear of the ocean could be overcome that way.”

She burst into laughter.

“What is so funny?” Mr. Radcliffe looked hurt.

Willa put her hands over her mouth as she struggled to stop laughing. “I’m not laughing at you!” she assured him. “I just wondered what treat you were going to toss at me in order to get me to tolerate the ocean.”

The downturned corners of his mouth quirked up again. “Not raw meat, I should think. Lemon drops, perhaps?”

She giggled again. That might be his favorite sweet, but it certainly wasn’t hers!

“No, wait, I have a better idea,” he said gleefully. “Books by G.W. Kirkland!”

This time, they both laughed. By now, they’d reached the shady tree where the groom held their mounts. All three horses lifted their heads and stared at Willa and Mr. Radcliffe—which only made them laugh louder.

“There might be downsides to having someone chuck books at me,” Willa suggested. Books were heavy, regardless of whether they were clothbound or leatherbound.

“Yes, although you might not have to worry about the book hitting you. I have very bad aim.”

She snorted, and her horse snorted back, which nearly sent her off into fits of laughter again. But Willa knew that if Miss Hadfield had been here, she would have given Willa a stern look to remind her that laughing loudly and unrestrainedly was not dignified.

Even if it was fun.

Once they mounted their horses, Willa abandoned her amusement in order to focus on riding. Her horse, who had been quite at its ease resting in the shade, now seemed reluctant to move out into the bright sunlight.

“Not far now,” Willa coaxed. The gelding flicked an ear back to listen, then picked up his speed slightly. Only then did she glance over at Mr. Radcliffe. “It is kind of you to suggest helping me, but I doubt that ridding a human of an irrational fear is as easy as training a gun-shy spaniel. People have more complicated minds than dogs.”

“Perhaps.” Her companion looked thoughtful. “Have you ever tried learning to swim? Maybe you would not fear jumping into the water if you knew you were in no danger of drowning.”

Willa shook her head. “My mother had the same idea. One summer we stayed at an estate with a lake perfect for swimming. One of my uncles taught me to swim. I suppose it helped a little, but only a little.”

She glanced towards the gray-blue ocean. The wind carried the cries of gulls far inland. By now, she associated that discordant squawking with feelings of apprehension and dread.

“I appreciate knowing that I can keep my head above water if I ever fall in,” she admitted. “But even so, the ocean is frightening in a way that a lake is not.” Probably Mr. Radcliffe wouldn’t really understand her, but he seemed more sympathetic about her fear than most people. “Lakes aren’t usually very deep, you know. They are at least fathomable. But the ocean... it’s too big. Too deep. Unfathomable.”

She drew a deep breath and tried to articulate something she’d never before put in words. “What terrified me when I was out on the boat was the fear that if I fell out, I would fall forever. It wasn’t merely that I feared dying. I feared falling so deeply that my body could never be found. I have always been appalled by the idea of burial at sea. Even thinking about dropping a piece of jewelry into the water upsets me. Think of how far the bottom is, and how much time a dropped object spends falling! I don’t even like thinking about how vast the ocean is.”

Too embarrassed to meet Mr. Radcliffe’s gaze, she stared intently at the space between her horse’s ears. What she did not say was that when she’d been younger, she had feared that the ocean might genuinely be limitless, that a thing tossed overboard would literally fall forever. The very idea petrified her.

“I hadn’t thought of that before,” Mr. Radcliffe admitted. “I mean, I have wondered how deep the deepest parts of the ocean are. And wondered how far down sea life may be found, for that matter. But I never considered the depths of the ocean as a source of ontological dread.”

Willa, who had only a vague idea of what “ontological dread” might mean, glanced doubtfully over at Mr. Radcliffe. He simultaneously turned his head to look at her, and their eyes met. For a single charged moment, it felt as if some unspoken sign passed between them.

Willa’s heartbeat sped from a walk to a gallop. Unsettled, she glanced away, pretending to be preoccupied by the smooth gravel track before them.

“It is an interesting question,” Mr. Radcliffe added. “And an interesting problem. I wonder how one could solve it?”

“Solve it?” In her surprise, Willa raised her voice so much that her placid horse snorted and tossed his head uneasily. Now she really did have to devote all her attention to calming her mount. Once the horse settled, she resumed the conversation. “It is kind of you to wish to help me, Mr. Radcliffe, but I do not think it is a problem that can be solved. Nor did I intend to appeal to you for assistance.”

“Of course, if you wish me to leave the matter alone, I will do so,” he assured her. “But I like interesting challenges, and this one is more intriguing than sea glass. I would like to think more on the subject. Would you mind if I did so?”

Willa’s mouth hung ajar for an awkward moment. She closed it and gave her startled wits a shake to get them in order. “Your mind is your own realm, sir. You are welcome to think about the problem as much or as little as you please. But even if you find a possible solution, I cannot commit to pursuing it. Sometimes it is better to leave a knotty problem alone, lest it become further tangled.” She could not imagine what could make her fear even worse, but anything was possible.

“Naturally, you do not have to act on any solution I propose,” he agreed. “I may not even come up with a good solution. I am not, after all, an expert on the workings of the human mind. But I promise to inform you if I do think of anything that might help you move past your phobia.”

“Very well,” Willa said. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” It would, after all, be nice to enjoy the seaside the way other people did. A fear of the ocean was most inconvenient for someone who lived in an island nation!

She felt certain, though, that this puzzle would remain unsolved. Other people had tried to help Willa overcome her unreasonable fear. How likely was it that Mr. Radcliffe would succeed where her own family had failed?