A Dance, Madam?

[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Social engagements, in general, were all varying levels of unpleasant. At best, they were simply tedious and tiring; at worst, they were positively intolerable. Smaller dinner parties tended to be the most bearable, but large parties — or, Heaven forbid, balls — were by far the worst of all. Had he been capable of avoiding them altogether, Lewis certainly would have done so, but every so often, the calls of society were a little too insistent to ignore. Lewis knew too well how it would look if he turned down too many invitations in one season, especially one as well-attended by London's elite as this ball in question would be. Several members of parliament were rumoured to be coming, after all. If Lewis could just get through the social nonsense of the evening, he might be able to insert himself into conversation with one or two politicians, which would prove advantageous indeed. 

Getting through the social nonsense, however, was easier said than done. Remembering every little nuance and rule was a daunting task, especially when one small mistake could cost a man his entire reputation. He had spent nearly an hour agonising over the colour of the waistcoat he ought to wear — not out of any genuine interest in his own appearance, but out of an uneasy recollection of some mention in Lady Whistledown's latest column about the poor choice of colour some other poor gentleman had made at another event.

Thankfully, once he had arrived at the ball itself, the first part of the evening had passed by relatively smoothly. He made, at least, no great missteps, in his own estimation. Then, of course, came the part of the night that Lewis had been dreading: the dancing. His heart positively sank as the band struck up their first jaunty tune and the flood of couples made their way to the centre of the room. He had dawdled enough that he could miss the first dance without comment, but he was well aware that he could not do the same for every dance. 

Finding a suitable partner was the first issue. He could not select anyone too eager, too old, or too low in station — anyone, in short, who would be desperate enough to marry that the prospect of wedding a working man would not deter them. It had to be someone who would consent to dance with a mere surgeon, but would not come with a marriage-minded mother in tow. After casting his nervous glance a few times around the room, he settled on a red-haired woman standing near one of the columns. They had been introduced very briefly by her mother at the last event, and although he had never had cause to speak directly with her, he was sure that he had seen her at a small handful of these parties prior to that introduction, almost always at the back of the room with a rather sad expression. She would do well enough, he wagered. Her mother had two other daughters to marry off before this one, and she did not strike him as the sort of woman who would stoop to pursuing a man without a fortune as a husband for any of her girls. Penelope was, in short, the safest option he was likely to find. Careful to skirt around the edge of the room to avoid the throng of dancers, Lewis approached Penelope, bowed stiffly, and addressed her. "Miss Featherington. Have you a partner for this next dance?"

OWL

[lennie2]

Another evening, another ball, and yet another dress so very yellow. It was really the only way she could describe the garment her mother had purchased it was... yellow. Penelope looked around the room and she hoped her gaze wasn't full of longing as she observed the pale blues and lilacs of the other debutantes, the faint tones of green she was so sure would look good against her skin. She had tried, of course, to tell her mother that maybe trying a different colour would be a good idea, to just see if it would look good, Portia Featherington had shut her down over and over again, telling her how men liked happy girls, and happy girls wore happy colours.

Penelope was certain she didn't look happy in yellow.

Holding her glass of lemonade between her hands Penelope allowed her gaze to travel across the ballroom, her sisters were walking arm-in-arm through the hall, clearly trying to earn the attention of a man asking at least one of them to dance. She noticed how Prudence seemed to be successful, smiling in a way that seemed too predatory as a man bowed and asked for her dance card as Philipa glowered mutinously. Penelope rolled her eyes, taking a sip of lemonade.

"Mister Anwyl," Penelope exclaimed, eyes widening and she hoped he had not seen her roll her eyes at her sisters' actions across the room, smiling she curtised, shaking her head as she answered his question, "I- no," Penelope cleared her throat, "I don't, have a partner, no one asked me I mean," her brow furrowed and Penelope cut herself off, pressing her lips together tightly, her grip strong around the small lemonade glass which was now emtpy. She exhaled shakily, hoping her smile looked more like a smile than the grimace it felt like, "How are you this evening?"

tag Lewis Anwyl .

