A few days later Belle was spending the afternoon in her sitting room, reading and writing letters. She and John had hoped to ride over to Westonbirt to visit Alex and Emma, but inclement weather had put an end to their plans. Belle was sitting at her desk watching the rain beat down against the window when John walked in, his hands shoved boyishly in his pockets.
“This is a welcome surprise,” she said. “I thought you were reading over those investments Alex sent over.”
“I missed you.”
Belle smiled. “You can bring the papers up and read them here. I promise I won’t distract you.”
He dropped a kiss on the back of her hand. “Your mere presence distracts me, love. I wouldn’t read a word. You promised I could kiss you in every room in the house, remember?”
“Speaking of which, weren’t you going to write me a love poem in return?”
John shook his head innocently. “I don’t think so.”
“I distinctly remember the part about the poem. I may have to limit your kisses to the upstairs rooms.”
“You fight dirty, Belle,” he accused. “These things take time. Do you think Wordsworth just whipped out poems on demand? I think not. Poets labor over each word. They—”
“Have you written one?”
“Well, I started one, but—”
“Oh, please, please let me hear it!” Belle’s eyes lit up in anticipation, and John thought she looked rather like a five-year-old who had just been told she might have an extra piece of candy.
“All right.” He sighed.
“Fair is my love, when her fair golden hairs
With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark;
Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears;
Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark.”
Belle narrowed her eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, someone wrote that a few centuries before you did. Spenser, I think.” With a smile she lifted the book she had been reading. The Collected Poems of Edmund Spenser. “You would have gotten away with it an hour earlier.”
John scowled. “I would have written it if he hadn’t thought of it first.”
Belle waited patiently.
“Oh, have it your way. I’ll read you mine. Ahem. She walks in beauty—”
“For goodness’ sake, John, you tried that one already!”
“Did I?” he muttered. “I did, didn’t I?”
Belle nodded.
He took a deep breath. “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree—”
“You’re getting desperate, John.”
“Oh, for the love of God, Belle, I’ll read you mine. But I’m warning you now, it’s, well, it’s— Oh, you’ll see for yourself.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a much-folded piece of paper. From where she was sitting, Belle could see that the paper was liberally streaked with cross-outs and heavy editing. John cleared his throat. He looked up at her.
Belle smiled in anticipation and encouragement.
He cleared his throat again.
“My love has eyes blue as the sky.
Her warm, bright smile makes me want to try
To give her the world,
And when she’s curled
Up in my arms where I can feel her touch,
I realize again that I love her so much.
My world has turned from black to white.
Kissing in starlight, basking in sunlight, dancing at midnight.”
He looked up at her, his eyes hesitant. “It needs a bit more work, but I think I got most of the rhymes right.”
Belle looked up at him, her lower lip trembling with emotion. What his poem lacked in grace, it more than made up for in heart and meaning. That he had labored so long on a task for which he obviously had no aptitude, and just because she’d asked him to—she couldn’t help it, she started to sniffle, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, John. You must really, really love me.”
John walked to her and nudged her into a standing position before gathering her into his arms. “I do, my love. Believe me, I really, really do.”
About the Author
Julia Quinn started writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since.
The New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.
Please visit her on the web at www.juliaquinn.com.
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Avon Books by
Julia Quinn
BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN
DANCING AT MIDNIGHT
THE DUKE AND I
EVERYTHING AND THE MOON
THE FURTHER OBSERVATIONS OF LADY WHISTLEDOWN
(with Suzanne Enoch, Karen Hawkins and Mia Ryan)
HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS
MINX
AN OFFER FROM A GENTLEMAN
ROMANCING MR. BRIDGERTON
SPLENDID
TO CATCH AN HEIRESS
TO SIR PHILLIP, WITH LOVE
THE VISCOUNT WHO LOVED ME
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DANCING AT MIDNIGHT. Copyright © 1995 by Julie Cotler. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition August 2004 ISBN 9780061747885
First Avon Books paperback printing: December 1995
20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10
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Julia Quinn, Dancing at Midnight
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