Writing time

Long day today and I'm smack dab in the middle of it. But here's a taste of something new for you. It's a selection from my upcoming novel (should it ever be published....)
Happy Saturday!


Yet another evening was doomed to pass in which Andrew Birkham proved his devotion to Abigail Handover and his complete and utter lack of interest toward Rebecca Dumate. Rebecca just knew it. He had danced every dance with Abigail save one, and the exception had been with Gillian Buchanan, Isabella’s younger sister. Honestly, the man ought to show some restraint, people were beginning to talk.
She began picking at invisible threads on her dress as she indulged in cloudy thoughts. She had danced a few times with various gentlemen, not that it mattered. He wasn’t even looking at her tonight. All that work and she might as well have been a Grecian urn for all the attention she was receiving. He had to be blind or immune. Maybe he was immune. Or ill. Or out of his mind. Or drunk. Or all of them together.
She cast a glance up at him, dancing again with his favorite. He seemed to be sober enough, both in body and mind. In fact, he looked as though he were enjoying himself. Quite a lot.
She didn’t try to hide her glower. No one had talked to her in a long while, so she didn’t see why she couldn’t make whatever faces she desired to. She wanted to go home. This minute. She needed a good cry and some of Lucy’s special strong tea.
Rebecca was jostled a bit as someone sat roughly in the seat next to her. She managed to keep a scowl in check, but only just.
“I say, Rebecca, are you quite all right? You look a bit out of sorts.”
She closed her eyes in dejection. Of course it would be him. It was always him. She opened her eyes wearily. “Yes, I am well, Andrew. Slight headache, but it’ll pass. They always do.”
“I certainly hope so. You look so lovely dancing out there, it would be a shame for you to remain so incapacitated.”
“I do not look lovely. Stop being nice to me.”
“I told you, Rebecca, I am rarely nice. I am, however, nothing if not honest. You are a marvelous dancer, and seem to enjoy it so, it is a true pleasure to witness.”
She turned to look at him severely, but found he was much closer than she thought he’d be, and in his eyes she saw honesty and earnestness. What an irritating man, to say such things and look so handsome without any effort.
“Thank you, Andrew,” she said with a smile, feeling her heart lifting slightly. Perhaps he was not so infuriating after all. He was just being nice to Abigail, same as he was with her. She held no advantage over Rebecca. They were on equal footing.
She straightened up and turned her smile as attractive as she could. “It is more enjoyable by far to dance with me than around me.”
His eyes twinkled merrily. “Is it? Well, then, as soon as my feet recover feeling, I shall test your theory.”
Before she could respond again, the devil’s female form appeared before them in all her deceiving beauty. “My lord, I wonder if it might be possible to return to Benbridge now. I am feeling rather fatigued, and think an early to bed would be most beneficial.”
“Certainly, Miss Handover, if you wish it,” Andrew said, standing swiftly and offering his arm. He turned to Rebecca with only a slight amount of regret being evident in his eyes. “I fear we shall have to save our dance for another time, Rebecca. You understand, I hope?”
A horrible bitter taste swarmed her mouth as she nodded as serenely as possible. “Of course, Andrew. Another time I’ll hold you to it.”
He smiled playfully. “I shall count on it.” Winking at her again, he walked away with Miss Hand-over-your-love, who did not look fatigued at all.
“Bloody tramp,” she muttered as she glared after them. How could Andrew be so blind as to not see her for what she was? Pure and undeniable evil wrapped in flawless beauty.
Rebecca stood slowly and moved to find one of her stupid besotted brothers to beg to return home. Her bed was looking more attractive by the minute.