A Dance, Madam?

[lennie2]

Penelope hoped he didn't feel too bothered by trodding on her toes, it genuinely had not been that bad, it was still better than not being asked at all. She didn't mind how they fell out of tempo for a brief moment, Penelope subtly bringing them back in without comment as they once more fell into step within the crowd.

His discomfort was obvious, Penelope was sure anyone who took a look would've been able to notice it. It was a feeling she knew far too well and didn't need immortalising in words. She promised herself when she stumbled upon the opportunity to publish her rants about polite society she would not be cruel for no reason. People like Cressida were entertained by cruelty, and if she stooped to her level then Penelope would be no better herself. Besides, it was hardly good gossip for a gossip column that a surgeon stepped on toes of the girl in the horrid yellow dress.

She smiled softly as the dance brought them closer together, nodding at his words, "It's alright," she insisted once again, "would it not be fair to say you have spent more focus on obtaining a professional skill set for your work rather than perfecting the steps to whichever dance the ton fancies at the moment?"

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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

In spite of his embarrassment, and in spite of his general distaste for the social aspect of these events, he found himself acknowledging that Penelope was better company than he had expected her to be. Given how she spent most of these balls, at the fringes of the room and presumably without speaking, he had expected her to simply be rather quiet. Instead, she had proven herself to be as kind as she was quick-thinking. 

He could not quite think of how to voice that opinion without sounding rather odd, but he appreciated her thoughtfulness nonetheless. Hers was not the first foot he had trodden on at one of these dances; few women, in those circumstances, had done more than offer a squeak of pain and a withering glare, to say nothing of going out of their way to make excuses for him. It was... endearing, almost. 

"I suppose it is," he replied. He might have left the matter at that, but some foolish part of him make some attempt to match her in conversation. "I regret to say that fine dancing was not included in the hospital curriculum. Perhaps I ought to suggest it to them." Hardly Shakespearean wit, but it was the best he could do. 

OWL

[lennie2]

She was finding it nice to dance with Lewis, even if her toes were in some kind of danger every time he took a step. Penelope had resigned herself to the fact she would not be spending her nights on the edge of the dance floor. Dancing with Lewis was better than doing that, standing around trying to still look happy to be there. Before he had asked her she had been half ready to begin pleading with her mother to let her go home; she didn't have much faith it would've worked.

Penelope, of course, had no experience of medical school, or university for that matter, however she still could not imagine there would be a switch in curriculums to teach burgeoning surgeons to dance. But she laughed lightly, her laugh bordering on trained politeness, the one her mama had made her practice for hours; Penelope was quite sure Portia Featherington could hear her actual laugh across any room and would appear in seconds to scold her on chasing away prospective suitors. While Penelope had resigned herself to not being the diamond of the season, or the one anyone noticed most of the time, her mother had not accepted that.

"If you do I believe it'd be interesting to see if they are open to widening their curriculum," the redhead mused, she didn't have a lot of faith, or perhaps it was the part of her hoping there was more to dream about when she imagined herself getting the opportunity to study further than having to dance more.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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

Lewis' instinctive urge was to seize this chance to begin expounding at length on the reforms that were necessary in medical education. She had more or less opened the door to the subject, whether she realised it or not, and if he had been the same man he was when he had first joined the profession, he would not have let that opportunity pass by. He had launched into similar rants on far less provocation, more than once. 

Nevertheless, since then, he had learned. A few too many times, he had found himself a complete pariah in a room, with no one willing to engage a man in conversation who had thoroughly proven himself to be terrible company. Even for someone who was not fond of much conversation, that stung. And, paradoxically, he had found that becoming a pariah made him as much the centre of attention as becoming a popular figure might. 

So, he had learned to rein himself in. It was not always easy, and he often found himself diving into medical topics of conversation before he realised it, but he tried to catch himself early enough to walk the conversation back with an attempted joke at his own expense. He did have a sense that Penelope might be a bit more receptive to such a discussion than most attendees at this party, but it was better not to test that theory. Instead, he simply forced another tiny smile and said, "It is settled, then. First thing tomorrow, I will write to the Royal College of Surgeons and request that they amend the exams to include a section on dancing." 

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope was certain it was a joke, but at least it was funny. For the first time Lewis seemed to be relaxing more into the dance they shared, only just becoming more comfortable. Even, or perhaps especially, Penelope had noticed how Lewis never seemed to be completely comfortable at the balls he attended. It was a feeling which Penelope knew too well and she could not help but feel a sense of pride that she had seemingly eased his nerves if only for a moment.

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," Penelope declared with a warm smile, "after all, how can they have anything against it if you argue on the importance social events have in the profession," she continued. While Penelope was not jealous of the added pressure of these social gatherings having such an impact on his career she couldn't help but feel jealous of the fact that he had one.

