Dancing
At Midnight had the working title of SPELLBOUND.
I was never particularly attached to this title, though, and
in fact had only chosen it because it went along with Splendid.
Of all my books, Dancing At Midnight required the most extensive revisions. In the original version,
John's main reason for pushing Belle away was societal strictures,
not his feelings of remorse over what happened during the war.
During the revision process, I learned that nothing is more
extensive than changing a character's motivation. I had to go
through the book and reexamine every word and thought of John's.
It was a difficult and time-consuming job, but I think the book
benefited greatly.
Dancing
At Midnight received its second cover facelift in 2009. I've loved all three covers for this book—they all feature a couple waltzing and just ooze romance. But while the covers may change, the words do not. The story is exactly the same as it was when released in 1995.
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Dancing
At Midnight is second in a trilogy. #1 is Splendid and #3 is Minx. Book 3.5 in the series is a novella about Ned Blydon. Look for "A Tale of Two Sisters" in Where's My Hero?
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Oxfordshire, England, 1816
If, one by one, you
weeded all the world--
Arabella Blydon blinked.
That couldn't be right. There
weren't any gardeners in The Winter's Tale. She held
the book farther from her face. Even worse. She pulled the book
closer. The type on the page slowly focused.
If, one by one, you wedded
all the world--
Belle sighed and leaned back
against a tree trunk. That made a lot more sense. She blinked
a couple of times, willing her bright blue eyes to focus on
the words that lay before her on the page. They refused to obey,
but she wasn't about to read with her face pressed into the
book, so she squinted and plodded on.
A chilly wind passed across her,
and she glanced up at the overcast sky. It was going to rain,
no doubt about that, but if she were lucky she'd have another
hour until the first drops fell. That was all the time she'd
need to finish The Winter's Tale. And that would mark
the end of her Grand Shakespearean Quest, the semi-academic
endeavor that had occupied her spare time for nearly six months.
She'd started with All's Well that Ends Well and proceeded
alphabetically, wending her way through Hamlet, all the Henry s, Romeo and Juliet, and a host of other
plays she hadn't even heard of before. She wasn't exactly sure
why she'd done it, other than the simple fact that she liked
to read, but now that the end was in sight she was damned if
she was going to let a few raindrops get in her way.
Belle gulped and looked this
way and that, as if afraid that someone had heard her cursing
in her thoughts. She glanced back up at the sky. A beam of sunshine
burst through a tiny hole in the clouds. Belle took that as
a sign of optimism and plucked a chicken sandwich out of her
picnic lunch. She bit into it daintily and picked up her book
again. The words seemed just as unwilling to focus as before,
so she moved the volume closer to her face, which she contorted
in a number of different ways until she found a squint that
worked.
"There you go, Arabella,"
she muttered. "If you can just hold this exceedingly uncomfortable
pose for another forty-five minutes, you should have no problem
with the rest of your book."
"Of course your facial
muscles will probably be quite sore by that point," drawled
a voice from behind her.
Belle dropped her book and whirled
her head around. Standing a few yards away was a gentleman in
casual yet elegant attire. His hair was a rich chocolate brown
and his eyes were the exact same color. He was looking down
at her and her solitary picnic with an amused expression, and
his lazy pose indicated that he'd been watching her for some
time. Belle glared at him, unable to think of anything to say
but hoping that her scornful gaze would put him in his place.
It didn't seem to do the trick.
In fact, he looked even more amused by her. "You need spectacles,"
he said simply.
"And you are trespassing,"
she retorted.
"Am I? I rather thought
you were trespassing."
"I most certainly am not.
This land belongs to the duke of Ashbourne. My cousin,"
she added for emphasis.
The stranger pointed to the
west. "That land belongs to the duke of Ashbourne. The
boundary is that ridge over there. And thus you are trespassing."
Belle narrowed her eyes and pushed
a lock of her wavy blond hair behind her ear. "Are you
certain?"
"Absolutely. I realize that
Ashbourne's land holdings are vast, but they are not infinite."
