A Fool Again (5 page)

“You must be thinking of someone else,” Genevieve retorted.

But he was staring down at her with those eyes of his, and there was something, a gleam in them, that made a flush rise in her cheeks. “Ah, but I have a remarkable memory,” he said.

That slow smile of his ought to be banned! Genevieve seemed to be powerless to look away. He had her hand again and was raising it to his lips. “I seem to remember . . .
everything
about you.”

“It was black currants, not blackberries,” Genevieve said, and was horrified to find that her voice came out a husky whisper.

“Why would you ever wish to change your hair?” His eyes seemed genuinely puzzled. “It's the most beautiful stuff I've seen in my life. India is full of silks, but I never saw anything to rival this.” He touched a curl with one finger.

Genevieve swallowed. It had been a perfectly reasonable attempt to replace her streaked hair with a rippling shade of black. But when Tobias Darby looked at her hair, she couldn't imagine why she'd ever wanted black hair.

“Surely you remember,” he said, his voice a mere whisper of sound. “Your hair—in the carriage? I don't seem to be able to forget, no matter how many years pass.”

A shiver ran down Genevieve's back. He had been enchanted by her curls, nuzzled them, kissed them, draped her hair over his body and hers, and all the time the carriage had rocked on toward Gretna Green, where he was to make her his wife.

But that had never happened.

She drew herself up and snatched her hand away. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Darby,” she said with spurious politeness. “While it is always interesting to discuss childhood memories, I believe my fiancé is waiting for me.”

And then she marched over to Felton, her slim back indignant. But Tobias grinned after her. She remembered, all right.

G
enevieve dressed for her afternoon appointment with Tobias Darby full of misgivings. Why on earth was she allowing him to escort her? He was clearly just as wild as he ever was. Honesty compelled her to admit that she had a strange susceptibility to his charms, even given that he wasn't nearly as handsome as Felton, and he had none of Felton's cultured charm. Felton merely had to look at her with a glimmer of approval and Genevieve felt as if he'd given her all her Christmas presents rolled into one smile. Whereas Tobias never looked at her with approval, only with lust. He'd been out of place in the village when they'd been growing up, and now he was desperately out of place in London: too large, too fast-moving, too lustful. Really, it was exhausting even being around him. A woman had to be constantly on her guard, or he would have her flat on her back in the public gardens.

Well, that wasn't going to happen again, Genevieve told herself. She was not
that
type of woman. No, she was Lucius Felton's intended wife. He had asked for her hand in a placid, urbane fashion of which she utterly approved. So why was she wasting her time with Tobias Darby?

Precisely at two o'clock Genevieve traipsed down the stairs, wearing a walking dress of pale, pale blue muslin, trimmed with white lace. It was as demure as it was docile, especially with a matching cloak in blue sarsenet. She carried a lace parasol that came to a sharp point (excellent for warding off men with lascivious intentions). From the tips of her blue slippers to the ribbons plaited into her hair, there was nothing about her that would inspire a man's lust.

So there was no explanation for the slow burn that danced in Tobias's eyes. That darkening shade of blue made her feel uneasy and happy, all at once. He's a blackguard, Genevieve reminded herself. The man is so lascivious that he even ogles ladies whose necklines approach their ears.

“I trust this will be a quite brief outing,” she said, walking down the front steps toward his carriage with her parasol opened and pointed in his direction in case he intended to lunge at her. “I must return to dress for the opera. Felton and I are seeing
The White Elephant,
the Earl Godwin's latest composition.”

“The composer is an earl, or is Earl his first name?” To-bias inquired.

Genevieve allowed the footman to hand her into the carriage as if she were a fragile piece of china. She was
not
the sort of woman who clambered in by herself. “He is titled,” she said languidly, taking out her fan. “The earl is quite famous for his operas.”

“Things must have changed in England since I left the country,” he said, folding himself into the opposite seat. “I don't recall any peers dabbling in music.”

Why did he have to be so
large?
“Where are we going?” she asked, ladling a generous dollop of boredom into her voice.

“Bartholomew Fair,” he said.

Genevieve dropped her air of fashionable boredom. “Bartholomew Fair? But—why on earth? People of our sort don't attend Bartholomew Fair!”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not—it's not for
us,
that's why!”

“Don't be a widgeon. It's Bartholomew day, and anyone with an unscrambled brain in their head is going to the fair.”

“Goodness sakes,” Genevieve said faintly. “I never heard of such a thing. And what shall we do there, pray?” She fanned herself to hide her agitation. At least no one would recognize them at the fair.

