An UnFROGetable Tale

It was the first summer when our family could afford to go on a proper vacation. I still remember my young nine-year-old self running free in the lush fields of the farmhouse and strolling along side of the beautiful private lake. I was nine and my older siblings who were all in their mid or late teens, were uninterested in joining me in a game of hide and seek or hop-scotch, not discouraged by their rejection I set out to explore the farm house's shimmering lake. As i got closer to the lake I could hear a faint humming, I looked around, not a soul in sight. The humming continued growing into vague wordings of an unfamiliar song. I checked again. No one there. The humming grew louder and so did my determination to find the source. The grass began to stir and out came a frog in sight.
"What is a young lady like yourself doing all the way out here?"
My first reaction was to turn around see if the farm attendants were around, no one there, but how could this be? Surely that creature on the ground had not just spoken to me.
"I sincerely apologize if i frightened you, that was not my intention."
I sat down on the muddy ground not caring that I was ruining my best frock. I analyzed every angle of the creature that sat opposite of me staring at me with its large beady eyes.
"Can-you-understand-me?" I asked rather loudly while overly using my hands as if speaking in sign language. This offended my green companion.
"Yes i do, no need to shout" he answered turning away.
"But, but-- how can you? You’re a-- a--" I stammered and shrugged.
"Frog" he finished my sentence for me, grinning.
"Can all frogs talk?" I wondered aloud.
"Of course not" answered the toad rather indignantly. "Frogs do not converse in civilized manner they merely 'Ribbip" in affirmative and 'Ribbit' in a negative."
It turned out that instead of Ribbit Ribbip Fredrick was a highly eloquenced, ethically
appropriate and extremely charming eighteenth century Duke, Sir Frederick Shomwau Zander. I just called him Freddy; the whole thing was a mouthful. Freddy could speak French, Latin, Greek and fine English. He always corrected my grammar, not one of his likable characteristics. He had endless tales to tell of his homeland Edinburgh. His attendants. Especially a particular one whose memory was rather weak and provided quite a many hilarious anecdotes to Freddy to keep me entertained over night. Freddy had every quality of a dreamy and perfect prince, and my young-fairy-tale-believing self wondered he'd turn into a prince with a kiss? Except for his appearance, he was an endearing creature. Or so I thought. I'd inquired many times as to how did a wealthy, handsome Duke end up as a insignificant little toad? He eluded my inquires with vague meaningless answers, and I wondered whether things were really as pleasant as my imagination had painted them to be...

[First draft of an unfinished story.]