Do you like awkward heroes and heroines? I sure do. Is it because I’m awkward myself? Mayyyyyyybe. On the inside I am 100% awkward, on the outside sometimes people find me charming. Who knows.
Dancing with the Gull is about two adorably awkward people who stumble into a relationship. Is there a fake engagement? Of course. Is there misunderstanding and longing? Obviously. Is there danger? A little (but don’t worry, it all works out in the end). There are also horses, dogs, and cats. If no one draws Prince Eugene fan art I will probably do it myself!
You might remember that Lord Henry, aka Henny, was in To Woo a Rake. If you’re sharp-eyed enough you know that Lady Penelope Barshaw was mentioned, too.
An Awkward Excerpt!
Pen fanned herself. Once her mother found out, and she would find out, that Penelope dropped her fan in order to make Lord Greer talk to her, well, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Lord Greer, meanwhile, surprised her. She’d never seen him be anything other than unfailingly polite, and when he’d baldly called her out on her brash manipulation she’d been stunned. Perhaps he didn’t need her warnings at all. If he was willing to call an Earl’s daughter on her lie then he wouldn’t have any patience at all for the petty manipulations of lesser daughters.
Part of what froze her to the spot, however, was his expression. He’d always been the image of a smiling and genial gentleman, but when she’d lied his face lost almost all warmth and he had the slightest beetling of his brows as he stared at her. He’d looked at her, really looked at her, in a way that few had before. As though he were trying to see the deeper answer of what she was saying, and that he would find it written somewhere on her soul. His vivid blue eyes were piercing in a way that she’d not expected.
The watery ratafia helped soothe her as she waited for the first strains of the waltz to begin. It felt oddly invigorating to be more herself for once while inside the terrible strictures of a typical ton ball. The only value she’d ever seen to marriage was that matrons, while bound by their own restrictions, were at least expected to have some opinions. As a girl of marriageable age she was expected to fawn and simper. She hated it. If she could have entered society already a matron, like Athena born of Zeus’s head, she would have liked it much better. The only women who had an iota of the freedom she wanted in Society were widows, but she didn’t think it seemly to marry a much older man in the simple hope that he would die that much sooner.
No, her only hope now was to withdraw from Society once she had the funds to do so. She needed no extravagances, simply a small cottage and a few horses and dogs. Well, and her books, of course. The freedom of such an arrangement would make her feel like the richest woman in the world. No more London, no more ton, no more whispered comments behind fans that were undoubtedly about her.
“Lady Penelope.”
Egads! The music was starting and Lord Greer was bowing over her hand while she was woolgathering.
“Lord Greer,” she replied, as her head was both too full and too empty to do aught else.
He led her to the dancefloor and they struck up the waltz. He held her at precisely the proper distance and she hoped she wouldn’t trip and fall into him. She’d learned that the further she had to fall, the more force with which she would strike her partner. Fortunately, he appeared sturdy enough not to find himself completely flattened by her. They were almost of a height, however, she was tall for her sex and he short for his. The immediacy of his gaze made her own wander to his shoulder.
After a bit she supposed they’d both been too concerned about the precision of the dance to even begin to speak, and she realized it might have already been two full minutes of silence between them. Alarmed, her gaze flew to his, but he seemed unbothered. His eyes really were the most extraordinary color. An intense blue that she’d only seen in flowers before.
“Lord Greer,” she said softly, considering how best to express her concerns. Since she watched him so intently she saw him give a small wince. Whether at the use of his title or something else, she didn’t know. It was no time to dither, however. “I apologize for forcing this dance upon you, but a lady has few other options for how to speak privately with a gentleman.”
“I see,” he said. Both his tone and expression were blank.
Neither encouraged nor discouraged by his response, she bullied on. “Perhaps you don’t need my interference, but I overheard some talk this evening that I thought to warn you about.”
“Oh?” His reaction was still neutral. Were she the sort of woman that preened for masculine attention she would be hurt by his reserve. Fortunately, she wasn’t that sort of woman at all.
“Yes. It seems a few young ladies, who I will not point out by name as that would make me as uncouth as they, have decided they will marry you for your money. I would advise against trusting any lady with whom you are not already familiar.”
He remained passive, making her finally question whether he was indeed a bit slow. Finally, he spoke. “War, er, Lord Sharpe warned me. That was why I promised him I would not dance with anyone tonight.”
Realizing what she’d done made her stumble. Surprisingly, his strength was sufficient to keep her upright. For once her lack of grace may not have been evident to everyone on the dance floor.
“My apologies, Lord Greer,” she said a bit faintly. “I should have realized you had it well in hand.” Now she had the better part of twenty minutes to dance with Lord Greer and regret her rash actions. Why hadn’t she learned? Whenever something felt right and invigorating it was very much what she should not do. How often in her youth had her ire and self righteousness gotten her in exactly this sort of trouble? Shame. Awkwardness.
Sue London, Author 