Though maybe Penelope did have a career, just not in the same way as a man ever could, just not in a way she could take credit for. Lady Whistledown had a career because in the eyes of the ton Lady Whistledown could be a man regardless of the title used. Even those who suspected a woman behind the moniker would not have suspected it to be Penelope Featherington of all people. So while Lewis had to suffer through dancing and polite conversation he was a man and he had his career.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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Penelope raised a fair point. Social situations were a vital part of the career, more so than Lewis had ever anticipated when he had first embarked on his professional journey. Back home in Pwllheli, as a young man, he had been naïve enough to think that medical skill would be all that he needed. He had pored over the few medical books he owned — a gift from a naval surgeon who had once arrived in the port — for hours on end, long into the night, cramming his brain with as much as he possibly could. It had been difficult, especially in the early days; after knowing only Welsh for the majority of life, English was a difficult language to learn, and there were Latin words to learn on top of that. But he had worked, he had studied, and he had thought himself well-prepared when he arrived in London. 

He could scarcely have been more wrong. Very quickly, he had learned that medical skill accounted for only a tenth of one's success in the London professional circles. The thick accent and stumbling words did him no favours, either with his fellow students or with his instructors; his lack of connections held him back at every turn; and, to top it all off, his relative lack of charm put the final nail in the coffin. It was a small miracle that he had found himself a decent position in London at all, in the end. 

None of that, however, was suitable for polite party conversation. Holding in the urge to sigh, Lewis merely replied, "Right you are, Miss Featherington. And what a shame it is that these events are required. Not," he added hastily, "that I am implying you are bad company. I simply— well, all I mean to say is that parties are not... to my taste." 

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope smiled warmly as he admitted she was correct, she had of course believed herself to be hower it was nice to hear someone else say it once in a while. She was used to kind words from friends, and less kind words from her own family. But Lewis was not family nor was he really a friend so perhaps that was why his words warmed at her heart even more. "Thank you, for saying that, I believe not very many gentlemen would be capable of admitting a woman can be right," Penelope said, her comments more scatching towards the other men of the ton than a young lady's words should have ever been.

She knew it was cynical and therefore something her mother would never approve of but to a degree Penelope had ceased to care whether or not her words were found to be offensive to the men. Of course she would never voice her opinions outloud to most of them, she'd make a sly comment and share a secret laugh in the corner of a ballroom with Colin or Eloise but not more than that. Though perhaps that was because Penelope could not assure she would be able to make her way through a sentence such like it in the company of anyone else without stuttering and tripping over the words. It actually surprised her just how well she was able to string together a comprehensive sentence in Lewis's company.

"I didn't think you meant my company," Penelope assured him, offering a supportive smile, her hand squeezing his a little firmer, not many people would have asked her to dance or tried to hide the fact that they did not care for her presence so it was nice to hear someone insist they were at the very least neutral to her presence, "in fact there are nights where I wish I could rather spend my time in the comfort of my own room than prancing around one of these grand halls," she smiled, pausing before she continued, "would you like to hear how I make it a little more bearable?"

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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Lewis did not miss the bitterness in that barb against his sex. Initially, it was his instinct to take a little offence at that remark, but after a moment of reflection, he supposed he really could not argue that she was wrong. Many of the men he knew were quite open about the fact that they saw women as inferior at best and mere objects at worst. Few would deign to have a conversation with a woman unless they wanted something from her. He had never quite paused to consider how a woman herself might feel about meeting that sort of treatment over and over again, as Penelope surely must have. Besides, she was insulting men in a general sense, not him particularly — there was no reason to take offence at that. 

Really, the more he dwelt on the remark, the felt rather impressed. There was almost no one in the ton, man or woman, who ever dared to speak their minds openly, especially at events like this. It was infinitely safer to cloak everything in politeness and double meanings. Penelope was brash, in a way Lewis had certainly not expected her to be. He could admire that much. 

It was a comfort, too, to hear that she understood his feelings towards these balls, at least partially. She seemed to enjoy the dancing far more than he could claim to, but at least she shared the feeling that some nights would be better spent in one's own company. "Please," he replied, "enlighten me."

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope could tell he spent some time contemplating her words and she hoped she had not offended him. As Lewis mulled over her words it gave Penelope enough time to doubt them. The last thing she wanted to do was to have her words make him feel bad. Not even in the writing she did was her intention to hurt people, even when she wrote about people like Cressida Cowper Penelope tried her best not to let petty feelings cause her to be cruel.

Deciding whether or not she really should tell Lewis wasn't as straight forward and Penelope had expected it would be. It had become obvious enough the ton was not in the slightest bit observant, especially when it came ot her. Yet, she wasn't sure she wanted to prescribe Lewis to the same list of oblivious individuals, it seemed cruel after the kindness he had shown her during the evening. So really, her hesitation was nothing if not a show of respect and Penelope furrowed her brow, pressing her tongue against the back of her teeth.

