Sweet Words Of Romance

I often wonder about the part that language plays in real-life romances. Some men use words and flattery to sweep you off your feet in the beginning of a relationship. Although the words are sweet to hear (who doesn’t like being told that they’re “exquisite” or “beautiful”?) when these words are said too easily, I must admit that I wonder about their sincerity.

In my novel, Send and Receive, one of the characters, Victor Veritate, writes an article for a women’s magazine about romance heroes and the sweet words they often say. Here’s an extract:

We have established why women fantasise about the Tall, Dark and Daring man, but is this man necessarily a Romance Hero (or a RH as we shall call him from now on) ? Unlike men in Real Life, so-called RH’s sweep women off their feet into a dream world where they never have to do his dirty dishes or pick up his smelly socks. Women like the RH because the RH is someone who fulfils their every fantasy. Unfortunately, this paragon does not exist in Real Life, ladies, although there are a few men out there who’ll do their damnedest to make you believe he does. Don’t trust these men, my friends. Run a mile from any guy who quotes love poetry to you. Or says he’s a Sensitive Man. Except me, of course. I’m the one true exception to the rule. I’m Sensitive and Romantic. The sweet nothings I whisper into a woman’s ear actually mean something.

Some men are flatterers – they figure out what women like to hear, and then tell them exactly that – it’s like a fine linguistic art form, which they’ve perfected to win over the opposite sex. However, this can result in women perhaps overlooking quieter men, who may not be as fluent in language as their fellow romantic charmers. These men can either be shy, or reticent, or sometimes (to the dismay of their love interests) terribly offhand about romantic words of love, but this doesn’t mean they don’t care. Their love might simply be expressed in non-verbal ways.

This brings to mind a scene in my novel, Lord Fenmore’s Wager. Sir Max Sinclair manages to infuriate his love interest in the book, Charlotte, because of his rather lackluster view of romance. Here’s an extract:

The door opened at that moment, and Diana and Charlotte entered the room together, with Chloe at their heels. Diana smiled when she saw Sir Max, but Charlotte merely nodded her head briefly in his direction, before saying in an excited voice to Lady Sinclair, “Oh, ma’am, I have penned my latest sonnet—the best of all my sonnets, I believe. I was walking in the gardens when I was inspired! They are so beautiful.”
“The gardens or your sonnets?” Sir Max inquired.
“The gardens, of course,” Charlotte said, glancing at him impatiently. “Although this particular sonnet, I hope, could be described as beautiful.”
“Let us hear it then, my dear,” Lady Sinclair said, shooting her son an admonitory look.
He raised an eyebrow, then stood up and walked across to the mantelpiece, and leaned against it with his arms crossed, studying Charlotte with an impassive expression on his face as she scrabbled around in her reticule.
After withdrawing a pencil, a lacy handkerchief and a piece of pink ribbon from the reticule, she eventually found what she was looking for, and with a cry of satisfaction, placed a small scrap of paper on a side table, before proceeding to stuff the other items back into the reticule. Picking up the piece of paper, she peeped at her audience, before beginning in a lilting voice:

Hearing a slight choking sound, Charlotte looked up, and seeing the grin on Sir Max’s face, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Do you dare to laugh at me, sir?”
“No—no, Charlie, of course I don’t.”
“My name is Charlotte!”
“Indeed. Charlotte the—ah—Romantic.”
Charlotte sniffed. “All poets are romantic. You, on the other hand, are the least romantic person I have ever met! You scoff at sentiment in the most despicable way. It is because you are afraid of love. You have the soul of a—of a ...”
“Philistine?” Sir Max said helpfully. 
“Precisely!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“I am sorry to pain you, my dear, but I don’t think lovers would want flowers budding at their feet. They would be bound to trip over the flowers, or at least develop a violent allergy to them, and begin sneezing.”
Charlotte quivered in outrage. “The flowers are symbolic, and are meant to represent the beauty of love and the beginning of new life.”
“Of course, Charlotte, of course,” Sir Max said soothingly.
Charlotte wasn’t in the least soothed. She glared at Sir Max, before looking across at Diana who had sat down beside Lady Sinclair. “What do you think of my poetry, Diana?”
“I think you have a natural way with words. Not just anyone can write a sonnet, you know.”
Charlotte’s troubled expression cleared up immediately, and glancing triumphantly at Sir Max, she said, “You see! Diana is bookish so she knows what she is talking about.”
“And you think I don’t?” said Sir Max.
Charlotte looked him over carefully, from the top of his well-cropped hair, to the tips of his highly polished boots. “I don’t think about you at all if I can help it.”
“Charlotte!” Lady Sinclair exclaimed. “That was unforgivably rude! Apologise to Max at once!”
Sir Max chuckled. “No, no, Mama, I provoked her. I doubt she could help herself. And now ladies,” he said, bowing, “I will take my leave of you.” He smiled at Diana and Lady Sinclair, and quirked an eyebrow at Charlotte, whose colour was suspiciously high, before departing the room.

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