Happiness Can't Be Arranged

by grayautumnsky13

AU written for the Love From OQ Valentine's Exchange. Set during the Regency Period, Henry and Cora arrange a marriage for their daughter in an effort to save their family's name and estate.

14. Chapter 14

Regina rolls onto her side and tucks her hands under her cheek–and a smile draws onto her lips as she notices the warm, morning sun pouring in through the thick, beveled glass window panes. The light shines through, creating a smattering of little rainbows that covers the floors and rugs and the patchwork quilt on their bed–and, as she notices with a soft giggle, Robin's cheeks.

In the three days they'd been at the hunting lodge, they'd barely seen the sun. Each day they awoke to gray skies and rain, which forced them to stay indoors. Every morning, Robin went to the window and looked up at the sky and sighed dramatically–as if his disappointment alone could change the weather. She'd reminded him again and again that their time wasn't limited, that they had however long they wanted and the little adventures he'd so carefully planned for them and the boys hadn't been wasted.

In those days, they'd quickly fallen into new routines–waking later than they were used to and finishing off a bottle of wine with dinner. Though the staff at the house was small, they learned that the butler also doubled as a groom, tending to the stables–and to the boys' great delight, he'd 'hired' Henry and Roland to be his stable boys. Every morning, despite the rain, they awoke and dressed quickly and followed the elderly man out to the stables where they fed the horses and mucked out the stalls. They brushed them and made sure they had enough water, and they returned to the house to eat whatever breakfast Mrs. Beakley chose to make–and then, after breakfast, Mrs. Potter would take them up to Belle to change. It was usually around that time that Robin and Regina woke up and on the last two mornings, the boys had come bounding into their room and jumped into bed with them, regaling them with stories about the getting to care for the horses and jumping in mud puddles and eating fried potatoes and sausages and hotcakes.

They spent the day before exploring the house–the previous day was spent mostly in the dusty attic, looking at old furniture and through trunks of hidden treasures–and in the evenings they sat around the fire. The first night, Roland had sat on her lap and Henry cuddled into her side as Robin made up stories; then, on the second night he found an old sheet and tied it to either end of the mantle and the boys laughed and laughed as he put on a little shadow puppet show for them, telling a story of two alligators who'd somehow escaped the jungle and were navigating their way through Bombay.

And once they'd tucked in the boys, they found themselves up for hours after, talking and drinking wine and trading the occasional kiss.

Since coming up to the hunting lodge, Robin had given up shaving. His cheeks were coarse and scratchy, and the beginnings of a beard were forming–and though she wasn't generally attracted to men with beards or mustaches, it suited him. And when he kissed her, it tickled and made her giggle.

They'd gotten closer–at least physically–in those three days. It was easier here to be freer with her feelings–and he seemed to feel the same way. There wasn't anyone watching who'd sigh or shake their head, no one clicking their tongue or reminding them of what was and wasn't appropriate. The usual rules seemed not to apply–and they both seemed grateful…

"M'lday," Belle murmurs as she pokes her head into the room. "Are you awake?"

"I am," Regina replies in a soft whisper as her eyes shift to her maid.

"I just wanted to let you know that Winston and the boys are back from the stables." She grins. "We might not have rain today, but we certainly have a lot of mud."

Regina laughs softly. "I'm positive they did their best of avoid it."

"They're changed now and clean," Belle tells her. "They're eating in the kitchen with Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley."

Yawning, Regina nods. "We'll be down soon."

"Shall I have Mrs. Beakley make you and Mr. Locksley a tray?"

Her lip catches between her teeth as her eyes shift to Robin, and she finds herself shaking her head. "No, we'll be down when we're ready," she says, looking back to Belle. "I wouldn't want breakfast to get cold waiting for us."

Belle nods. "I'll let her know."

"Thank you," Regina says, yawning again as she stretches out her legs and sits up a little, propping herself up by her elbows. "By the way, what's on today's menu?"