“Eat Bartholomew pig,” he said lazily, stretching his legs so that Genevieve had to move over on her seat to avoid touching his ankle. “And gingerbread shaped like people. I, Genevieve, only eat lady gingerbread. And you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She had the feeling there was some sort of joke behind his comment. “I have never eaten such a thing in my life!” she told him roundly. “Gingerbread comes in squares.”

He laughed. “There are lamentable gaps in your education, love.”

“Don't you dare call me
love!
” she cried, incensed.

When Genevieve descended from the carriage she was met by a literal roar of noise: hucksters selling everything from china vases to geese, trumpets and hurdy-gurdies shrilling in the distance, the giddy-go-round squeaking its way in a circle to the music of a breathless man playing a loud pipe. And everywhere she looked there were people: red-coated soldiers escorting comely lasses, apprentices with snub noses and naughty looks, city wives in white aprons carrying baskets of jam, country folk wandering about with their mouths open. She was as dumbstruck as any country provincial herself.

Tobias grinned at her. “Magnificent, isn't it?” he said.

“Oh, it is!” she breathed. “It is! What's that?” she asked, pointing her parasol at a row of sheds, all hung about with brightly colored curtains and decorated with streamers that swirled in the breeze.

“Those are sideshows,” Tobias told her, slipping his hand under her arm. “Wire-walkers, acrobats, puppet shows—”

“Let's go see!” Genevieve cried. They made their way through the crowd. “Oh, look! A Mermaid! We must see her! And a Wise Pig: what could be wise about a pig? Flying Boats: we must see those. And a Golden Goose!”

“Mermaid first?”

Genevieve nodded. Tobias gave threepence to a very grimy man at the door, and they entered.

“That was a very shabby mermaid!” Genevieve said indignantly when they exited the back of the shed. “Even I could see that her fins were made of paper! And all that hair. I suspect she was wearing a
wig!
”

“Her breasts were her own,” Tobias reassured her.

Genevieve frowned at him. The mermaid's breasts were only partially obscured by her hair, which probably explained why the line in front of her stand was primarily made up of grinning men.

“I should like to see the Living Skeleton now!” she said, turning on her heel after giving Tobias a look. No wonder the so-called mermaid had given him such a come-hither glance.

He bellowed with laughter, but she paid him no mind.

By four hours later, they had done it all. The Living Skeleton turned out to be a man who was quite thin and mournful too, but the Flying Boats truly were miraculous. The Fat Lady was quite fat, although Genevieve thought that Mrs. Pinkler in the village could have given her a run for her money. They saw the Wild Lion, the Wild Boar, and the Unicorn. They watched acrobats throw each other across the floor and ladies in taffeta dance their way across slender wires.

Finally they found themselves in front of the coconut shy, and Tobias handed over five pence for a pyramid of coconuts.

“Your marksmanship is quite good,” Genevieve said admiringly, watching the coconuts fly through the air and un-erringly strike the mark painted on canvas.

“Nonsense,” he said. “Anyone could do it.”

“Not I!” Genevieve assured him. “I think it's marvelous!”

“You hit 'em all,” the gypsy running the stall said laconically. “Here's yer prize, then.”

He handed Genevieve a grimy string that trailed to the ground. “What?” she asked, confused.

The gypsy kicked at something, and there was a pained little squeal. “Out with you!” he growled, and a tiny pink pig shot out from under the stall, jerking the string in Genevieve's hand.

“You can't give us a
pig!
” she gasped.

“Didn't give it. The flash gent here won it. It's yours now.” He was obviously enjoying the spectacle of two persnickety swells becoming guardians to a piglet.

“Take it back!” Genevieve said, holding the string out to him. The piglet was rooting around her slippers, and although it seemed to be pink and in good condition, well, everyone knew how much pigs smelled.

The gypsy leered at Tobias. “I'll take back the piggie if yer missus here can hit a mark,” he said. “No capsy girlsy can hit a mark.”

There was something in his eyes that made Genevieve stiffen. She grabbed a coconut and threw it as hard as she possibly could. Alas, it didn't head straight toward the canvas targets on the back wall. Instead it bounced off a supporting beam with a crack that signaled broken coconut, ricocheted sideways, and hit the gypsy square on the head.

Genevieve took one look at his enraged face, garnished with streams of coconut milk, and ran away dragging the piglet. Tobias was laughing so hard that they only got as far as the next stall, the Scarlet Swan (which they hadn't bothered to see, as Genevieve was quite certain it would be a normal swan with feathers died in beetroot). For a moment she glared at Tobias, but then a giggle escaped from her mouth. The piglet gave a little grunt at her feet, and finally Genevieve started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Tobias braced his arm over her head, against the wall of the Scarlet Swan, and looked down at her. Genevieve's eyes were bright with laughter, and her cheeks were pink. Her hair wasn't in its neat braid anymore, although she didn't seem to have realized it. He couldn't help it: He dropped a kiss on her rosy lips, and then, before she could voice any sort of objection, spun her about and said, “Right! Time to buy gingerbread men!”

