Roslyn Ross had long hated sleeping alone.

It was not as though it was something with which she had a great deal of practice. Between growing up with three sisters and the Hufflepuff dormitory, the marital bedchamber had always seemed rather quiet in comparison (well, in terms of sheer numbers of people at least), but it was a quiet she enjoyed when not utterly by herself. And so, though her husband was out quite late with some sort of engagement or another (work? social? a mix of the two?), Ros had preferred to wait up, sitting in her nightclothes on the chaise in the bedroom with a book.

The candle was growing small indeed when the bedroom door opened quietly to reveal her husband, and she looked up from the pages, smiling warmly at him even as she said teasingly, "And what hour do you call this?"