"Something called breakfast stew," Belle says, her brow furrowing as her lip catches between her teeth. "I didn't try it yet since there were some leftover hotcakes that'd have been fed to the birds by afternoon." She shrugs. "But the boys seem to like it, and if they don't, they're doing a good job of hiding it."

"Ah," Regina murmurs, chuckling softly. "That sounds… curious."

"It smells good…"

"I'm sure it does." A grin pulls onto her lips, and she glances to Robin. "We'll be down soon."

Belle nods and then pulls the door closed again–and Regina rolls onto her side. It occurs to her that she should wake Robin–it is, after all, already much later than their usual wake up time.

A soft grin pulls onto her lips as she watches him sleep–and she can't help but notice how, in that moment, he looks so much like his son. It's not often that their similarities are noticable. While Roland has Robin's demeanor and the same dimples that sink into his cheeks whenever he smiles his mischievous little smile, from what she's been told, Roland is the spitting image of his mother. But in that moment, as Robin sleeps, she can't help but see his son–the way they both lay on their backs as they sleep with their head turned to the side on the pillow, the way their lips part and their eyelids flutter as they dream, and of course, the same peaceful–and of course, dimpled–smile.

Taking a breath, she props up her head, chewing at her bottom lip as she considers getting up on her own and allowing him to sleep through breakfast–after all, he'd been constantly on since they'd arrived. He hadn't a moment to spare, always coming up with new ways to entertain them, always trying to ensure that they were having a fun time.

And wasn't just while the boys were with them.

Long after they'd tucked in Henry and Roland, she and Robin would retire to the sitting room. Mrs. Beakley would leave out the leftover desserts–and had quickly learned to also leave a bottle of wine–and then they'd retire to their room. Robin would build a fire and light the candles so they could see and they'd finish off glass after glass of wine until the bottle was empty. He taught her card games that his grandfather taught him and by the time they climbed into bed it was early in the morning, and they'd talk until the sky was turning light–and then, each goodnight kiss seemed to last longer than the last, leaving her flushed and wanting more.

She found herself anticipating each part of the day, and enjoying the balance of time with the boys and time together–and she couldn't wait to see what new adventure was in store for them today.

Slowly, she moved away from him, edging back to her side of the bed and away from the center–and just as she was about to swing her legs over the side, she felt him reach for her.

"No, not yet," he told her in a groggy voice. "Stay."

"The boys are having breakfast and–"

"That's wonderful," he cut in. "And since our children are not starving in our absence, I see no need to get up."

"It's sunny outside."

"Also wonderful," Robin says, his eyes finally fluttering open as a grin edges into his lips. "But the sun will be out all day."

"Robin…"

"Come on, get back into bed." He shrugs his eyebrows and she laughs. "I just want to lay with you for a little bit."

"You know," she murmurs, picking her legs back up and pushing her feet back underneath the covers. "Some might mistake your meaning with that."

"Some might…"

Laying back, she rolls onto her side and once more props her head up with her hand. "We're missing out on something called breakfast stew."

Robin's face scrunches. "That has been a staple here for… well… as long as I can remember."

"A family tradition."

"Some traditions are meant to die."

Regina's eyes widen as she laughs out–and her heart flutters as Robin's smile brightens. "Is it really that bad? Belle said is smelled good and the boys were enjoying it."

"Need I remind you that your son is too polite not to eat it, and mine attempted to eat a flower the last time we took them to the pond at Sherwood."

Her lip catches between her teeth. "That's… a fair point."

"And smells can be deceiving. It's how Mrs. Beakley lures us in."

"Is it now?"

"Mmhmm…"

"Interesting."

"More like clever."

Regina's eyes roll. "Is there a difference?"

"Sure there is," he says in a confident tone. "For example interesting might be something you'd say as response to one of the boys' drawings–is it a cow or a dog or perhaps a dying flower? Who knows! But it's interesting." A grin twists onto his lips. "And clever is… well… what you thought you were being just a few minutes ago."