She shifted uncomfortably. "Oh.
Well, in that case, I am very sorry for disturbing you,"
she said in a haughty voice. "I'll just see to my horse
and be off."
"Don't be silly," he
said quickly. "I hope I am not so ill-tempered that I cannot
allow a lady to read under one of my trees. By all means, stay
as long as you like."
Belle considered leaving anyway,
but comfort won out over pride. "Thank you. I've been here
for several hours and am quite ensconced."
"So I see." He smiled,
but it was a small one, and Belle got the impression that he
was not a man who smiled often. "Perhaps," he said,
"since you will be spending the rest of the day on my land,
you might introduce yourself."
Belle hesitated, unable to discern
whether he was being condescending or polite. "I'm sorry.
I am Lady Arabella Blydon."
"Pleased to meet you, my
lady. And I am Lord John Blackwood."
"How do you do?"
"Very well, but you still
need spectacles."
Belle felt her spine stiffen.
Emma and Alex had been urging her to get her eyes examined for
the last month, but they were, after all, family. This Lord
John Blackwood person was a perfect stranger and certainly had
no right to offer her such a suggestion. "You can be sure
I will take your advice under consideration," she muttered,
somewhat ungraciously.
John inclined his head, a wry
smile touching his lips. "What are you reading?"
"The Winter's
Tale." Belle sat back and waited for the usual condescending
comments about women and reading.
"An excellent play,
but not, I think, Shakespeare's finest," John commented.
"I myself am partial to Coriolanus. It's not very
well-known, but I quite liked it. You might read that sometime."
Belle forgot to be pleased that
she had met a man who was actually encouraging her to read and
said, "Thank you for the suggestion, but I've read it already."
"I'm impressed," John
said. "Have you read Othello ?"
She nodded.
"The Tempest?"
"Yes."
John searched his brain for the
most obscure Shakespearean play he could think of. "What
about The Passionate Pilgrim?"
"Not my favorite, but I
plodded through it." Belle tried but couldn't stop the
smile that was creeping across her face.
He chuckled. "My compliments,
Lady Arabella. I don't think I've ever even seen a copy of The
Passionate Pilgrim."
Belle grinned, graciously accepting
the compliment as her previous antagonism toward the man melted
away. "Won't you join me for a few minutes?" she asked
him, waving toward the empty expanse of blanket spread out beneath
her. "I still have most of my picnic lunch, and I would
be happy to share it with you."
For a moment it looked as if
he would accept. He opened his mouth to say something, then
let out a tiny sigh and closed it. When he finally spoke, his
voice was very stiff and formal and all he said was, "No,
thank you." He took a couple of steps away from her and
turned his head so that he could stare out across the fields.
Belle cocked her head and was
about to say something further when she noticed with surprise
that he limped. She wondered if he'd been injured in the peninsular
wars. An intriguing man, this Lord Blackwood. She wouldn't have
half minded spending an hour or so in his company. And, she
had to admit, he was really quite handsome, with strong, even
features, and a body which was lean and powerful in spite of
his injured leg. His velvety brown eyes displayed obvious intelligence,
but they also seemed hooded with pain and skepticism. Belle
was starting to find him very mysterious, indeed.
"Are you certain?"
she asked.
"Certain of what?"
He didn't turn around.
She bristled at his rudeness.
"Certain that you don't want to join me for lunch."
"Quite."
That certainly got her attention.
No one had ever before told her that he was quite certain he
could do without her company.
Belle sat uncomfortably on her
blanket, The Winter's Tale lying limply in her lap. There
didn't seem to be anything she could say with his back half
to her. And it would have been impolite to start reading again.
John suddenly turned around and
cleared his throat.
"It was really too bad of
you to tell me I need spectacles," she said abruptly, mostly
just to get something in before he could.
"I apologize. I've
never been very good at polite conversation."
"Perhaps you should converse
more," she retorted.
"Were you using a different
tone of voice, my lady, one might suspect that you were flirting
with me."