Genevieve blinked. He'd kissed her so quickly, not his usual kiss at all. For a moment she'd thought he meant to push her against the wooden walls of the Scarlet Swan (that would be just in his style), but he hadn't.

Not that she cared, naturally.

Dragging the piglet on his string, they went to the part of the Common where the food stalls were.

“A lady
never
eats in public!” Genevieve said, with some horror. “Isn't there a proper eating establishment in these parts?”

Tobias rolled his eyes and bought two mutton pies, a bottle of wine, a couple of tin mugs, and eight gingerbread men (four ladies and four gentlemen).

“I shan't eat such fare,” Genevieve observed, although secretly she had to admit that the gingerbread people were quite appealing. Suddenly a drop of rain fell on her nose, and then one hit her arm.

“It's starting to rain,” Tobias observed, bundling his purchases under his arm.

“I suppose we had better find your carriage,” Genevieve said, feeling unaccountably disappointed. Of course she had to go home. Why, the sky was already darkening. “What time is it?”

“Not late at all,” Tobias said. “It only appears to be twilight due to the clouds.”

“Which way is the carriage?” Genevieve said rather anxiously. “Do you think this pig might catch a cold?”

Tobias laughed. “I doubt that very much, you silly duck.” He dropped another kiss on her head. Then he slipped a hand into her arm and began to draw her through the crowd.

Genevieve walked silently beside him. A big drop of rain splashed down her cheek, and another dampened the sarsenet of her cloak. She was aware that against all her better instincts, she would prefer that he didn't treat her as if she were a small child he'd invited to the fair for a treat. But how would she like to be treated? Ah, that's the rub, she thought to herself. I want— I want— But she wouldn't let herself think about what she wanted, or why her skin seemed to be burning just from the light touch of his hand, or why she kept peeking at him, and thinking that truly, he was very handsome. Very.

A second later, the rain began to splash down with a concentration that suggested they would never make it all the way across the Commons without being soaked to the skin. They weren't walking quickly: It was difficult to keep the piglet from entangling himself in the feet of passersby, especially now that people were running in all directions to escape the rain.

“We'd better go in here,” Tobias said, leading Genevieve up the steps to the stall of the Snake Charmer.

“I can't go in there!” Genevieve gasped. “I'm afraid of snakes. And don't snakes eat piglets?”

“We have to get rid of that pig somehow,” Tobias suggested, but when he saw that Genevieve drew back in horror, he stuck his head in the curtained entrance, handed the snake charmer a golden guinea, and said, “Make yourself scarce.” The snake charmer grinned, bowed, and trotted off into the distance, snake curled around his neck.

“There,” Tobias said, pulling back the curtains and tying them open. “We have a splendid view and we're alone.” The whole Commons, which had been a veritable mass of brilliant colors and jostling people but an hour or two before, was emptying as quickly as the clouds were scurrying across the formerly blue sky.

“A chair, my lady,” Tobias said, pulling forward a dilapidated couch to just inside the entrance. Genevieve gave it a suspicious look, then sank onto it. The sky had turned a pearly-gray color, and darker blue clouds rushed across it as if they, too, were trying to get home before it rained. The queer light made the scene all the more interesting.

Tobias sat down next to her and stretched out his legs. In a moment he had the cork off the bottle of wine and was pouring her some. He handed a glass to her as elegantly as if it were of the finest crystal, instead of a tin mug that he'd acquired with the bottle.

Genevieve had a sip. Perhaps it was the novelty, but the wine had a slightly explosive feeling on her tongue, as if it were champagne gone slightly flat. The piglet snorted and snuffled at her feet again, so Genevieve drew them up on the couch
(a lady never sits in other than a decorous position!),
glancing sideways at Tobias under her lashes. He had taken out a mutton pie and broken it in half. Without even asking, he handed it to her. It was still warm and smelled tantalizingly good.

Ladies never eat out of doors!
Genevieve took a bite. It was so good that she took another. Rain was dashing to the ground now, and the only people still braving the Commons were a group of lads playing a fierce game in which the teams appeared to be named after Queen Mary and Lord Spencer. The boys ran this way and that in wild abandon, shrieking “Come on Spencer,” and “Come on Mary,” and generally getting as wet as possible.