Page 8 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

W illa waited to speak until she was certain that Cousin Sarah and Miss Marlowe were out of earshot. Then she closed her book with a thump and dropped it carelessly on an empty chair.

“Good.” She spoke quietly, not wanting to risk being overheard. “I thought they would never leave!” She reached into her reticule. “Now we can read something more interesting.”

Mr. Radcliffe’s eyes widened. The poor man looked profoundly confused. Could that be an effect of his illness? Any high fever could cause confusion, in Willa’s experience. She saw no tell-tale flush of fever on Mr. Radcliffe’s face, but he did look as if he had lost a little weight during his illness.

“I assume you don’t really want to listen to Pilgrim’s Progess ?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m surprised you brought that. In your first letter, didn’t you say you hated that book?”

Willa scrunched up her face. “Hate is too strong a word, but I’m definitely tired of it. I only brought it because I knew Cousin Sarah would approve of it. I have something better to read now that she is out of the way. We got a letter from my uncle yesterday.” She pulled the letter out of her bag, unfolded it, and smoothed out the paper.

“You thought I would be entertained by hearing a letter from your uncle?” Mr. Radcliffe looked more confused than ever.

“Not the letter itself,” Willa hastened to explain. Though, in fact, Uncle Rowland’s letters were often entertaining. “But he writes for the newspaper under a nom de plume. He wrote a review of a melodrama he saw at one of the unlicensed theaters, and he sent me a copy. It’s quite funny. Would you be interested in hearing it?”

“Of course. That would be lovely.”

He did not fool her; she could tell he was only being polite. “It’s at least more entertaining than any of the books in Cousin Sarah’s house,” she promised.

Uncle Rowland’s handwriting was not the easiest to read, so Willa had to keep her eyes on the paper. Unable to read the expression on Mr. Radcliffe’s face, she did not have any idea how he took the review—not until he laughed out loud halfway through the letter.

“The play couldn’t really have been that bad, could it?” he asked.

She glanced up at him then. How his expression had changed listening to the letter! His unexpected smile made his whole face come alive and drew an answering grin from Willa.

“I am afraid I cannot say from experience. I am never allowed to go to this kind of show.” Attending a play at Drury Lane or Covent Garden was perfectly acceptable, but Willa’s mother believed musical comedies, burlesques, and pantomimes were not suitable for proper young ladies. The rules were different for gentlemen, naturally. “Have you never been yourself?”

Mr. Radcliff shook his head. “I don’t care for London.”

“Really?” She blinked at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “I thought all young men liked London.” She had the impression that most wealthy young gentlemen spent their post-university years in London, getting in fights, falling in love with actresses, and spending too much money.

He scowled. “Not me. It’s too smoky, too crowded, too loud, too smelly, too”—he waved a hand in the air as if grasping for words “—too full of people I don’t know, whose motives I can’t predict. If a gentleman approaches me in the club, I don’t know whether he’s a new friend or a card sharp looking for his next victim. And if a pretty girl talks to me, I don’t know if... well, never mind.” He flushed a deep red.

Don’t know if what? Much as she wondered what Mr. Radcliffe meant, Willa knew she ought not ask. Especially since she was, in fact, a pretty girl.

At least, she hoped he considered her pretty. She probably ought not assume it. Some gentlemen preferred blondes.

“So it’s not the city you dislike,” Willa suggested, “so much as the people in the city?”

“But that’s what makes a city a city!” he pointed out. “It wouldn’t be a city if there weren’t so many people.”

Willa considered that, then shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. Cities have institutions that country villages and market towns often lack. Like the theater.” She waved the review in her hand. “Or the opera, or museums.”

“I do like museums,” Mr. Radcliffe admitted. “But they are best enjoyed on one’s own.”

“They are?” Willa could not hide her surprise.

“Yes, they are,” he said firmly. “If you visit by yourself, when the museum is nearly empty, you can look at the exhibits for as long as you want without worrying that you are slowing anyone down or getting in the way of other parties.”

“I suppose so.” She remained unconvinced. “I like visiting museums or art galleries with a friend or two, so I can talk about what I see.”

If Willa and Phoebe looked at the same painting, they might notice entirely different things about it, while Miss Hadfield’s opinions were generally more well-informed. That was part of the fun of visiting an art exhibit. The three of them could have a good conversation together even if they didn’t particularly like the exhibit they’d seen.

Mr. Radcliffe frowned. “That only works when you’re with congenial companions, and they are hard to find. But,” he added softly, “too easy to lose.”

Willa eyed him uncertainly. She heard the pain of some past loss in his voice but could not decide whether she should ask about it. In the end, she held her tongue. Mr. Radcliffe’s shuttered expression did not invite such exchanges of confidences.

Instead, she talked about her own “I suppose that is why I have been so unhappy on this trip. My mother and sister cannot keep up with the long rambles I want to take. When they do go out, they generally wish to bathe.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking with distaste about the bathing machines on the Newell beach. “I am not convinced of the supposed health benefits of sea-bathing.”

“You should have gone somewhere else for a holiday,” Mr. Radcliffe concluded. “The lake region, perhaps.”

She sighed. “That was what I wanted to do, but I was overruled. Two against one, you know.”

