How Dialogue Can Shape A Novel

When I started writing my first novel, The Dashing Debutante, I didn’t start at Chapter One. Rather the story grew around a piece of dialogue that popped into my head, and which I then wrote down. The characters came to life in this piece of dialogue, and the story I ended up creating revolved around it. Here is the scene which inspired my first novel:

“What, Miss Grantham, are you doing masquerading as a boy?” 
Alexandra clenched her fingers tightly, but her nervousness did not show in her voice as she said firmly, “I do think that is my own business, your grace.”
“It is not,” the words came like gunshot. “When I promised to bring you into fashion, it was on condition that you abandon any hoydenish behaviour that you may have indulged in, in the past. What are you doing in that ridiculous getup?”
In the face of such controlled anger, Alexandra’s bravado began to slip a bit, but she lifted her chin and replied, albeit rather shakily, “I am not at liberty to tell you, my lord Duke. Suffice it to say that I have reasons of my own.” 
“I strongly recommend that you tell me the truth, Miss Grantham, or you will find the consequences of your refusal to comply — shall we say — undesirable.” 
Alexandra started at the unmistakable threat in the Duke’s words and, in the process of doing so, dropped Letitia’s letter which had been clasped tightly in her hands. The Duke’s eagle eyes alighted on it and, before she could retrieve it, he picked it up and broke the seal.
“That is a private letter, your grace,” Alexandra said in a panic-stricken voice, but the Duke paid no heed to her, and proceeded to peruse the sentimental words of love that Letitia had written to her swain. Raising his head, he looked directly at Alexandra, saying in a decidedly sardonic voice, “It seems as if I have mistakenly accredited you with sense, Miss Grantham. I am aware of my sister’s shortcomings in that area, but I had thought that you, at least, had a modicum of intelligence.”
Alexandra flushed angrily. “Perhaps you, my lord Duke, would define helping a friend as ‘senseless’, but I certainly do not!” 
“I define ‘helping a friend’ to ruin, Miss Grantham, as not only senseless, but extremely irresponsible,” the Duke said shortly. “George Winters is no more than a cad — a fortune hunter who exists on the fringes of society. No doubt his exclusion from Polite Society has made my impressionable sister see him in a romantic light — but he is nothing more than a reprobate.”
“How can you be so sure that Mr Winters is no more than a fortune hunter, your grace?” Alexandra challenged. “From what Letty has told me, he seems to be a most admirable man.” 
The Duke regarded Alexandra steadily. “It is common knowledge that George Winters has, in the past, attempted to elope with at least three other young heiresses. His attempts came to naught — but not through lack of trying. He is a scoundrel, and certainly not a fit suitor for my sister.”
“Oh,” Alexandra said, in a very small voice. “I… I… did not realise…” 
“No, you did not realise anything, Miss Grantham,” the Duke cut in icily. “You are so caught up in proclaiming your so-called independence, that you pay no heed to the consequences of your actions. No matter what you may believe, you are not up to snuff — you are no more than a green girl, foolhardy in the extreme. As I have told you before, you cannot go on in London as has been your wont previously. The ton sets certain levels of conduct which a young lady must adhere to, to be socially accepted. Neither your grandmother’s consequence, nor mine, could save you from social disgrace if it became known that you dressed up in a boy’s clothes to deliver an illicit letter to a bachelor’s lodgings.”
Alexandra’s eyes sparkled militantly, but she knew deep down inside that what Stanford had said was true. Despondently, she said, “I only wanted to help a dear friend. Poor, poor Letty — she truly seems to love this man…” 
“Like many girls her age, Letty is not very wise,” the Duke said, looking pointedly at her. Alexandra barely refrained from grinding her teeth. His grace continued, “Letty needs a man who will keep a firm hand on the reins.” 
“Next you will be referring to your sister as a highly strung filly, or something of that sort. Women are not horses, your grace!” Alexandra burst out indignantly. 
“On the contrary, Miss Grantham, I would say that women have many characteristics in common with horses — thoroughbreds, of course,” the Duke said, ignoring Alexandra’s glare. “Once they have got the bit firmly between their teeth, there is virtually no stopping them. It needs an excellent pair of hands to bring them to a halt.” 
“Which you, of course, profess to have,” Alexandra said, sarcastically.
“Which I know I have,” the Duke corrected smoothly.
“Sir, your conceit is outweighed only by your arrogance!”
“And your foolishness, my dear, only by your naiveté,” the Duke said softly.
Turning away from Stanford, she stared out of the window at the empty square, silently berating herself. Her actions, she had to admit, had been foolish and irresponsible — and the worst thing of all was that she could not defend them either to herself, or to the Duke for that matter. Impetuosity, she knew, had always been her besetting sin, and it seemed as if she had still not learned to think of adverse consequences that may result from a course of action that she embarked upon. Alexandra sighed, suddenly desperate that the Duke should not think too badly of her. For some reason that she could not fathom, she had begun to care rather deeply about the Duke of Stanford’s opinion of her — a state of affairs that she found both absurd and rather alarming at the same time. To think in that vein, she knew, was to begin to think of the Duke as someone rather more than a casual acquaintance — and that was something that she was simply not prepared to do.
Alexandra turned back to the Duke. “Please don’t be too harsh on Letty, your grace. The whole thing was really my idea… I realise now that I was in the wrong — and I ask you to accept my sincere apology.”
The Duke gave a brief nod, and smiled slightly. “You are forgiven, Miss Grantham — but next time you take one of your hare-brained notions into your head, think before you act.” 
Alexandra grinned. “Do you not mean er… ‘horse-brained’ notions, your grace?”
“Brat,” he said severely. “Were you never taught to respect your elders?” 

Read The Dashing Debutante, Lord Fenmore’s Wager and Send and Receive