Painted Roses

Mr. Cliffwood

That night, Rosalia slumped into her bedroom, exhausted. Having said she'd gone to freshen up, she'd spent all of ten minutes calming The Frog and his indignation – which was quite well founded to be fair (she would be annoyed as well if she'd been launched into the air by a cricket bat) – but she'd had to return downstairs soon after.

Leaving The Frog in her rooms, she'd spent the rest of the evening with her family, which was actually a far more enjoyable experience then she'd expected.

For once Antoinette didn't mention marriage, the entire evening. Dinner wasn't so quiet and everyone was there – included Beldon, who had arrived home in time for the evening meal.

Rosalia spent the evening in one of the parlours with her sisters while their brothers and father talked in the dining room.

They were careful about mentioning the entire event of the last few days. She could tell they were testing the water, wary of how much to ask her, wary that she might become too distressed.

She decided to not recount it. She left that retelling to Beldon once she had retired to her room. More than anything else, she wanted to sleep in her own bed so she was well rested for the next day.

She knew it would all be back to normal as soon as the sun rose – not that she would wake so early to see it.

The Season was starting. Friends were arriving from the country to take up residence in their town houses.

There was court to be attended. Galleries to view, parties to dance at, marriage proposals to avoid, the usual.

She quietly closed her door close to midnight, having said goodnight to her family and walked across the moonlit room to her vanity table, sinking onto the stool and slowly unpinning her hair from its long curls.

"You appear exhausted, Miss Rosalia."

The voice by the window made her jump and she looked around, having forgotten about her amphibious guest.

The Frog sat on the window seat, in a shard of moonlight. She smiled slightly.

"Yes, I suppose I'm still not totally rested from the last few days," she said, standing up and walking to the seat, sitting beside him, shifting her skirts aside so they didn't squash him.

"Surely glad to be home again however."

"Oh certainly," she said, finally reaching for the matches and lighting the candle on her vanity table – one of the things she missed when away from Rose Castle was the candles that lit themselves.

A knock at her door made them both look around and The Frog slipped into the shadows of the curtains just before a maid came in, carrying tea and cake.

She helped Rosalia change from her evening dress into night clothes, dressed her hair for sleep then bid her goodnight and closed the door.

Rosalia found The Frog with his back to her, hands over his eyes.

"You'll have to learn to stop hiding your eyes or you'll fall off something," Rosalia said, setting the tea tray down on the window seat before kneeling on the floor, "I didn't know frogs were such gentlemen."

"It's simply improper for a... male... of any species to see a lady in her night things," The Frog said and Rosalia smiled.

"Then is it not also improper for a male of any species to be in a lady's bedchamber?" she asked as she prepared herself a tea and The Frog almost bolted off the window seat, his destination most likely the door. "Now really!" she said, catching him, almost flattening him between the floor and her hand, "Is it your wish to be used as a cricket ball by one of my sisters again?" she asked, lifting him struggling back onto the window seat. "You've seen me in a far worse state then in simple nightclothes. Any male who has seen a lady running around looking like a madwoman can handle night things."