"I watch people a lot," Penelope finally admitted, frowning the moment the words left her lips, it sounded more threatening than it did like entertainment, "I mean, my dance card is not very often full but my mama, she means well of course, but she believes if I stand around the side of the dance floor a gentleman or two will become interested, and so I do, and it's very difficult not to notice things quite a lot of the time," Penelope sighed, now she just sounded utterly pathetic instead.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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

The sentiment did not sound pathetic at all, at least not to Lewis. In fact, it sounded quite fitting; he had wondered how Penelope kept herself entertained on the fringes of ballrooms at so many events, and it only seemed right that she might spend her time observing the rest of the partygoers. 

Perhaps Lewis would do well to take a leaf out of her book. For the most part, he spent these evenings letting his mind drift as far away from the ballroom as it could go. As much as he might prefer to run over the day's operations or silently recite the dry medical texts he had read over the week, however, focusing on the other guests here would likely serve him far better in the social minefield of the ton. If Penelope truly spent her evenings in quiet observation, she must know a good deal about the people who attended these events. 

Mulling over the matter thoughtfully, he paused to let her spin from his fingertips, as the dance required, before she returned within speaking distance again. When she was back at his side, he replied, "That is a fine idea, Miss Featherington. I'm afraid I am rather hopeless when it comes to that sort of observation. I am sure you know more about any one person in this room than I know of all of them combined."

OWL

[lennie2]

Penelope knew she was not the only person of the ton who enjoyed gossip. She was fairly certain she did not even enjoy it half as much as many other people she spent a lot of time with did. It was always assumed the women of upper society spent their days gossiping amongst themselves, and yet Penelope was willing to bet a box of her favourite chocolates that men spent just as much time talking behind people's backs.

It was just most people Penelope knew would never say their opinions outloud, no they'd simply whisper behind people's backs or share hushed words at the market. She said what she thought of people, sure it was either only in the company of close friends and even so her words were hardly scathing. The only time her words seemed sharp enough was when she wrote her columns, Lady Whistledown could express herself in ways Penelope Featherington just wasn't able to.

The redhead offered a smile, glancing around the room for a moment she narrowed her eyes lightly in contemplation. "It might become easier with practice," she said, pursing her lips in thought, "for example, I believe Miss Lowes and Miss Finley may come to blows over Mr Reed soon if those looks they are giving each other is anything to go by." She said casually, her tone indicating nothing, as if Penelope simply had made a remark about the weather they were having.

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[Lewis Anwyl]

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Penelope would not have been wrong, at least in Lewis’ case, to presume that men gossiped as much as women. He would have balked at the idea of calling himself a gossip, but truth be told, be was one — he simply gossiped about medical colleagues instead of social peers. He was never one to hold his tongue when it came to whispering behind the back of a poorly-trained surgeon or a snobbish physician.

But when it came to Penelope’s shrewd observations, Lewis could not help but regard at the woman with a small measure of awe. To the members of the ton well-versed in social manners and connections, her observations might have seemed simple enough, but to Lewis, her ability to read the room was positively astonishing. He scarcely dared to look over at the two women she had indicated, lest he end up attracting attention, but when he chanced a quick glance, he saw absolutely nothing that could have brought him to the same conclusion she had just confidently voiced. To him, they looked like any other pair of women in the room — not close friends, perhaps, but cordial enough to arouse little suspicion. He did not doubt Penelope’s observations in the slightest, but it was a wonder to think of how she could glean so much from such minute signs.

The music, at last, came to an end, and Lewis dipped down into a bow with no small measure of relief. When he rose back upright again, he looked more genuinely pleased than he had all evening. “Well, Miss Featherington,” he said, “I believe that is the most I have ever enjoyed a dance. You are a most clever woman.”

OWL

[lennie2]

Since entering into society Penelope had grown used to being overlooked. It was not just her though, her sisters often found themselves standing to the side. But whereas Philipa and Prudence seemed to stick together, happily giggling and smiling with their arms linked together as they flirted their way through the grand ballrooms Penelope separated herself from the other two Featherington girls. She shrunk to the back of the room, free to observe and watch all that took place without most having noticed she was attending the social event in the first place.

It seemed only a matter of time before Philipa and Prudence would find a suitor willing to marry them. At the very least it seemed their mama was willing to believe so. It was not lost to Penelope how Portia Featherington seemed to favour spending her efforts pushing the elder two of her girls towards the men of the ton as she sighed and looked at Penelope with a disappointed gaze. If her mother only knew what Penelope had managed to accomplish in her life, if she knew Penelope was Lady Whistledown she would surely doubt everything which she had ever known. But even so, Penelope had a feeling her success would not be seen as such by her mother, no she was sure if Portia knew it would be her concerns of how Lady Whistledown could damage the chances Penelope and her sisters ever had to marry more than anything else that would become known.

As the music faded and the dance they shared came to an end Penelope offerd a smile, warm and kind brightening up her face, "the pleasure was all mine," she insisted, her tone of voice matching the warmth in her smile as she spoke, and her countenance seemed to have brightened, "thank you, I believe it may have made this night a little less insufferable."

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