Painted Roses

Butterfly Effect

"You look beautiful tonight," Mr. Cliffwood said as they swept around the floor, his hand tight on her waist though mindful of the delicate wings. "Are you Beauty itself or something else?"

Rosalia smiled at him. "No, the costume is a butterfly, the beauty of freedom."

Mr. Cliffwood raised an eyebrow at her from behind his mask. "Freedom is it?" he said with a slightly laugh, "Well you would know of that."

"I beg your pardon?"

He shook his head and held her closer – closer then he probably should have, even for a waltz. "My sister is arriving soon."

"Oh wonderful, I look forward to meeting her."

"Yes, I would like to introduce you to her. And my brother."

"A brother?"

"Yes, Valentine never mentioned him?"

"He didn't, how careless of him."

Mr. Cliffwood laughed. "My brother went across to the continent some months back so he could travel back home with our sister. I'm sure you'll get along well with them."

"If they're anything like you, I'm sure I will."

Mr. Cliffwood smiled down at her, his hand tightening around hers before they stepped away from each other and bowed at the end of the dance, applauding the musicians.

Gently linking her arm around his, he escorted her off the floor and they slowly made their way around the huge room, watching as people milled around and talked, watching the dancers that were taking their places for the next dance.

"Freedom."

Rosalia looked up at Mr. Cliffwood as he muttered the word. "Sorry?"

"Do you greatly value your freedom?"

"Of course," Rosalia said.

"And what might make you give it up?"

"Depends on the freedom I'm giving up."

Mr. Cliffwood smiled slightly and eventually stopped, turning her towards him, taking her hands in his and taking several steps back, drawing them away from the main crowd of the room. She looked at their hands and, after five steps, stopped, forcing him to stop.

"Mr. Cliffwood?" she said, looking at him. Her finger tips suddenly turned cold and she took a slow breath to calm herself.

"My lady," he said, his voice low, "I intend to speak to your father in the near future."

Rosalia attempted to pull her hands free and he tightened his grip, pulling her a step closer.

"I wish to ask his permission—"

"Mr. Cliffwood."

"But I would very much like you to accept me first, before I make it official."

"Please, Mr. Cliffwood."

"I do not wish to marry you for any sort of gain other than to take a woman I can be happy with. I want you to accept first."

"Stop," Rosalia hissed, her eyes shifting for worry to anger. "This is all entirely improper and you know my intention for marriage already. You know I wish to marry for love and you, Mr. Cliffwood, as of yet, I do not love."

Mr. Cliffwood was quiet for a moment but his expression didn't change the way Rosalia had expected. She had rejected men before. They always reacted in one of two ways. Either a depression sank over them or a humiliated fury.