Her brow furrows. "I'm sorry?"

"When you were watching me sleep."

"I… don't know what you mean," she says dismissively, swallowing hard in a failed effort to seem indifferent. "I was… just laying here, trying not to wake you."

"Ah, I see…" he murmurs.

"It's true."

"I've seen the way you look at me when you don't think I can see you," he says plainly–and she feels her cheeks flush. "You were watching me sleep, looking at me… the way that you do." He grins as her eyes widen. "And you thought you were being clever."

"I… don't look at you in any particular way." She takes a breath. "I was simply debating whether or not I should get up and leave you here, or wake you up."

"Ah, of course…"

"I was!"

He laughs. "You are awfully defensive about this."

"I'm not…"

"Mm…"

"I'm not!"

Leaning in, he pushes his hand into her hair and draws her in. His lips brush over hers and she can't help but smile as he leans in the rest of the way and kisses her softly–and she just can't help but kiss him back. When he pulls away, her cheeks are once again flushed and her chest flutters as he offers her a quick wink. "Well, however it is that you look–or don't look–at me, I'm glad you waited for me to wake up."

"Are you?"

"I am," he says with a nod, "And I suppose we should go downstairs for breakfast–after all, it'd be rude to pass up such an interesting stew."

Her lips press together and she tries not to laugh–she shouldn't laugh because it isn't funny, it's not even really a joke–yet for some reason, she just can't help herself.

Robin looks up as Regina comes into the tiny dining room–and his brows immediately arch. She wears a high-waisted gray skirt and a soft pink shirtwaist that flared out just above her hips and midway down her arms. There was a subtle gray ruffle that trimmed the top and around her neck she wore a simple gray pendant on a thin gray ribbon.

"Is that new?" He asks as comes into the room and kisses the top of Henry's head as she slides into the empty chair between them. "I don't think I've seen it before."

"It's not," she says as she drops her napkin into her lap. "You might not believe this but, this skirt is… older than Henry and the shirtwaist I've had for longer than I can remember, but it used to be a dress." She grins. "I arranged for Belle to take sewing lessons from Ruby and–"

"Ah, of course."

A grin pulls onto her lips. "And they've been… updating some of my old things."

"How frugal," he says as he reaches to the center of the table for the teapot. "I'm sure that was your motive."

Regina's eyes roll as he pours tea into her cup. "It's better than commissioning a new one every time I need an excuse to toss the two of them at each other. I'd bankrupt you."

"My father would thank you if he know how… thoughtful you've been about your spending."

"Oh, he'd never bring himself to do that," Regina laughs as she brings the cup to tea to her lips and takes a quick sip, looking at him from over the rim. "He couldn't lower himself."

Robin's lips part as he considers a smart reply–but Henry's voice beats his.

"Can we go outside today since it's not raining?" he asks as he looks to Robin and then to his mother. "It's the first sunny day since we got here. Please can we go?"

He watches as Regina's face softens as she turns to her son, reaching out and wiping a little stew from his chin. "You don't even know what we'd all be doing outside."

"It doesn't matter," Henry says plainly. "We'd be outside."

"I do believe that's a fair argument," Robin says, his brow arching as he nods and looks pointedly at Regina and laughing as she looks between them.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being ganged up on? Why are the two of you making it seem that I'm opposed to going outside today?"

Again, Robin laughs but Henry's expression turns serious. "Because you always say no to fun things."

"Always?"

"Well, when you think something's a bad idea you do."

"And you think that I would think going outside to play would be a bad idea?"

Henry shrugs. "I don't know. I don't usually think my bad ideas are bad ideas until you tell me that they are."

