Page 13 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

T he next day, Aunt Faith sent Ben into town on an errand. While he talked to the shopkeeper about the hat trimmings his aunt wanted, he heard a familiar voice behind him. He stole a covert glance over his shoulder to confirm that Mrs. Trimmer had just entered the store.

Once he completed his millinery purchases, Ben waylaid Mrs. Trimmer. He skipped over the customary exchange of pleasantries and asked, “I say, do you happen to know what Lady Wilhelmina’s favorite sweet is? Something smaller than a cake, I mean.”

Mrs. Trimmer looked taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “I believe Lady Wilhelmina is very fond of lavender.” Her face relaxed into a smile.

“Lavender? Isn’t that used for cosmetics or something?” He knew little about perfume, but he vaguely remembered that women sometimes used lavender water instead of rose water as a scent.

“Oh, yes. But you can cook with lavender, too. Willa is very fond of lavender biscuits.”

“I see!” Where on earth could Ben find lavender biscuits, though? He had never seen them at Plummer’s Bakery.

Fortunately, Mrs. Trimmer anticipated his dilemma. “I can send your aunt my recipe, if you like. Or have my cook give it to your Mrs. Kirby. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please.” He beamed at her. “That would be perfect!”

He felt confident that his grandfather’s cook could handle something as simple as making lavender biscuits. At least, he assumed it was simple. Didn’t every cook know how to bake biscuits and cakes?

Soon, he’d have all the components needed for his experiment.

Only after Ben left the shop did it occur to him that Mrs. Trimmer probably knew nothing about his plan to help Lady Wilhelmina overcome her phobia. She would, therefore, not understand why he needed to know Lady Wilhelmina’s favorite biscuits. What must she think? Did she expect him to show up at the door with a tin of biscuits and a confession of his undying love?

Oh, dear. He’d probably put his foot in it, but he saw no way of mending the error now. He’d have to hope that Lady Wilhelmina explained the real situation to her cousin.

*

A few days later, Ben’s aunt made one of her rare visits to his workroom. She held a folded piece of paper and wore a thoughtful frown. “Ben, may I speak with you?”

Her voice startled him out of a brown study. “Yes? Did you need something?”

She almost never came out here; that had been an implicit part of the agreement when he took over this space. He would keep his seashells, fossils, and dead sea horses out of the house, and his aunt would leave him in peace.

“Ben, did you want me to make these biscuits for my next afternoon at home? Do the Selwyn ladies intend to drop by?”

“What?” He stared at her, more than half his mind still occupied with the letter he’d been reading. “What biscuits?”

His aunt looked amused. “Now, that’s more like you. I mean the lavender biscuits. Mrs. Trimmer said you asked her for the recipe.”

“Oh, that!” Ben returned his aunt’s smile. “No, I was going to use that for training.”

“Training?” Aunt Faith wrinkled her brow.

“Not literally training ,” Ben clarified. “But you know how people train dogs using praise and treats?”

“Yes?” For some reason, she looked worried. “What does that have to do with Lady Wilhelmina’s favorite biscuits?”

Ben tried to explain about his friend’s fear of the ocean and his father’s method for training gun dogs, but the longer he talked, the more concerned Aunt Faith grew. By the time he reached the end of his explanation, her smile had fled entirely, and the worried wrinkle in her brow had deepened.

“And so,” he concluded, “I thought if she associated the ocean with something she liked, such as her favorite sweet, she might grow to tolerate it, the way Ponto eventually learned to tolerate the sound of gunfire.” He smiled hopefully.

Aunt Faith sank down into an empty chair, as if her legs could no longer support her, and proceeded to scold him. “Benjamin Radcliffe, of all the preposterous ideas I have heard from you over the years, this may be the worst. You cannot train a girl the way you would train a dog! Why, the very idea is profoundly disrespectful.”

Ben crossed his arms over his chest and returned her frown with one of his own. “I do not see how it is disrespectful to help Lady Wilhelmina. Her fear of the ocean prevents her from enjoying the best that Newell-on-Sea has to offer. If she learned to tolerate it, she might enjoy her stay here much more than she does now. She has already told me she does not mind me trying to find a solution.” It was not as if he were forcing unwanted help on her!

It was clear that Lady Wilhelmina’s dislike of the ocean prevented her from fully benefiting from a seaside resort. She had, after all, been so bored and unhappy that she took the unusual step of throwing a message for help over the edge of a cliff. Why, that was like asking for Ben’s help!

His aunt rested her head in hands before responding. “Ben, I assure you that there are better ways to ensure that Lady Wilhelmina enjoys her seaside holiday. Why don’t you invite her to go riding with you again? Or escort her to one of the assemblies in Caseton? Or, you know, you might call upon her at her cousin’s house, the way a normal person would.”

Ben dropped his gaze. A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult for him to mutter, “I am not a normal person, aunt. You must know that by now.”

“Oh, dear.” She patted him gently on the shoulder. “I did not mean to offend you, Benjamin. I know you are not interested in the usual things that keep young people entertained. But sometimes one has to make concessions. There are times when it is necessary to do as other people do, if only to get what one wants.”

