Page 14 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

F ortune smiled on the Selwyn family. After several days of overcast skies, the sun broke through on the first Saturday in June, scattering beams of golden light across the Dorset coast.

Even better, Willa’s mother finally felt well enough to accept invitations. Lady Inglewhite’s cough no longer bothered her, except at night, and some of the bloom returned to her face. She chose the picnic at Marlowe Tower for her first outing since her illness.

“It really could not be better weather for a picnic,” Cousin Sarah announced. She settled down in a corner of the rear-facing carriage seat.

Cousin Sarah carried an enormous wicker basket loaded with her contributions to the day’s feast, and she insisted on carrying it for herself, though both Willa and Miss Hadfield had offered to help.

Willa, intent on being useful, sat next to Cousin Sarah. Phoebe plopped down next to her, grinning broadly.

“Do you think we’ll get to walk on the beach today?” Phoebe had already asked that question at least twice this morning, so Miss Hadfield could perhaps be forgiven for answering with only a shrug of her shoulders and a slight smile.

“I doubt it,” Willa warned. “Mr. Radcliffe knows I prefer to avoid the ocean.”

“Assuming he remembers,” Mama gently reminded Willa. “I hope you will be gracious about his invitation even if he does plan for us to explore the cove. The ocean is what draws people to Newell, after all.”

“Yes, I know.” Willa stared down at the tips of her half-boots. He would remember; she felt certain of that. How could he forget after their conversation about the ocean? By now, she was a little embarrassed to think about how much she’d said about her phobia.

But Mr. Radcliffe might have allowed other considerations to overrule any concern he felt for Willa. She was not, after all, the only guest at this picnic. Besides, the invitation had come from Miss Marlowe rather than Mr. Radcliffe. For all Willa knew, her friend might have little say in the planning. Miss Marlowe probably knew nothing about Willa’s fear of the ocean.

When they reached the Tower, though, they discovered that the outdoor meal had been set up on Castle Rock Point rather than on the beach below. Everyone smiled, uttered polite greetings, and looked uncertain about what to say next. At least, Willa felt awkward. She suspected Mr. Radcliffe did, too.

Willa’s mother gratefully sank down onto the wrought-iron bench. Stationing the picnickers here had been good thinking on someone’s part. It meant not everyone had to sit on the picnic blanket.

Cousin Sarah joined Lady Inglewhite on the bench. “Old bones are not meant to sit on the damp ground,” she explained. “I leave that to you young people.”

Mr. Radcliffe’s aunt chuckled. “I did not expect to be lumped in with the young people today! I rather doubt I can keep up with them.” She smiled pleasantly at both Selwyn sisters, but her gaze lingered on Willa.

“Yes, keeping up with youngsters can be quite a challenge,” Miss Hadfield agreed. “Especially when the young people have been fueled by sweets.” She looked pointedly at the basket Willa was unpacking and arched a single eyebrow.

“It’s not all sweets,” Mr. Radcliffe said. “There are a couple of cheeses and some plain biscuits here, too. See?” He squatted down beside his own hamper of food and began lifting items out, beginning with a wedge of Dorset Blue Vinny, followed by cheddar.

Mr. Radcliffe’s dog looked up at his master beseechingly and whined. His master glanced down and shook his finger. “Be good, Cato.”

Cato gazed longingly at the plate of cheese, but he sat still rather than lunging towards the food the way some dogs would have done.

Still, Willa predicted trouble in the near future. In her experience, dogs and picnics did not mix well. She opened her mouth, intending to suggest that Cato should be tied well away from the food to prevent theft, but at the last moment she reconsidered. It was not her place to tell Mr. Radcliffe how to handle his dog. Maybe Cato really would be good.

Doing her best to ignore the whining mongrel, Willa settled down on one of the padded cushions that had been brought out for the picnic. She started to unpack Cousin Sarah’s basket, but something else caught her attention.

“Oh, and you brought fruit, too. I did not know there were any strawberries ripe yet!” Willa nabbed one of the smaller berries, which looked and smelled as if it had been picked at the perfect stage. She took a cautious nibble and discovered that, wonder of wonders, it tasted every bit as sweet as it looked. The rest of the berry vanished in one bite.