Regina blinks and Robin bites down on his lip to keep himself from laughing. "And what do you think, Roland?" Regina asks, straightening her shoulders as she looks to his son, sitting across from her and stuffing cornbread into his mouth. The boy's eyes widen as he looks at her and it's obvious that he's struggling to chew–and a snicker escapes him as he watches Henry sneak a napkin to Roland underneath the table and Roland, not so discreetly, spits out half of the cornbread and swallows the other half.

"I… think Henry's right," Roland says finally. "We should go outside."

"Well, then it's settled," Regina says. "Even if I did disagree–and I never said that I did–I'm obviously outnumbered."

"Excellent," Robin says, a victorious little grin edging onto his lips as he leans back as he dips his spoon into the stew. "I've got a whole day planned."

"Can we have a picnic?" Henry asks, his eyes widening with excitement as he reaches for more cornbread.

"Can we not have stew?" Roland asks, looking to Robin with less excitement as Henry selects the last piece of cornbread from the basket at the center of the table. "I don't much like it."

"Yet you ate three bowls," Robin laughs and from the corner of his eye, he can see Regina shaking her head. "I'll see what the kitchen can scrounge up," he tells them. "Stew isn't really a picnic food." His eyes slide to Regina and his grin widens. "And you know, if you don't like what's prepared, we'll be heading down to the orchard. You can always stuff yourself full of apples." He leans in. "I've a feeling that's what your mama will be doing anyway."

Regina's eyes roll as she sighs, a little too loudly. "Did we ever find out if the mill was up and running?"

"Winston runs it," Henry says. "But only when the apples are ready to harvest. He makes apple butter and ciders and brings some to the kitchen for cakes and pies and–"

"How do you know this?"

Henry blinks as he looks to Regina. "He told me when we were brushing the horses the other day." Then, Henry's eyes widen a little and a smile stretches across. "Can we take the horses!? Can I ride one?"

"Oh, I don't…"

"Regina," Robin cuts in. "I started riding when I was Henry's age and I'm sure you did, too."

"Yes, in a little corral," Regina says plainly as her eyes narrow. "And my first horse was… a grandmother."

"And I'm sure you and your aged horse always stayed in the corral."

He grins as her jaw tenses. "When I was Henry's age I did."

"Did your horse have gray hair?" Roland asks, oblivious to their banter. "If she was a grandmother, I bet she had gray hair."

Robin laughs and he feels his chest flutter as Regina's grin warms as her attention turns to Roland. "No," she tells him. "She didn't have gray hair and… to be completely honest, being a grandmother didn't mean she was that old."

"But grandmother's are old," Roland says, his brow furrowing as he drags his spoon back and forth threw his stew.

"Horses age differently and my horse was white."

"And not because she was old?"

Regina shakes her head. "No."

"Oh…"

"So, is that a yes to riding the horses?" Henry asks, a nervously bright grin stretching across his lips as he looks between them. "Please?"

Robin laughs and then looks to Regina, doing his best to have his grin match Henry's. And finally, with a roll of her eyes, she concedes. "Fine," she sighs. "But you are going to walk alongside him."

"I wouldn't think of doing anything else."

"Really?" Henry asks, his voice piquing with excitement as he looks to his mother. "I can? Really?"

Regina sighs. "Really, you can."

"I'm going to go change," he announces as he starts to slide from his chair. "If I can be excused?"

"Me too!" Roland echoes. "I need to change, too!"

Regina laughs as Roland hops down from his chair and runs off after Henry. "I promise you," Robin says, his voice suddenly serious. "I won't let him fall."

"I know you won't."

"I'll walk beside him the whole time. I won't let go of the reins."

"I know."

"And you'll have Roland sit with you?" Robin pauses. "That won't be awkward in an English saddle?"

Regina's brow creases. "I don't ride side-saddle. It'll be fine."

"Ah, that's right," he says, chuckling softly. "You're a rebel."

"That's one word for it."

