The earl studied her face for a moment. “Think no more of it, Miss Welles. I am glad to have been able to be of service.” Darlington boldly slipped his arm through C.J.’s own. Mercifully, he was too polite to make a comment on the state of her ratty yellow muslin.
C.J. glanced at their linked arms. She felt immensely—and surprisingly—at ease in his company, as if she had known him far longer than the duration of an afternoon tea. “Are you not taking liberties with me, your lordship?” she asked anxiously. First, arrested for thievery; now, for all she knew, she might be branded a whore for such brazen behavior. Every time C.J. thought she had gotten a handle on their mores or manners, these Georgians threw her a curve. A proper lady did not address the servants as equals, and yet she drank her tea out of a saucer!
Darlington inclined his head toward her and said softly, “I confess, Miss Welles, I have developed a rather intense curiosity about you, which I am in perhaps too great a haste to explore.”
C.J. suddenly realized that observing what she imagined were the maidenly proprieties of the early nineteenth century was going to prove the hardest acting assignment of her life. Oh, why couldn’t she have ended up in an era where libertinism among women was perfectly acceptable?
Darlington’s arm was warm and protective and even through his sleeve, she could feel his well-formed musculature. She enjoyed their proximity. No wonder women went mad back then; they had to stifle all their sexual urges, and even when they married, they were expected to grit their teeth and think of England rather than enjoy themselves. C.J. had always imagined that such women were dreadful prudes. Now that she was actually in their world—with such lax attention to personal hygiene and the inability to bathe frequently and fully—she allowed that prudery probably had little to do with the matter. All the teeth gritting might have had a lot more to do with stench than sensuality.
“Do not mistake my meaning, your lordship. I thought perhaps . . .” from reading Jane Austen novels, “. . . that you and I would have to have some sort of . . . understanding . . . between us for us to so publicly promenade.”
Darlington immediately withdrew his arm and regarded his companion with grave concern. “Believe me, Miss Welles, it was never my wish to cause you either anxiety or apprehension. Bath can be quite sophisticated or quite narrow-minded, depending upon the observer of the behavior. Lady Dalrymple, who has rather singular views on human nature, might be included in the former category, whereas my aunt Augusta is most decidedly in the latter.”
They continued to walk toward the Royal Crescent, maintaining a foot or so of distance between them. “If the truth be told, I had not given the taking of your arm a moment’s hesitation. I do not view myself as merchandise for the marriage mart. Regard me in an avuncular light if it sets your mind at ease, Miss Welles. I am an old widower of thirty-seven, well past my prime, with far too much leisure time on my hands; and to avoid being labeled a useless layabout, I have offered my services to your aunt to guide you about the city should you wish to see any of its sights. My cousin Jane, of course, who was quite glad of your acquaintance, would be happy to chaperone.”
Now that would be something! C.J. thought, but was quite sure that the earl would wonder should his innocuous comment elicit from her such an excited reaction. Instead, she replied to his lordship’s most surprising, and ridiculous, confession. “Old? You, your lordship? If you will forgive my saying so, that is absolute rubbish! And might I be so bold to add that I could never be persuaded to see you ‘in an avuncular light,’ were you to swear you were as old as Methuselah!”
“You flatter me, Miss Welles,” Darlington replied with the utmost sincerity. “My dear girl, there are men my age who are marrying off their sons and daughters. Country balls resemble circuses nowadays. But I did not desire to impugn your reputation when I took your arm just now. I crave your apologies.”
He looked so earnest and so unhappy that he might be the cause of any consternation on her part. “Think nothing more of it,” C.J. said, afraid he might never touch her again. “I was concerned for your reputation as well, your lordship.”
“You are behaving quite correctly, Miss Welles. But it makes me feel so sober when you speak to me with such formality. I have no wish to keep you at arm’s distance.”
“Arm’s distance?”
“I speak metaphorically, Miss Welles.”
“I knew that—I mean, I thought so,” she responded under her breath.
Darlington cocked his head toward his companion. “Beg pardon? I could not hear you just now.” He gestured toward his left ear. “A swimming accident when I was a boy.”
C.J. regarded him quizzically.
“In Brighton. When I was a lad. Every summer my parents would return to England from their Continental peregrinations, and the family would enjoy a seaside excursion.” The earl’s voice grew soft. His eyes became misty with reminiscence. “One afternoon . . . the season my younger brother was eight years old, Jack swam out too far—farther than we had ever planned, or had been allowed to venture. The current becomes rather swift fifty yards or so from the shore . . . and I heard his desperate cries for help as he began to be pulled out by the tides.”
C.J. paled.
“I did reach Jack, but it was barely in time, and by the time we were both lifted from the water and hauled up on the deck of a small fishing boat, I had caught a frightful chill. An infection developed in my head that spread to my left ear, and