“Those are from my grandfather’s succession houses,” Mr. Radcliffe explained. “I daresay the field-grown strawberries are not yet ripe.”

Finally, Mr. Radcliffe pulled a heavy-looking fruitcake out of the hamper. Willa could smell the rum from a foot away. “Goodness, that’s powerful,” she murmured.

Mr. Radcliffe scrunched up his face in disgust. “My cousin Almeria made this, using her mother’s recipe. Grandfather used to love that fruitcake, but he finds it doesn’t agree with him anymore. He thought we might like to share it, since he cannot eat it.” He set the dessert down on a plate well away from both of them.

“That’s a good idea.” Willa infused as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could, though the cake did not look particularly appealing. She did not care for currants or citron, and it looked like this cake contained both.

They had just finished unpacking Cousin Sarah’s basket when a strong gust of wind blew across the point. The breeze yanked Phoebe’s bonnet off. Phoebe yelped, sprang to her feet, and ran after it.

Mama released a soft, ladylike peal of laughter as Phoebe and Willa gave chase to the errant headgear. Unfortunately, Cato reached the bonnet before they did. He grabbed it, shook it vigorously, and threw a play bow at Willa and Phoebe.

“Nice doggie!” Phoebe said. “Give me my hat back!”

Cato wagged his tail. For a moment, it looked as if he would let Phoebe take the bonnet. But just before she could reach for it, he galloped away. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure they followed him. Clearly, he had in mind a merry game.

Willa and Phoebe wasted several minutes chasing Cato, to no avail. His plumed tail waved triumphantly. He seemed to be having the time of his life.

“Cato!” Mr. Radcliffe called. “I’ve got a treat for you!” He held up a morsel of something small, impossible to identify at this distance.

The dog came to an abrupt halt. He perked his ears up and stared intently at Mr. Radcliffe. Then he dropped Phoebe’s bonnet on the ground and trotted over to get his reward.

Phoebe quickly snatched up her bonnet, only to make a face and exclaim, “Eww! It’s all slobbery!”

Mama laughed, though not unkindly. “That is why you must remember to tie the ribbons tightly each time you put it on,” she reminded Phoebe. “The wind would not have taken your bonnet if you had properly secured it.”

Phoebe released a theatrical sigh and reluctantly placed the bonnet (looking much worse for the wear) on her head. Meanwhile, the dog who had caused so much trouble obediently sat down at Mr. Radcliffe’s command. He looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth—whatever that meant.

“I am very sorry about that.” Mr. Radcliffe’s cheeks had flushed a faint pink. “I am afraid Cato is not very well trained.” His eyes met Willa’s and for some reason, his blush deepened. “Perhaps we had better enjoy the food before Cato gets it.”

That was a suggestion with which everyone could agree. Willa started with cheese and plain biscuits, then moved on to strawberries and cream. She was about to conclude her meal with a sweet roll when she saw Miss Marlowe nudge her nephew and murmur something in his ear.

Mr. Radcliffe opened up a small tin. “Lady Wilhelmina, my aunt made those lavender biscuits you like.” He offered the tin to Willa, smiling bashfully.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” Willa reached for the tin, but as Mr. Radcliffe passed it over, her ungloved fingers brushed against his. Willa flinched at the unexpected contact, and she fumbled the tin, nearly dumping its contents onto the grass.

All eyes seemed to be watching her clumsiness. “I am not usually so maladroit!” she said, trying to laugh it off.

“Perhaps the sun got in your eyes,” Miss Marlowe suggested.

It was kindly meant, but it seemed an unlikely explanation. Willa merely nodded and took a bite of one of the biscuits. Everyone watched her eat, waiting for her reaction. A lull in the conversation meant her chewing sounded unnaturally loud, at least to her ears. Her mouth had gone dry, and she struggled to swallow the bite, until Miss Hadfield handed her a cup of tea.