Again he laughs and then, his expression turns a bit more serious. "You know, I have incredibly fond memories of those trails that lead out to the orchard and the orchard itself," he tells her. "I know my grandfather was a lot of things, but he was good to me and I've wonderful memories of him." A grin pulls onto his lips. "And I am very glad to get the chance to share that with the boys and make new memories with them… and… I'm also glad to get to share both of those things with you."

"I am, too." Her lip catches between her lip and she leans back in her chair. "What was your grandfather like?"

"He was a playboy," Robin says, chuckling softly as he shakes his head. "And an opportunist."

"So I've heard…"

"I'm sure… and I'm sure you've heard he had a torrid love affair with the housekeeper up here."

"My mother told me," she nods. "I assume that housekeeper wasn't Mrs. Potter?"

"No–her sister."

"I… somehow wasn't expecting that."

"Her name was Josephine, but everyone called her Fifi–or that did when she was little." He sighs. "She could never win with my father, but I liked her. She always had candy and when I'd visit, she'd leave some on my pillow whenever she'd clean up my room."

"Can anyone win with your father?"

"My mother could, or so I'm told." He smiles a bit wistfully as his eyes fall away from hers. "But that's another story, for another time."

"I… I think I'd like to hear it."

Robin shrugs, "I don't know much about my mother, actually. She died when I was little."

"I'm sorry…"

"I am, too," he says. "But, alas, there's not much to be done about it now." He grins. "Fifi always told the best stories about my mother, though, and for a long time she single-handedly kept her memory alive for me."

"Then what happened?"

"We stopped coming here."

"Oh…"

"Honestly, I was surprised my father didn't sell it off or even rent it out to a tenant, but…" His voice trails off as he considers that–considering it for the first time in his life. "My mother, according to Fifi, was the reason the orchard exists on the property." He grins. "There used to be a little bench that the trees circled around, she used to take me there and read to me."

"That's sweet."

He nods. "I wonder if that bench is still there…"

"There's only one way to find out," Regina replies, grinning as she looks at him.

"I'm glad we're here," he says, almost abruptly, feeling an odd rush of emotion as he remembers things he hasn't thought about since he was a boy. "I'd… forgotten so much of what makes this place special to me."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," she admits softly. "And… I'm glad you're willing to share it."

"There's no one else I'd share it with," he tells her, reaching out and placing his hand over hers.

Her cheeks flush and she looks away, and he can't help but smile. He means it, too–he's never let anyone in the way he lets her in, and he does it so effortlessly. Right from the start it was so easy to be in her company and though she initially struggled with trusting him, he's always felt so secure in her company. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about her that made he feel that way, but it'd been instant and deepened with everyday that passed. At first, he thought it was mutual heartbreak that made it so easy to confide in her and that formed a sort of connection between them. But it wasn't long before he realized that it was more than that–so much more. He hadn't always been the man he was when he was with her–the man she believed he was, then man she made him into–but he liked who he was when he was with her, and he loved that she gave him reason to hope for the future without sacrificing the past.

Regina rounds the corner and finds herself standing at the threshold of a stone walled kitchen. A smile draws onto her lips as she takes it in, reminded of the kitchen at the inn where she and Daniel lived. There's a large open hearth and a few pots hanging on hooks over the flame and rows of wooden tables caked in flour. Jars and crates line the surfaces and she can hear Mrs. Beakley humming as she unpacks what appears to be a shipment of groceries–and for a moment, she hesitates, not wanting to interrupt.

But as she shifts herself, the floorboard beneath her shoe creaks and Mrs. Beakley looks up suddenly with wide, startled eyes.

"I'm sor–"

"Oh, no, M'lady," the cook cuts in. "You shouldn't apologize. I'm just not used to having, well… people around." She shrugs. "You've every right to come down to the kitchen, I'm just not used to it."

"I wouldn't imagine so," Regina murmurs, a bit awkwardly as she shifts on her feet and the cook wipes her hands on her apron. "We've completely interrupted the usual flow of things."

