"A minor technicality." He started to kiss her again, barely able to believe that she would soon be well and truly his.
"A major technicality," Belle said in an annoyed voice. "I can't believe what you just said to me. You want to marry me and be done with it? Good gad, that's awful."
John realized that he had blundered but was too relieved to make amends. "Well, what my proposal lacked in grace, it made up for in sincerity."
"It better have been sincere." Belle shot him a disgruntled look. "I'll say yes just as soon as you ask me properly."
John shrugged his shoulders and pulled her back to him. "I want to kiss you some more."
"Don't you want to ask me something first?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"What do you mean?" Belle tried to squirm away from him, but he held firm.
"I mean to kiss you."
"I know that, you oaf. What I want to know is, why don't you want to ask me something right now?"
"Ah, women," John said, sighing melodramatically. "If it's not one thing, if s another. If-"
Belle punched him in the arm.
"Belle," he said patiently. "You must realize that you have thrown down the gauntlet. You're not going to say yes until I do it right, right?"
Belle nodded.
"Then allow me a short grace period at least. These things take time if one wants to be creative about it."
"I see," Belle said, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile.
"If you want romance-true romance, mind you, you're going to have to wait a few days."
"I think I'll manage."
"Good. Now will you come over here and kiss me again?"
She did.
***
John came by later in the week. As soon as he had Belle alone, he pulled her into his arms and said,
"Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame-"
"Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be," Belle finished. "I'm afraid if s your bad fortune that my governess was mad about John Donne. I've got most of it memorized." At his disgruntled look, she added, "But I must commend you on your passionate recitation. It was quite moving."
"Obviously not moving enough. Out of my way, if you please, I've got work to do." Head down, he tromped out of the room.
"And stay away from the Donne!" Belle called out. "You'll never fool me with one of his."
She couldn't be certain, but she thought she heard him mutter a rather inelegant word as he shut the front door behind him.
***
John made no mention of his impending proposal during the entire next week, even though he escorted Belle to a few affairs and called on her nearly every morning. She didn't bring up the topic, either. She knew he would deny it, but he was enjoying his plans, and she didn't want to spoil his fun. Every so often he would give her a sidelong assessing kind of glance, and she knew he was up to something.
Her suspicions proved correct one morning when he arrived at the Blydon mansion with three dozen perfect red roses, which he promptly laid at her feet right in the middle of the great hall. He sank down on one knee and said,
"Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine."
He almost got away with it. Belle's eyes misted up, and when he said the part about the kiss in the cup, her right hand strayed involuntarily to her heart.
"Oh, John," she sighed.
Then disaster struck.
Persephone descended the stairs.
"John!" she cried out in a delighted voice. "That is my absolute favorite! How did you know?"
John lowered his head and clenched his fists at his sides. Belle shifted her hand from her heart to her hip.
"My father used to recite that to my mother all the time," Persephone continued, her cheeks rosy. "It never failed to make her swoon with happiness."
"I can imagine," Belle muttered.
John looked up at her, his expression sheepish.
"And it was especially appropriate, you know," Persephone added, "as her name was Celia, God rest her soul."
"Appropriate?" Belle asked, her eyes never leaving John's. As for him, he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"It's called 'Song: To Celia,' after all. By Ben Jonson," Persephone said with a smile.
"Is it now?" Belle said wryly. "John, who is Celia?"
"Why, Persephone's mother, of course."
Belle had to admire him for keeping a straight face. "Well, I'm glad that Jonson wrote the verse. I'd hate to think that you were writing poetry to someone named Celia, John."
"Oh, I don't know, Celia's a fine name, I think."
Belle offered him a sickly sweet smile. "I think you'll find that Belle is far easier to rhyme."
"I'm sure it is, but I prefer a challenge. Now then, Persephone-that would be a poem worthy of my intellect."
"Oh, stop," Persephone laughed.
"Persephone… Hmmm, let's see, we could use cacophony, but that's not very elegant."
Belle couldn't help but be swept away by John's good humor. "How about lemon tree?" she offered.
"That has definite possibilities. I shall have to get to work on it immediately."
"Enough teasing, my dear boy," Persephone said, taking John's arm in a maternal fashion. "I had no idea you were such an admirer of Ben Jonson. He is a particular favorite of mine. Do you also enjoy his plays? I adore Volpone , although it is rather wicked."