She slammed A Winter's Tale shut and stood. "I can see that you were not lying. You
are not dreadful at merely polite conversation. You are lacking
at all forms of it."
He shrugged. "One of my
many qualities."
Her mouth fell open.
"I can see that you do not
subscribe to my particular brand of humor."
"I cannot imagine that many
people do."
There was a pause, and then a
strange, sad light appeared in his eyes. It disappeared just
as quickly, and the tone of his voice sharpened as he said,
"Don't come out here alone again."
Belle shoved her belongings into
her satchel. "Don't worry. I shan't trespass again."
"I didn't say you
couldn't come on my property. Just don't do it alone."
She had no idea how to reply
to that so she merely said, "I'm going home."
He glanced up at the sky. "Yes.
You probably should. It's going to rain soon. I've two or so
miles to walk home myself. I shall certainly be drenched."
She glanced around. "Didn't
you bring a horse?"
"Sometimes, my lady, it
is better to use one's feet." He inclined his head. "It
has been a pleasure."
"For you, perhaps,"
Belle muttered under her breath. She watched his back as he
walked away from her. His limp was quite pronounced, but he
moved much more quickly than she would have thought possible.
She kept her gaze fixed on him until he disappeared over the
horizon. As she mounted her mare, however, a compelling thought
entered her head.
He limped. What kind of man was
he that he preferred to walk?
John Blackwood listened to the
hoofbeats of Lady Arabella's mare as she cantered off. He sighed.
He'd acted like an ass.
He sighed again, this one loud
with sorrow and self-loathing and pure, simple irritation. Damn.
He never knew what to say to women anymore.
Belle set off back to Westonbirt,
the home of her relatives. Her American-born cousin Emma had
married the duke of Ashbourne a few months earlier. The newlyweds
preferred the privacy of country life to London and had resided
at Westonbirt almost continuously since their wedding. Of course
the season was over, so no one was in London anyway. Still,
Belle had a feeling that Emma and her husband would probably
avoid much of London's social scene even when the next season
was underway.
Belle sighed. She'd no doubt
be back in London for the next season. Back at the marriage
mart, looking for a husband. She was getting heartily sick of
the entire process. She'd been through two seasons already and
accumulated over a dozen proposals, but she'd rejected every
one. Some of the men had been completely unsuitable, but most
were decent sorts, well-connected and quite likeable. She just
couldn't seem to make herself accept a man she didn't care deeply
about. And now that she'd had a glimpse of how happy her cousin
was, she knew that it would be very difficult to settle for
anything less than her wildest dreams.
Belle spurred her horse into
a canter as the rain began to thicken. It was almost three o'clock,
and she knew that Emma would have tea ready for her when she
returned. She'd been staying with Emma and her husband Alex
for three weeks. A few months after Emma's wedding, Belle's
parents had decided to take a holiday in Italy. Ned, their son,
was back up at Oxford for his final year so he didn't need any
watching over, and Emma was safely married. That left only Belle,
and since Emma was now a married lady she was a suitable chaperone,
so Belle went off to stay with her cousin.
Belle couldn't imagine a more
pleasing arrangement. Emma was her best friend, and after all
the mischief they'd gotten into together, it was quite amusing
to have her as a chaperone.
Belle breathed a sigh of relief
as she rode up a hill and Westonbirt rose over the horizon.
The massive building was really quite graceful, with long, narrow
columns of windows marching across the facade. Belle was already
starting to think of it as home. She headed into the stables,
handed her mare over to a groom, and made a mad dash for the
house, laughing as she tried to dodge the raindrops which had
started to fall at a furious rate. She stumbled up the front
steps but before she could push open the heavy door, the butler
opened it with a flourish.
"Thank you, Norwood,"
she said. "You must have been watching for me."
Norwood inclined his head.
"Norwood, has Belle returned
yet?"
The feminine voice floated through
the air, and Belle heard her cousin's footsteps clattering along
the floor of the hallway that led to the foyer.