"That's true," Mrs. Beakley says. "But it's not a bad thing. We're glad for something to do." She shakes her head and grins. "I apologize for the stew. That's not the sort of thing I like to serve, but I think the grocer missed my note to adjust my usual order."

"Robin said it was a family tradition."

Mrs. Beakley nods. "I suppose it is, but…" She sighs. "That doesn't mean it should keep going on."

"Robin said something similar this morning," Regina says, a chuckle rising into her voice as she remembers the way his nose had scrunched as he explained the stew. "The boys seem to enjoy it."

"But little boys will eat almost anything." Then, a knowing grin edges onto her lips. "Almost."

Again, Regina laughs and nods. "That's true, I suppose." For a moment, silence falls between them and again, Regina shifts awkwardly. "Um, Robin and I were planning on taking the boys riding today."

"It's a good day for it," Mrs. Beakley says warmly as she leans against one of the wooden counters. "Finally."

"He said something about taking them to a nearby pond and the orchard."

"I'll let Winston know. He'll want to be at the mill, so he can show it off properly." Regina's brow arches and Mrs. Beakley grins. "Like I said, not much goes on around here and he's taken an interest in it. Being a butler in a house that never has anyone in it has to be dull." She shrugs. "At least, for me, the staff that's here has to eat."

"So, Winston works at the mill? So, it's functional?"

Mrs. Beakley nods. "It's a hobby of his."

"I'm glad to hear it," Regina admits. "The way Robin's talked of the apples, I was hoping to get a cup of cider."

"Well, you could have that here. We've got bottles and bottles of it." She shakes her head. "He likes to sell it at the market on Saturdays, but don't tell him I told you that." She laughs softly. "He'll want to make it fresh for you and Mr. Locksley, I'm sure."

"Well, I won't complain about that. I love apple cider… I love anything, really." Regina takes a breath. "That's… actually why I'm here."

"I assume you'd like to take a picnic with you. I could pack some in a crock for–"

"That's actually not what I was going to ask, but now that you mention it…" She takes a breath. "I was actually hoping for a favor."

"Of course, M'lady…"

"You see, just before Robin and I came up here, I… I lost a bet." She grins and shakes her head. "It's kind of a long story, but I owe him dinner, and I have to make it." Her grin tightens and she bats her eyes expectantly. "I was hoping you might be able to help me make some sort of… apple pudding or something."

"Dessert for dinner, my my…"

"Oh, it's…"

"Of course I'll help," Mrs. Beakley cuts in as a warm smile spreads across her lips. "And I've got just the drink to go with it. You get the apples at the orchard and I'll find a recipe." Regina laughs as the cook rubs her hands together. "This is going to be such fun."

Laughing, Regina shakes her head. "You might want to reserve judgement until after you've seen my culinary abilities. I leave a lot to be desired."

"I'll choose something simple," Mrs. Beakley says, dismissing Regina's attempt at self-deprecation. "Simple but impressive. It'll be a challenge."

"As long as you're sure…"

"I am," Mrs. Beakley nods. "Winston has his mill, but I've spent most of my time here making stews that last for days on end. This will be something different, something enjoyable."

"You say that now…"

"And I'll say it later on," Mrs. Beakley says in a confident voice. "And I think it's sweet, what you're doing for Mr. Locksley. And I'm sure he will, too."

She feels her cheeks flush and she shrugs. "A bet is a bet."

"I think it's more than that."

"Oh, I don't kn–"

"I think you do," the cook returns as a grin stretches across her lips. "And I think I know just the recipe."

"Do you?"

Again, the cook nods. "I'll see if we've got the ingredients and if not, I'll walk to the village and get them."

"I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble just for a silly bet."

"Never you mind," Mrs. Beakley assures her as her grin turns coy. "I do wonder… was that adorable little needlepoint a part of this bet?"

"It was," Regina murmurs, feeling a little embarrassed as her eyes fall from the cook's. "Sadly."

"There's nothing sad about it."

