hand-washing once our elders stop practicing.”
“I wasn’t going to say it was odd,” said Lydia. “I actually think that is rather an extraordinary thing to do. I’m impressed.”
He let out a laugh. “Trust you, Miss Charingford, to turn my world upside down. You take my most admirable characteristics and twist them into faults. But when I admit something that I am sure exposes me for the strange man that I am, I receive the first compliment that I have ever received from you.”
“Surely not the first!”
“The absolute first. I’ve counted.”
She swallowed. The way he was looking at her… She felt like a teapot set on the hob, warming to a slow boil under his gaze.
“There is something you said earlier that I don’t understand,” Lydia said.
“Miss Charingford.” He folded his arms and looked at her forbiddingly. “I’m sure I said a great deal that you found unfamiliar.” His mouth set in a straight line. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a question about gonorrhea. Those questions are so much easier to answer.”
She paused and tilted her head. “I think,” she said, “that you may have the most dreadful sense of humor of any man that I have ever encountered.”
He didn’t protest. “I’m fairly certain I do.” He glanced down at her. “And yet you have not run screaming. I count that as progress; I have become positively acceptable. Now what was it you were going to ask?”
“I was going to ask about what you said earlier. That you’d…that you’d…not used a French letter in eighteen months.” She swallowed. “I know I shouldn’t talk about this, but…but you actually answer my questions. Tell me if this is too impertinent—”
“No such thing.” But his voice had become even more forbidding.
Still, Lydia felt heartened. “It’s acceptable for men to…to visit women without being married. Like with Mrs. Hall, the other day. Are you telling me you don’t?”
“It has nothing to do with what is acceptable and what isn’t. I don’t wear gloves because I’m afraid that they might carry contagion. I’m not about to sheathe myself in a woman who could give me a disease. When I established myself here in Leicester, I determined that I wouldn’t have intercourse at all until I married.” There was a little smile on his face. “I didn’t think it would take quite so long, or I’m not sure I would have made such a hasty vow.”
“So you are looking for a wife? Good, God, Doctor Grantham. Sixteen months ago you reached girl number eleven in Leicester. What woman are you on now, number forty?”
“It…it hasn’t been like that.” He grimaced.
Lydia gave him her best wide-eyed innocent’s look. “I realize the search will be difficult, but surely somewhere in the entirety of Leicester, there must be at least one female who is so undiscriminating that she is willing to accept even you.”
“At least one?” He grinned broadly at her, understanding her teasing for what it was. “My. Praise like that will go straight to my head.”
“Do take it to heart. Even someone like you should be able to find a wife.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Even someone like me appreciates the sentiment.”
“Perhaps if you were a little less circumspect at displaying your income, you could convince number fifty.”
He laughed out loud. “You viper,” he said, but the words had no real heat to them. “It’s those defects in my character again. If you must know, I’d make a devil of a husband—always being woken at half two in the morning to go see someone who’s taken ill, telling my wife the truth no matter how inconvenient or unflattering it might be.” He shook his head and smiled at her. “Caring more about neatness than my personal wellbeing. Making terrible jokes.”
“You’re not all that terrible.”
“Thank you. I shall have that engraved on a plaque and presented to future candidates with your recommendation. The real problem is
“I wasn’t going to say it was odd,” said Lydia. “I actually think that is rather an extraordinary thing to do. I’m impressed.”
He let out a laugh. “Trust you, Miss Charingford, to turn my world upside down. You take my most admirable characteristics and twist them into faults. But when I admit something that I am sure exposes me for the strange man that I am, I receive the first compliment that I have ever received from you.”
“Surely not the first!”
“The absolute first. I’ve counted.”
She swallowed. The way he was looking at her… She felt like a teapot set on the hob, warming to a slow boil under his gaze.
“There is something you said earlier that I don’t understand,” Lydia said.
“Miss Charingford.” He folded his arms and looked at her forbiddingly. “I’m sure I said a great deal that you found unfamiliar.” His mouth set in a straight line. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a question about gonorrhea. Those questions are so much easier to answer.”
She paused and tilted her head. “I think,” she said, “that you may have the most dreadful sense of humor of any man that I have ever encountered.”
He didn’t protest. “I’m fairly certain I do.” He glanced down at her. “And yet you have not run screaming. I count that as progress; I have become positively acceptable. Now what was it you were going to ask?”
“I was going to ask about what you said earlier. That you’d…that you’d…not used a French letter in eighteen months.” She swallowed. “I know I shouldn’t talk about this, but…but you actually answer my questions. Tell me if this is too impertinent—”
“No such thing.” But his voice had become even more forbidding.
Still, Lydia felt heartened. “It’s acceptable for men to…to visit women without being married. Like with Mrs. Hall, the other day. Are you telling me you don’t?”
“It has nothing to do with what is acceptable and what isn’t. I don’t wear gloves because I’m afraid that they might carry contagion. I’m not about to sheathe myself in a woman who could give me a disease. When I established myself here in Leicester, I determined that I wouldn’t have intercourse at all until I married.” There was a little smile on his face. “I didn’t think it would take quite so long, or I’m not sure I would have made such a hasty vow.”
“So you are looking for a wife? Good, God, Doctor Grantham. Sixteen months ago you reached girl number eleven in Leicester. What woman are you on now, number forty?”
“It…it hasn’t been like that.” He grimaced.
Lydia gave him her best wide-eyed innocent’s look. “I realize the search will be difficult, but surely somewhere in the entirety of Leicester, there must be at least one female who is so undiscriminating that she is willing to accept even you.”
“At least one?” He grinned broadly at her, understanding her teasing for what it was. “My. Praise like that will go straight to my head.”
“Do take it to heart. Even someone like you should be able to find a wife.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Even someone like me appreciates the sentiment.”
“Perhaps if you were a little less circumspect at displaying your income, you could convince number fifty.”
He laughed out loud. “You viper,” he said, but the words had no real heat to them. “It’s those defects in my character again. If you must know, I’d make a devil of a husband—always being woken at half two in the morning to go see someone who’s taken ill, telling my wife the truth no matter how inconvenient or unflattering it might be.” He shook his head and smiled at her. “Caring more about neatness than my personal wellbeing. Making terrible jokes.”
“You’re not all that terrible.”
“Thank you. I shall have that engraved on a plaque and presented to future candidates with your recommendation. The real problem is
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