Ben jerked back from her, shoving his chair away from the table. “Do you think I haven’t heard that before?” He had heard it all his life, especially from his father. Sir Lewis frequently advised Ben to behave more like other gentlemen his age, whether that meant pretending to be interested in field sports or dressing more fashionably.

“I do not believe this is a case where I should pretend to be somebody else,” he insisted. “I want Lady Wilhelmina to like me as I am, or not at all! And I am most certainly not going to kick my heels up at one of those dreadful assemblies in Caseton, where the instruments aren’t even in tune.”

His aunt threw her hands in the air. “One time! The pianoforte was out of tune only ONE TIME! It is not fair to hold that against Mr. Courteney forever.”

Ben tightened his lips. He thought it was entirely fair to blame the Master of Ceremonies for not having the instrument tuned before an assembly. It was Mr. Courteney’s job to make certain that everything went smoothly at those dances.

Aunt Faith visibly struggled to calm herself. “Besides,” she said more gently, “wouldn’t you like a chance to dance with your new acquaintance?”

“No,” Ben said bluntly. “I do not want to dance with anyone.” To be sure, he would not have minded having an excuse to hold Lady Wilhelmina’s hand. But even that possibility could not tempt him to return to an overheated assembly room where he could hardly hear himself think.

His aunt released a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. If you really wish to spend a day on the beach, we could arrange for a walk and a picnic lunch. But you ought to invite some other young people to make a nice party, and—”

Ben’s jaw dropped. “I don’t want to have a party. ” He only wanted to spend time with Lady Wilhelmina. His shoulders slumped when he remembered how impossible that was. “I suppose I could invite her sister and their governess along to gather shells with me.” That would satisfy the proprieties, but it would be difficult to put his plan in action with other people hanging about.

“I suppose that will do. But I would have thought you might like to introduce your friends to some of the local society.” His aunt shook her head.

Ben could not see why Aunt Faith sounded so disappointed. She ought to know by now that Ben had no intention of entering into the regular rounds of dinner parties, card parties, and private balls hosted by the local gentry. Unless... he stared thoughtfully down at the table.

“You don’t suppose the Selwyn ladies particularly want to be introduced to other local families, do you?” he asked cautiously. “They are only here for their health, after all. It is not as if they intend to permanently take up residence in Newell.”

She scowled at him. “Benjamin Radcliffe, do you or do not hope to persuade Lady Wilhelmina to stay here after her mother’s holiday ends?”

Ben stared at his aunt. “What? Why would I do that? She doesn’t even like the seaside.” He hoped to make the ocean more tolerable for her, but there was no guarantee that his plan would work.

Aunt Faith threw her hands in the air. “Evidently, I misunderstood the situation. Please, forget that I said anything. I shall send a note around inviting Mrs. Trimmer and her houseguests to a picnic on the beach, shall I?”

“Not on the beach,” he corrected. “Above it. Perhaps on top of the point. That would be better than being right on the water.” Lady Wilhelmina’s phobia apparently did not prevent her from exploring the cliffs above the beach.

“Very well. Above the beach. I suppose we will have to hope for good weather.” She turned towards the door.

“Don’t forget the lavender biscuits!” Ben called after her. “The whole thing will be pointless without them.”

His aunt glanced back over her shoulder and shook her head, smiling ruefully, but she said only, “Lavender biscuits it is!”

What a strange conversation! Ben returned to his chair and picked up the letter he’d been reading. But try as he might, he could not focus on it. He kept thinking about what his aunt had said. Why would she think he wanted to persuade any of the Selwyn family to stay at Newell?

Oh. When he worked it out, he felt foolish. Aunt Faith assumed that he wanted to marry Lady Wilhelmina and to live with her at Marlowe Tower. That was why she wanted him to introduce Lady Wilhelmina to local families.

Which was nonsense. True, Ben would have to marry someone eventually, since he had no younger brothers to carry on the family name. But whether he married Lady Wilhelmina Selwyn or someone else, he would presumably bring his bride home to Coville Hall. There was no dower house on the Radcliffe family estate, but his father had promised the currently unoccupied steward’s cottage to Ben.

It was, to say the least, extremely unlikely that Ben would live at Marlowe Tower after his marriage. True, he was half Marlowe, but he wasn’t the only Marlowe grandchild, nor even the oldest of them. Almeria and Marlowe Millington were both older than Ben. Probably one of them would inherit. Unlike the Radcliffe properties, the Marlowe estate was not included. Ben’s grandfather was free to bequeath it to whomever he pleased.

Would Grandfather really leave his estate to Marlowe Millington, though? Marlowe had never shown the least interest in the family holdings. He might be interested in spending the family fortune, but Ben had difficulty imagining him as either a conscientious landlord or a wise investor.

However, that was Grandfather’s concern, not Ben’s. Someday managing the Radcliffe land gave Ben enough to worry about. But for the rest of the day, the question kept nagging him: Who was Grandfather Marlowe’s heir, anyway?