“All the more reason why it is better to take holidays by oneself.”

Willa’s jaw dropped. “Goodness, you ARE rather a misanthrope, aren’t you?” She closed her mouth with an almost audible snap, realizing she’d just said something potentially very rude.

But Mr. Radcliffe did not take offense. “I don’t think so.” The lines on his forehead grew deeper. “I don’t dislike everyone! But as I said earlier, it’s difficult to find the right companions. I would be miserable going on holiday with strangers. Going with the right fellow travelers, though, could be better than being alone.” He idly picked at the counterpane covering his bed.

Willa rested her chin on her arm as she fumbled through the inchoate idea simmering in her mind. “What traits does a person need in order to be a ‘congenial companion’ for you?” she wondered aloud.

Mr. Radcliffe ran a hand through his hair, leaving his old-gold curls in disarray. Somehow, this made him look more attractive, rather than less.

“Well, I have to be able to talk to him. Which usually means having common interests. I don’t particularly care for social interactions that involve only meaningless pleasantries.” He made a face. “I suppose such social graces have their purpose, but...” He shrugged. “They do not interest me.”

Willa nodded. She doubted that meaningless pleasantries truly interested anyone. That was not their purpose. They existed to lubricate the frictions that could arise between dissimilar people.

Mr. Radcliffe might have less tolerance for idle chatter than most people, but he had been speaking to Willa for a good quarter of an hour, seemingly without boredom. Unless, perhaps, he was good at concealing his disinterest. Hmm.

“It is a pity there are no museums nearby,” Willa mused out loud. “Or we could experiment.”

“Experiment?” He wrinkled his forehead, looking confused.

“To find out whether you could tolerate exploring a museum with me.” A hot flush crept up her face as he stared at her, eyes wide. He must think she was frightfully forward! The silence lasted a beat too long before he spoke.

“I don’t know of any museums nearby, but there’s a shop in Market Caseton that sells fossils. Have you seen it yet?”

Willa shook her head. “I’m afraid neither my mother nor my sister are interested in natural history.” Miss Hadfield had more than once talked about looking for fossils, though. She might be convinced to take Willa there.

“When I am over this bout of sickness, I should show you the shop!” Mr. Radcliffe, growing enthusiastic about this plan, leaned closer to her. “It has the largest fossilized ammonite I’ve ever seen.” He held his hands apart to demonstrate. “There are some fascinating fossilized fish, too. And then you could visit the bookseller if you still need reading material.”

Eager to accept, Willa opened her mouth—then hesitated, having thought of a potential obstacle. Mr. Radcliffe had probably forgotten that they would need a chaperone whenever they were together. They had only been allowed to talk to each other alone today because Mr. Radcliffe was ill. As it was, she was rather surprised that they had been left alone for so long.

She cleared her throat and tried to raise her objection as tactfully as possible. “I believe we would want to make a party of it, Mr. Radcliffe.”

He frowned. “A party? I must say, I don’t like large groups of people.”

“I understand that,” Willa said, “but we could not go there on our own. It would not be proper.”

As if they’d been summoned, her cousin and Mr. Radcliffe’s aunt appeared in the doorway.

“Go where?” Miss Marlowe asked.

“Lady Wilhelmina and I thought to visit the fossil shop and the bookshop in Caseton. But I suppose she is right that it would not do.” Mr. Radcliffe darted an anxious glance at Willa.

Willa smiled reassuringly at him, then lied through her teeth. “I imagine my sister would very much enjoy visiting a fossil shop. If her governess accompanies us, there would be no impropriety. And Phoebe might benefit from a lesson in geology.” Never mind the fact that geology bored Phoebe.

“I am afraid Ben will not be going anywhere for the next few days.” Miss Marlowe watched him anxiously as she adjusted the pillows supporting him. “He has been quite unwell these last few days, you know.”

Her nephew made a moue of distaste. “I am perfectly well now! It was just an upset stomach, Aunt Faith. It is not as if I were on the verge of dying!”

Cousin Sarah smoothly intervened before aunt and nephew could start quarrelling. “Well, you must send us a note when you do feel up to an excursion, Mr. Radcliffe. It sounds like something the young people would enjoy, and I am sure that Miss Hadfield would not mind accompanying them.”

“A lovely plan, when Ben is up to it .” A stern look from Miss Marlowe underscored the second half of the sentence.

Mr. Radcliffe’s face fell, but he made no protest. “It was good of you to call on me, Mrs. Trimmer, Lady Wilhelmina.” He looked beseechingly at Willa, but she had no idea what he sought from her.

Cousin Sarah caught Willa’s eye and subtly turned her head towards the door. It was time to go.

“We hope to find you in better health when next we see you, Mr. Radcliffe,” Cousin Sarah said.

Willa murmured her agreement and followed the older woman out of the room, still wondering what that last look from Mr. Radcliffe meant. Maybe he’d been trying to convey some concern about the proposed outing—something he did not want to discuss in front of his aunt. But she had no idea what that might be. How unfortunate that young ladies and gentlemen were so rarely allowed to converse alone! It made open communication quite difficult.

Her mind full of unanswerable questions, Willa remained silent all the way home.