"It's starting to get quite
wet out there." Emma turned the corner into the foyer.
"Oh good! You're back."
"A little wet, but none
the worse for the wear," Belle said cheerily.
"I told you it was going
to rain."
"Do you feel responsible
for me now that you're an old married matron?"
Emma made a face which told her
exactly what she thought of that. "You look like a drowned
rat," she said plainly.
Belle made an equally unpleasant
face. "I'll change my clothes and come down for tea in
a moment."
"In Alex's study,"
Emma advised. "He's joining us today."
"Oh, good. I'll be right
down."
Belle headed up the stairs and
through the labyrinth of hallways which led to her room. She
quickly peeled off her sodden riding habit, changed into a soft
blue dress, and headed back downstairs. The door to Alex's study
was closed and she could hear giggling, so she wisely knocked
before she entered. There was a moment of silence and then Emma
called out, "Come in!"
Belle smiled to herself. She
was learning more and more about this married love thing by
the minute. Some chaperone Emma was turning out to be. She and
Alex couldn't manage to keep their hands off each other whenever
they thought no one was looking. Belle's smile grew wider. She
wasn't exactly sure about the particulars of making babies,
but she had a feeling all this touching had something to do
with why Emma was already pregnant. Belle pushed open the door
and walked into Alex's very large, very masculine study. "Good
afternoon, Alex," she said. "How has your day been?"
"Drier than yours, I understand,"
he said, pouring some milk in his teacup and ignoring the tea
entirely. "Your curls are still dripping."
Belle looked down at her shoulders.
The fabric of her dress was damp from her hair. She shrugged.
"Oh well, nothing to do about it, I suppose." She
settled down on the sofa, and poured herself a cup of tea. "And
how was your day, Emma?"
"Fairly uneventful. I've
been going over some of the books and reports from some of our
lands in Wales. It looks like there may be some sort of a problem.
I'm thinking of heading out there to investigate."
"You are not," Alex
growled.
"Oh really?" Emma countered.
"You aren't going anywhere
for another six months," he added, glancing lovingly at
his flame-haired, violet-eyed wife. "And probably not for
another six after that."
"If you think I'm going
to lay abed until the baby comes, you're mad in the head."
"And you have to learn who's in charge here."
"Well then, you--"
"Stop, stop," Belle
laughed. "Enough." She shook her head. Two more stubborn
people in this universe had yet to be found. They were perfect
for each other. "Why don't I tell you how my day went?"
Emma and Alex both turned their
faces to her expectantly.
Belle took another sip of her
tea, letting it warm her up. "I met a rather odd man, actually."
"Oh, really?" Emma
leaned forward.
Alex leaned back, his eyes glazing
over with a bored expression.
"Yes. He lives near
here. I think his land borders yours. His name is Lord John
Blackwood. Do you know him?"
Alex shot forward. "Did
you say John Blackwood?"
"It was Lord John Blackwood,
I think. Why, do you know him? John Blackwood is probably a
fairly common name."
"Brown hair?"
Belle nodded.
"Brown eyes?"
She nodded again.
"About my height,
medium build?"
"I guess so. He wasn't quite
as broad in the shoulders as you are, but I think he was nearly
as tall."
"Did he limp?"
"Yes!" Belle exclaimed.
"John Blackwood. I'll be
damned," Alex shook his head in disbelief. "And a
lord, too. He must have been granted a title for military service."
"He fought in the
war with you?" Emma asked.
When Alex finally responded,
his green eyes were far away. "Yes," he said softly.
"He commanded his own company, but we saw each other frequently.
I always wondered what happened to him. Don't know why I didn't
try to look him up. I suppose I was afraid I'd find out he was
dead."
That certainly caught Belle's
attention. "What do you mean?"
"It was strange,"
Alex said slowly. "He was an excellent soldier. There was
no one you could depend on more. He was absolutely selfless.
Constantly putting himself in danger to save others."
"Why is that strange?"
Emma asked. "He sounds like quite an honorable man."