[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Lewis had noticed, of course, how poorly the colour of Penelope's clothing suited her complexion. He was far from an expert in fashion, but it would have been difficult not to take note of how sallow her gowns always made the young woman look. Why she did not wear another colour, he could not fathom. It had never particularly occurred to him that she might not have been given the liberty to choose the colour herself; in spite of growing up with a sister, Lewis rarely had occasion to wonder at the differences between growing up as a young man and growing up as a young woman. 

Nevertheless, neither the colour of her gown nor its effect on her appearance mattered very much to him. If he had wished to dance with a girl for her stunning countenance, there were at least a dozen that he could have chosen from tonight's company. What he wanted for this dance was a woman who was agreeable, and Penelope, in his opinion, was certainly that. 

He was conscious of something almost like a twinge of sympathy at her surprised stuttering. He, too, found himself unpleasantly tongue-tied at these events more often than he would like to admit, and it had always been a profound source of embarrassment. He considered, briefly, whether he ought to offer the young woman an apology for startling her, but after deciding that drawing attention to the matter would likely serve only to embarrass her further, he discarded the idea. Keeping his tone as pleasant and neutral as possible, he replied, "I am well, thank you. I would be much obliged if you would join me for the next dance."

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope could feel the heated flush in her cheeks rising as she had kept talking, remaining there as the man responded to her polite question. Lewis Anwyl, while respected in his field and by the ton, would never be a man Penelope's mother approved of, and even if he had been he wouldn't have been the man her heart wanted. But while Portia Featherington saw every act as part of the hunt in finding husbands for her daughters Penelope didn't agree. She cast her gaze across the room towards her mother before looking back to Lewis with a smile, her mama was too busy to notice what was going on with Penelope, and she nodded, "I would be honoured," she replied.

The smile that passed across her features felt easier this time around, less forced. Despite how she would insist in her retellings of balls to Eloise that they were pointless and ridiculous Penelope wanted to be asked to dance. Even if she told her best friend she didn't care she most definitely did care.

By the time her mama would see her dancing with Mister Anwyl it would be too late for her to interfer. Penelope was sure she would receive a stern reminder about appropriate suitors, even though Penelope couldn't remember Lewis Anwyl ever actually courting anyone despite always asking someone to dance. Not everything needed to be calculated, not everything could be or Penelope was quite certain she wouldn't be able to stand it.

tag Lewis Anwyl .

[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Lewis' first instinctive reaction was relief. As long as he danced at least a handful of times tonight, he could count his social duties fulfilled, and her agreement to dance this next round with him brought him one step closer to that. The sooner he got these infernal dances over with, the sooner he could take his leave. 

The next emotion to come, naturally, was nervousness. Getting dances out of the way was easier said than done; he had never been a graceful fellow, and no matter how many times Dr. Morrison had tried to instruct him on the proper order of steps, he never quite managed to commit them to memory as well as the Scotsman could, to say nothing of actually performing that proper order in time with the music. 

There was nothing to be done to back out now, of course — he had to complete a few dances, and there was likely to be no partner more forgiving than Penelope Featherington. Still, he thought he ought to do her the courtesy of warning her first. Taking his place beside her, he clasped his hands anxiously behind his back and fixed his gaze on the twirling dancers. It would take some time for the first dance to conclude; until then, there was little to do but wait. "I... must inform you, Miss Featherington," he said, without turning his head towards her, "that I am far from the ton's best dancer. I hope you will forgive my poor footwork." 

OWL

[lennie2]

While not many gentlemen asked her to dance, in fact the list of who usually did was very short, it was not entirely uncommon. There had been that gentleman who courted her sister for a short while, of course nothing had come from it, but for a short moment he had been someone who had danced with her if only just to impress her sister further. It had been evidence he wasn't at all suited for Prudence, it most definitely did not impress her sister that the man had danced with Penelope. Paying attention to anyone but Prudence herself was most definitely not the way to Prudence's heart, and she was sure her sister had one, although at times very deep down.