"No? It looks like a child made it."

Mrs. Beakley shrugs and again flashes her that coy little grin. "Well, regardless, it never ceases to make Mr. Locksley smile, and there's nothing sad about that, M'lady."

She's not sure how to reply, but she can feel her cheeks flushing with warmth. She's noticed it, too–the way Robin smiles whenever he looks up at the needlepoint. She wonders what part of it he remembers–her irritation as she stitched, the banter between them as they debated if it would actually sell and the bet that'd spurred from the argument, or when he slipped unnoticed into the booth and "stolen" it and deposited a sizable donation into the cash box to more than cover his theft.

"Well, I should go back up," Regina says, shifting a bit awkwardly as she steps back. "Thank you and–"

"Oh, don't mention it, M'lady. It'll be my pleasure."

—–

To anyone who didn't know better, it appeared the four of them were going on an excursion that would last for days rather than a mere afternoon–and Regina had pointed out as much when she joined Robin and the boys in the stables. She'd laughed as Robin packed up a little wagon and hitched it to one of the horses and her eyebrow had jutted up when he'd asked if she could manage to pull the wagon. He'd been glad for his stubbly beard when his cheeks flushed after she'd reminded him that her horse would be doing the labor, so perhaps he'd better check with him. Henry had giggled and Robin recovered quickly, rolling his eyes before lifting Henry onto the smaller of the horses. He could see Regina tense as she mounted her own horse and as he'd lifted Roland up to ride with her, she'd leaned in and reminded him to go slowly–and he'd grinned and nodded and agreed he would, and then, leaning onto the tips of his toes, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and offered her a quick wink before turning back to Henry and handing him the reins.

They'd gone a few miles away from the hunting lodge and by the time they settled, all they could see around them was rolling green hills and valleys. The sky was a bright blue and there were white puffy clouds in the sky–and it was just warm enough to not be uncomfortable. And as he and Regina fanned a large blanket down onto the grass, a wave of nostalgia hit him.

He could easily remember being about Henry's age and stretching out on the blanket at his grandfather's side. His grandfather told him all sort of tall tales about the forest that loomed just out of sight as he munched on biscuits and apple preserves. Most of the time, it was just the two of them, but occasionally, Fifi would join them and he'd giggle as she swatted the back of her hand against this grandfather's arm, warning him not to tell too many stories, worrying that he might not be able to sleep that night in fear that ghouls and goblins or dark fairies with sinister plans for him would sneak out of the woods and into his bedroom. Though he'd insist he wasn't scared, he was always grateful for her warnings–though that was never something that he'd admit.

Regina spread out a thick blanket on a patch of grass and the boys stretched out as he pulled the picnic basket out from the wagon. Mrs. Beakley had packed them all fried egg and tomato sandwiches–and he couldn't help but laugh when, between every bite she took, Regina reminded the boys to slow down and to chew carefully. Of course, it'd been in vain and they'd inhaled their sandwiches before reaching for the bowls of berries that had been packed for them. Finally, when they'd eaten all there was, they bounded off of the blanket for a game of cat and mouse–running and screaming and chasing each other through the tall, grassy meadow.

"I wish I still had their energy," Robin mused as he reached for a bowl of strawberries and cheese that Mrs. Beakley had packed for them. "They never stop."

"No," Regina laughed, shaking her head as she plucked the first strawberry from the bowl. "Sometimes I'm exhausted just watching them."

"Though, I must say, it's easier with two."

"You think so?"

Robin nods, grinning as Regina absently licks some of the strawberry juice from her lip. "Only because Roland has a playmate in Henry and doesn't expect me to take on that role."

"But one goes one way the other goes the other, and… my eyes ache trying to keep tabs on them."

"Perhaps my father's right and we're crazy for not utilizing Celeste more often."

"You father is never right," Regina replies indignantly. "At least not about Celeste."

"Fair point…" Robin murmurs as he tosses a cube of cheese into his mouth and looks over at her. "You'd think she'd get bored and quit."