Alex turned his head to the two
ladies, his expression suddenly clear. "The strange thing
was that for a man who seemed to have such disregard for his
own well-being, he behaved quite remarkably when he was wounded."
"What happened?" Belle
asked anxiously.
"The surgeon said that he'd
have to cut off his leg. And I must say, he was rather callous
about it. John was still conscious at the time, and the leech
didn't even bother to tell him directly. He just turned to his
assistant and said, 'Bring me the saw.'"
Belle shuddered, the image of
John Blackwood so ill-treated surprisingly painful.
"He went crazy,"
Alex continued. "I've never seen anything like it. He grabbed
the surgeon by his shirt and pulled him down until they were
nose to nose. And considering the amount of blood he'd lost,
his grip was remarkably strong. I was going to intervene, but
when I heard the tone of his voice, I held back."
"What did he say?"
Belle asked, on the edge of her seat.
"I'll never forget it. He
said, 'If you take my leg, as God is my witness, I will hunt
you down and saw off yours.' The doctor let him be. Said he'd
leave him to die if that's what he wanted."
"But he didn't die,"
Belle said.
"No, he didn't. But I'm
sure that was the end of his fighting days. Which was probably
all for the best. He was a superb soldier, but I always got
the idea that he abhorred violence."
"How odd," Emma murmured.
"Yes, well, he was
an interesting man. I quite liked him. Had an excellent sense
of humor when he chose to exhibit it. But he was more often
than not the silent type. And he had the quite the strictest
sense of honor I have ever experienced."
"Really, Alex," Emma
teased. "No one could be more honorable than you."
"Ah, my lovely, loyal wife."
Alex leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Emma's forehead.
Belle slumped back in her seat.
She wanted to hear more about John Blackwood, but there didn't
seem any polite way to ask Alex to say more about him. It rather
irritated her to admit it, but she couldn't deny that she was
incredibly interested in the unusual man.
Belle had always been very practical,
very pragmatic, and the one thing she had always refused to
do was deceive herself. John Blackwood had intrigued her this
afternoon, but now that she knew a bit of his history, she was
fascinated. Every little thing about him, from the quirk of
his brow to the way the wind ruffled his slightly wavy hair
suddenly took on new meaning. And his insistence upon walking
made much more sense. After fighting so fiercely to save his
leg, it was only natural that he'd want to use it. He struck
her as a man of principles. A man you could trust, depend upon.
A man whose passions ran deep.
Belle was so surprised by the
turn of her thoughts, she actually jerked her head back a little.
Emma noticed her movement and inquired, "Are you all right,
Belle?"
"What? Oh, just a little
headache. More like a twinge, actually. It's gone now."
"Oh."
"It's probably from
all my reading," Belle continued, even though Emma seemed
perfectly willing to let the subject drop. "I have to try
very hard to make the words focus these days. I think that perhaps
I ought to have my eyes examined."
If Emma was surprised by her
cousin's sudden admission that her eyesight was not quite what
it should be, she made no mention of it. "Excellent. There
is a very good doctor in the village. We'll see what he can
do." Belle smiled and picked up her tea. It was getting
cold.
And then Emma said a marvelous
thing.
"You know what we ought
to do," the duchess said to her husband. "We ought
to invite this John Blake person--"
"John Blackwood," Belle
interjected quickly.
"Sorry, this John Blackwood
person over for supper. With Belle here we'll be evenly matched
and we won't have to go out hunting for an extra woman."
Alex put down his glass. "An
excellent idea, my love. I think I'd rather like to renew our
friendship."
"That settles it,
then," Emma said matter-of-factly. "Shall I send him
a note or would you rather go 'round yourself to invite him
in person?"
"I think I'll go.
I'm eager to see him again, and besides, it would be rude of
me not to considering the fact that he saved my life."
Emma paled. "What?"
One corner of Alex's lips tugged
upwards in a sheepish smile. "Just once, my love, and there's
no point in getting upset over it now."
