A Fool Again Read Free Page A

second time?”
    â€œI wouldn’t be surprised. Lady Dorset-Herne said that he’s tremendously wealthy now. And why else would he return, just when Genevieve is out of her blacks?”
    Neville looked glum. “The last thing I need is another rival when Felton has got himself so snugly established. Are you and Perwinkle coming to the opening at Covent Garden tonight?”
    â€œI believe so,” Carola replied. It was difficult to know whether her husband, Tuppy, was free to accompany her or whether he would run off to attend a lecture about fish. “We have a subscription.”
    â€œAs have I,” Neville said. “But Lady Mulcaster has committed herself to that deuced Felton.”
    â€œThen you must come into our box,” Carola said instantly. “Perhaps Tobias Darby will attend the play, and we shall have a fine view!”
    â€œIf I can’t sit with Genevieve,” Neville said morosely, “I certainly am not interested in watching Felton insinuate himself further into her good graces, let alone Darby.”
    â€œIf you accompany me to the theater,” Carola said coax-ingly, “I promise I’ll give a dinner and invite Genevieve. What’s more, I’ll praise you to the skies at tea tomorrow.”
    Neville frowned at her. “In all truth?”
    Carola nodded. “Word of honor.” There had to be some way she could sneak in a word about Neville in between Genevieve’s babblings about Lucius Felton.
    By eight o’clock that evening, Genevieve Mulcaster was virtually the only person in London unaware of the fact that Mr. Tobias Darby had returned from India rich as a nabob and was presumably planning to hustle her off to Gretna Green. Not that she would have paid much attention.
    Genevieve had plans of her own for the evening, involving an annoyingly elusive Lucius Felton. Lord Bubble had withdrawn his application for her hand after suffering a most unfortunate attack that necessitated his staying in bed for at least six hours of every day; Genevieve accepted that fact with equanimity, as she never thought to marry the man. But Felton’s disclination to propose marriage was far more disturbing.
    At first, she had thought his gentlemanly behavior was due to her being in full mourning. She had waited six months fairly patiently. Then, when he still acted like a vicar, she had hoped it was due to her half mourning. Those six months had passed with rather less patience. But now she had been out of blacks for an entire week, and Felton continued to greet her as placidly as if he were a distant uncle. He was nothing if not attentive, sending bunches of violets and never failing to inquire what she would like to do of an evening. One couldn’t have had a more attentive nephew.
    And yet...and yet. He had never kissed her. Not once. Honesty made Genevieve admit that he often seemed more amused by her than struck with desire. She sat down at her dressing table and stared in the mirror. All sorts of gentlemen were exhibiting flattering attention; she had just received a poem calling her a lemon bright goddess (an odd phrase, but she appreciated the effort). So why wasn’t Felton doing the same? Perhaps the problem was that she looked so tediously young, the fault of a snub nose. She simply didn’t look like a dashing widow. Nor a Pocket Venus either. That was her ambition, but even the most dashing clothes one could buy weren’t effecting a transformation.
    â€œYour very first evening in public out of mourning!” her maid said brightly, popping up at her shoulder. “Would you like to wear the Grecian tunic, madam, or perhaps the lilac robe and petticoat?”
    Genevieve gave up trying to arrange her features into a seductive pout. “Do you think I’d look more dramatic if I blackened my eyebrows?” she asked her maid.
    Eliza wrinkled her brow. “Odd, more like,” she offered. Eliza had no gift for