Lewis Anwyl was most definitely not courting her sister. It was probably a good thing, based on the few interactions she had had with the man Penelope could conclude her sister would be far too much for him, either of them would be. As much as she loved her sisters they were a lot, especially for anyone who was not family.

Penelope smiled at his warning, shaking her head, "I'm sure you are far better than you believe yourself, Doctor Anwyl," she insisted with a small laugh. Even so, Penelope knew she'd be fine with a few bruised toes, it was better than having stood in her corner for the whole evening. Besides it was nice that someone had asked her to dance without their mother telling them to do so, even though she appreciated Violet Bridgerton's kindness and never would've refused any of her sons asking her to dance there was a pain that came with them only asking her because their mama told them to. She offered him yet another smile, "If we are lucky the band will just play a simple waltz next," she mused, lowering her voice into a quiet whisper, laughter following her words.

tag Lewis Anwyl .

[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

It had not escaped Lewis' notice that Penelope was scarcely ever asked to dance. He was far from the most observant of men, but it was rather hard to miss the way that she always seemed to be left on the fringes of the ballroom at events like these. He was not well-versed enough in the minute workings of society to determine precisely why that was. As much as the colouring of her attire was rather unfortunate, bad taste in fashion could hardly be enough to scare away suitors, and he was sure he had heard that the Featherington family was well-respected enough in the ton. True, she was not the most striking woman in the room, but decent conversation was surely worth more than a vapid pretty face. 

Whatever the reason, however, it mattered little to Lewis. His interest in the affairs of the ton extended only as far as they concerned his own interests; it was useful to know who was courting whom so that there was small talk to make with the rest of society, but beyond that, he did not much care. Why Penelope had no suitors was of little consequence — as long as he could be certain he would not be stepping on anyone's toes by asking her to dance, that was enough. 

Stepping on metaphorical toes aside, he was not out of danger of stepping on her literal toes. A waltz was even more of a daunting idea than the usual reel — at least in a reel, there was a fair amount of standing around to do, and they were not forced to dance so close together that the slightest misstep could trip them both up. The smile that he offered her in reply to the laughter was a little strained. "Let us hope it is a simple dance, yes. I'm sure Lady Whistledown will report that I am a poor excuse for a medical man if I go around injuring women's toes at a ball." 

OWL

[lennie2]

"In my opinion Lady Whistledown never seems to comment on anything that doesn't hold at least a little bit of truth," Penelope argued. She couldn't very well tell him she was Whistledown and thus knew very well Lady Whistledown did her very best to ensure what was published was the truth. Penelope hadn't begun writing because she wanted to be cruel, she wanted to be fair to her friends and everyone else of the ton while just simply showing how ridiculous it could all be.

Maybe there were times when she had been a bit too tough on someone, but in her defence Penelope hadn't pulled her punches when it came to insulting herself either. Considering the rate the ton purchased her writing at it proved the need for gossip was larger than anyone wanted to admit. They might not notice her, but they were noticing Lady Whistledown and Penelope couldn't help but feel a bit smug no one would ever suspect it was her.

She offered Lewis a small smile, hoping it appeared encouraging, "either way I'm sure my toes will be fine, and are they not well, then isn't a doctor good company to already have?" Penelope contemplated. She hoped it sounded encouraging and not insulting, it was the last thing she wanted to do to hurt his feelings. Penelope often found her words sounded one way in her head and then when she said them out loud, it never sounded how she had intended; it always made more sense in writing.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Lewis had to rein in the urge to scowl at her remark on Lady Whistledown. When the pamphlets had first been distributed throughout the ton, Lewis had initially taken no interest; he had presumed that they would hold no value to him, and as such, he saw no reason to pay them any mind. Within weeks, however, no one in London could speak of anything but Lady Whistledown, even in the hospital. That had left Lewis with little choice — if he wanted to stay abreast of all the happenings in the city, he had to pick up the wretched papers. He himself had only been mentioned once, after the ball he'd forced himself to attend last month, and Whistledown had noted him only to remark upon the novelty of a poorly-mannered surgeon, and a Welshman at that, attending a high society event. 