Goodness, was her opinion really that important? The silence suggested it was. Fortunately, Willa could deliver a favorable verdict. “It is perfect,” she announced. “It tastes just like the biscuits Cousin Sarah makes.”

She took another sip of tea and relaxed as conversation finally resumed. What was that all about? One would think she were a taste-tester evaluating a candidate for the role of head cook in King George’s household.

After everyone had finished eating and the food had been packed away, most of the party took the staircase down to the beach. Willa stayed on the cliff, pretending to enjoy the “light breeze” that threatened to do with her bonnet what it had done with Phoebe’s.

She sat in awkward solitude, realizing she ought to have brought a book. One should always bring a book. It was most unfortunate that so few books were small enough to be tucked into a pocket or reticule. A publisher who specialized in pocket-sized editions of popular novels could make a fortune.

To her surprise, Mr. Radcliffe returned before the rest of the group. “I did not think it right for all of us to abandon you,” he explained.

“That was very thoughtful of you.” She smiled up at him... and then kept smiling foolishly as he stood beside the bench, silently looking down at her. “Won’t you have a seat?” she prompted at last.

“Oh! Yes!” He sat beside her, but kept his eyes fixed on the closed hampers of leftovers. “I wanted to explain my plan for today, even though you’ll probably be offended.”

Willa stared at him. “Why would I be offended?”

He watched her warily out of the corner of his eyes. “Because I originally intended to use those lavender biscuits to help you overcome your fear of the ocean,” he explained.

She wrinkled her forehead. “How would biscuits help me overcome—oh! You mean like your father’s gun dog?” That half-forgotten conversation came back to her now.

He finally looked her in the eye. “Precisely. I thought maybe if you ate something you enjoyed in close proximity to the ocean, you would build pleasant associations with it. You know, like what Wordsworth says about the overbalance of pleasure in the Preface to Lyrical Ballads .”

Willa blinked and tried to remember any of Wordsworth’s ideas. She gave up and shook her head. “I am afraid I do not remember that part of the Preface.”

“He said people could listen to a tragic story that might be painful, but the pain would be balanced out by the beauty of the poetry,” Mr. Radcliffe explained.

“But what does that have to do with dog training?” Willa felt thoroughly lost.

Mr. Radcliffe grinned at her. “Nothing to do with dogs,” he admitted. “But Wordsworth thought people developed such strong positive associations with regular meter that they experienced pleasure just from reading metered poetry. Therefore, if they heard a painful story told in formal verse, the pleasing qualities of the meter would balance out the painful feelings the subject aroused.”

“Oh. You have a better memory than I do.” She hadn’t remembered that part of the essay at all, though Miss Hadfield had once made Willa spend an entire afternoon dissecting Wordsworth’s theory of prosody.

He shrugged. “I either remember nothing about what I read, or everything about it, depending on how interesting it is. As it happens, Wordsworth interested me. I thought his theory explained why I preferred the work of modern poets to those of the previous generation. But I digress.”

He smiled ruefully. “In any case, I thought perhaps lavender biscuits could create an ‘overbalance of pleasure’ that would allow you to more easily tolerate proximity to the ocean.”

“I see.” Willa bit her lip. “In that case, the gesture was even more thoughtful than I realized. It was very good of you to try to help me.”

“You aren’t offended?” he asked anxiously. “Aunt Faith thought it was disrespectful of me to train you as if you were a dog. That’s why I didn’t say anything earlier, but—”

Willa burst into a fit of giggles. Once she got her laughter under control, she said, “No, I am not offended. But I think it would take more than a biscuit to make me like the ocean. You must offer a more enticing prize.”

“Such as?” He looked her earnestly in the face. “If a biscuit isn’t incentive enough, what would entice you?”

He was serious about this, wasn’t he? Willa bit her lip, holding back another urge to giggle. Until he leaned forward a little, close enough for her to see the darker rings of green around his jade-colored eyes.

Her heart fluttered, and the urge to laugh vanished. She might have been imagining things, but Mr. Radcliffe looked to be on the verge of kissing her. She closed her eyes and tipped her chin up, just in case it wasn’t her imagination.

But the expected kiss never came.