Sweet Saturday: Waltzing with a Wallflower

This week's excerpt comes from Waltzing with a Wallflower, a story co-authored with Rachel Van Dyken (author of the USA Today Bestseller Ugly Duckling Debutante).

One of my favorite scenes from the book (from one of Rachel's chapters):

Ambrose laughed, but it was hollow. Just what was his brother getting at? “You want me to choose a woman based on….”

“Need. I want you to choose a woman based on need. What woman needs to be the toast—needs to be saved from scandal? Needs to find a wealthy husband? What woman deserves it?”

“Not that I’m known to be the vainer of the two of us.” Ambrose grinned. “But I could turn the Dowager of Marsaille into the most sought after woman in London, and you know it.” As if on cue the elderly lady laughed sending shivers throughout Ambrose’s body. The men gave each other a look of disdain.

“Of course I do, so you shouldn’t have any trouble with her.” Anthony pointed to the other side of the ballroom where several potted plants stood lining the wall.

“A plant? You want me to turn a plant into the toast of the ton?” Ambrose asked confused and simultaneously wondering how much champagne Anthony had already consumed.

“No, I want you to turn her into the toast of the ton.” He pointed again.

Ambrose rubbed his eyes straining to see what his brother was pointing to. “Do you see her, Wilde?”

Wilde shook his head, then paled. “Anthony, are you sure this is a good idea? Say, Ambrose, why don’t we go to the tables and—”

“—Where the devil is she?! I don’t see a thing. All I see is Lady Markham drinking her weight in sherry and the little chit in that God-awful green…um, yellow… what color is that dress? Oh—” he said all in the same breath. “Her? You want her to be the toast of the ton?”

“I think the color you’re looking for is putrid,” Wilde said in a helpful tone.

Ambrose cursed, ignoring his friend.

“Her name is Lady Cordelia.”

“I know her bloody name, Anthony. What game do you play at? She bloody well blends into the wall! The plant looks more inviting than the girl standing next to it!”

All three men watched as the lady in question appeared to be frozen, nay, paralyzed in her place. She gave the word wallflower a new meaning. Ambrose tilted his head to the side; surely she would look more inviting from another angle. After waiting several seconds, he gave up and cursed. Then he saw Anthony and Wilde doing the exact same thing.

“Doesn’t help,” he muttered, reaching for another glass of champagne. “Well, Anthony, you have outdone yourself.”

“So I have.” Anthony rubbed his hands together. “Shall we gain you an introduction?”

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