In fairness, 'she called me a surly and ill-mannered surgeon' was not exactly much of a counter to Penelope's point that Whistledown reported the truth. 

He forced himself to let the matter go. Penelope, like the majority of the ton, was likely to adore Lady Whistledown as much as she dreaded her, and complaining about the woman's pamphlets would likely get him nowhere. Instead, he forced a smile in reply to her joke and said, "A fine point indeed, Miss Featherington." As the last quivering strains of the song faded away and the new partners began to make their way onto the dance floor, Lewis turned back to Penelope once more and offered his hand. "Shall we?"

OWL

[lennie2]

The last thing she wanted to do was chase away Lewis by praising Whistledown in his presence if he didn't like her. Penelope had learned not to take any serious criticism of her alter ego personally, no one actually knew that if they insulted Whistledown they technically insulted her; though not a lot of people seemed to care whether they insulted her or not. If she didn't want to to be discovered then she couldn't very well be spending too much time defending Whistledown, not after she had made sure to insult herself more than once as well to truly ensure no one suspected her. Then again, no one surely ever would, because after all, who would expect the poorly dressed redhead standing in a corner barely daring to speak to anyone at each and every ball?

But now, most of all, she didn't want to chase away the one gentleman who had actually asked her to dance. For whatever reason Lewis had asked her Penelope appreciated it, only if just for the reason that she loved to dance. When she stood in her corners she found herself imagining a full dance card, thinking that she would be asked to dance by an endless line of fine gentleman and earn an approving nod from her mama from across the room.

"I believe we shall," she agreed with him. The look she got from Portia was not approving as she took Lewis's offered arm with a small smile on her own lips. Ignoring the glare from her mama Penelope focused her attentiont to her partner for the dance. She found herself hoping that maybe his dancing was not quite as terrible as he had made it out to be, when it came down to it she was raather attached to her toes after all.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Well, there was certainly no avoiding the dance now. Swallowing down his trepidation, Lewis led the way onto the dance floor and took his position alongside the other couples. As the band struck up the first few notes of the tune, Lewis realised, to his immense relief, that it was a song he recognised. That, at least, would make the dance somewhat easier to get through. 

His first few steps were rather uncertain, but he managed to make them relatively in time with the music — and, more importantly, he managed to make them without stepping on either of Penelope's feet. He would certainly not be called graceful by even the most generous of observers, but as long as he managed to execute the steps, that was satisfactory enough for his own standards. 

When the dance obliged him to pull her in, he almost managed a smile. This one was barely a twitch of the lips, but it was more genuine than the tight, false smiles he had forced onto his countenance earlier on in their conversation. He seemed — if not quite pleased — at least content. "There," he said, "I seem to have spared your toes thus far."

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope loved to dance, she just didn't get to do it very often. In no way would the redhead have considered herself an expert when it came to the art of dance, far from it most likely. But, she enjoyed it, and that alone was enough for her skill to be at the very least acceptable for a young lady. In fact, Penelope would wager there were at least a handful of other young, unmarried women whom she danced better than.

Following Lewis onto the dance floor she offered him a small smile of support. She didn't know if his own dancing skills were as horrid as he had warned her. What she did know was that she would not tell him if they were, the last thing any young woman should do was embarrass a gentleman without good reason. Penelope noted to herself how is steps began unsteady, leading her almost hesitantly in the dance. It got better as he seemingly grew at the very least slightly more comfortable to the music.

"I can assure you my toes have been spared," Penelope agreed as they were getting a few steps in, finding a rhythm with one another in the dance, "either you are not as bad of a dancer as you believe, or you do not speak high enough of yourself, Doctor."

tag Lewis Anwyl .

[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

In his first few years in London, Lewis had not known how to dance at all, not had he been particularly inclined to learn. Even if he had been invited to any balls, he would have been far too occupied with his studies to think of attending them. Some of his fellow students — the ones who came from wealth, mostly — attended them often and with enthusiasm; at the back of lecture halls, there were always a few young men whispering eagerly about the latest scandal or the prettiest debutante. Lewis only ever paid them enough mind to shoot glares over when the whispering grew loud enough to disrupt his note-taking. 

When he obtained his qualifications and entered the professional world, however, he quickly came to learn that social standing was as vital to his success as his operating skill, if not more so. Whether he liked it or not, he had to become acquainted with the finer points of social engagement. 

He was fortunate, at least, for Morrison, who was an exceptional dancer and who required only a good bottle of wine in exchange for an afternoon of instruction. It had taken hours for him to get Lewis even vaguely competent, and he had declared it certain that Lewis would never be graceful, but the basic steps served well enough for most balls. Thankfully, the band had chosen one of the first dances that Lewis' fellow surgeon had taught him. "You are tempting fate, I think, by saying that. If you—" Famous last words. Like clockwork, distracted by the conversation, he trod on her foot. Flushing red, he jerked his own foot back. "I am so sorry."

OWL

[lennie2]

When she had been a little girl Penelope had dreamed about the fanciful balls she would one day attend. She had pretended to dance around her room and imagined enchanting conversations with handsome boys asking her to dance with them. As an adult she found that her fantasies were far better than the reality of the balls. It wasn't to say the balls were in any way bad, simply to say the imaginations of a little girl put a little too much pressure on reality. Besides, her mother had always told her she had a good imagination, though the older she got the less sure Penelope was her mama actually meant it as something positive.



It wasn't that balls were terrible in any way, they were just not what Penelope had thought they would be. She had believed she would dance the nights away and instead she spent most of her time wishing she could be somewhere else. It felt, somehow, it would've been easier had she been allowed to put off entering society for another year, to do it with Eloise instead. She didn't think anyone would suddenly be lining up to dance with her but, at the very least she would have her best friend by her side, now a lot of balls just felt lonely despite the vast crowds attending them.



She regretted telling him he couldn't have been as bad of a dancer as he thought as she felt his boot over her foot, only just suppressing a small yelp of pain. "Oh it's fine!" Penelope insisted quickly, pressing her lips together tightly to hide the grimace which threatened to cross her features. "Didn't even feel a thing," she tried to assure him, well aware of the fact she did not consider herself a very good liar on any other occasion than concealing her Whistledown identity.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

THE   CAUSE   YOU   ARE   SUPPORTING IS  NOT  OUR  CAUSE,  BUT  YOURS tagged lennie2

Lewis could feel the flush spreading across his cheeks, but there was little he could do to erase it. He positively abhorred drawing attention to himself at these damned parties for any reason, let alone for such an embarrassing one, and it was too much to hope that the onlookers had failed to see his misstep. Given how gracefully the rest of the pairs were dancing, no deviation was likely to go unnoticed. 

All he could do now was pray that Lady Whistledown herself had not been watching the dance closely enough to note the mistake. He had no doubt that she would be in attendance somewhere in this ballroom, as she scarcely ever seemed to miss any society event worth attending, but if luck was on his side, there would be enough gossip this evening that a surgeon's poor footwork would not make the cut. 

Keeping his head resolutely down so that he could watch his feet, Lewis continued with the steps of the dance in silence for a moment. Right foot, left foot, turn. He managed to spin her away and pull her back in with tolerable success, this time. When she came back near enough to speak again, he muttered, almost defensively, "I did practice this evening, before the ball. I thought I had the steps down." 

OWL