"That will never happen," Regina scoffs. "She gets paid to do… well… nothing all day. There's not a better or easier job than that."

"Perhaps when we get back to Sherwood we should address that matter."

"No," Regina murmurs, shaking her head as she chooses another strawberry. "I don't want to talk about anything to do with returning to Sherwood. Not yet, anyway."

A smile draws onto his lips and he leans back on his elbows. "So, you're enjoying it here?"

"I am." she tells him, nodding sincerely as her eyes meet his. "Very much so."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too. It's been… so nice to just… get away for awhile."

"I agree," he says easily, "And I'm glad that I'm able to share it with you. This place has… so much meaning for me."

Regina nods and her lips part, and for a moment, she hesitates. "So, the last time you were here, though, you were… a child?"

"A teenager, but… yes."

"Given how much it means to you and how much you enjoy being here… and that there's a small staff, that surprises me." She grimaces and shakes her head and he finds himself thinking of all the times he wanted to just turn his back on everything and retreat up to the lodge and start anew. "I'm sorry, that sounded rude and I didn't–"

"I didn't take it that way," he interjects, smiling as he he reaches for a strawberry. "The truth is, after my grandfather died, I didn't have much of an opportunity. My father was hardly going to allow me to travel here alone and he certainly wasn't interested in coming."

Again, she hesitates–and then, drawing in a breath, she looks to him. "That's what I don't understand. Why keep a staff if he dislikes it so much and never intended to come up here. It seems like a waste and… that doesn't seem his style."

"You're right. It's not, and I've never quite understood it myself. I just… never questioned it because I was afraid he'd sell it off."

"I'm glad he didn't."

"Me too."

"And you… never wanted to bring Marian up here?"

It was quite the opposite–he had wanted to bring Marian. But theirs was a whirlwind love affair, followed by wedding plans and a honeymoon abroad, and by the time they'd settled into their life at Sherwood, she was pregnant and sick and then… "There just wasn't the time."

"I'm sorry."

"It was one of those things I always thought would happen someday."

"But then someday never came."

"Exactly."

"I shouldn't have brought it up"

"It's fine," he tells her. "I don't mind talking about her–not with you." He smiles sadly as he draws in a breath, slowly exhaling as he looks back to her. "As odd as it may seem to talk to my second wife about my first, you're one of the few people who seem to really understand."

A soft smile edges onto her lips. "I think she would have liked the house."

"Do you?"

Regina nods. "Obviously, I didn't know her personally, but from the stories you've told me she liked things to be simple, uncomplicated. She wasn't interested in the trappings of society or the frills of life on a grand estate, and I imagine she'd have liked the quiet."

"I think you're right."

Taking a breath, Regina shifts herself forward, then stretches out at his side. She grins as she looks over at him and plucks another strawberry from the bowl, and taking a long and deep breath, she rests her head on his shoulder. His chest flutters and his head dips forward to press a fleeting kiss to her hair–and then, he wraps his arm around her back, holding her as they watch the boys run and play.

It's nice to be with her this way–sweet yet intimate–and he can't help but think he could easily spend the rest of the afternoon this way.

Eventually Henry tires of chasing Roland and turns his attention to a patch of wildflowers– and Roland quickly finds a butterfly to chase. He smiles as Regina laughs as they watch Roland skipping through the tall grass, his eyes widen with something that looks like a mix of amazement and panic when the butterfly lands on his finger for a fleeting moment.

"Mama," Henry calls as he runs toward them, smiling as he holds out a small bouquet of flowers tied together with a thick blade of grass "Mama, I picked these for you!"

Regina pulls herself up and off of him, and he finds himself himself sighing a bit wistfully at the loss of contact–and then a smile quickly draws onto his lips as Henry crashes into her and her arms wrap around him. Regina laughs as she shift Henry down onto her lap, leaning forward and peppering his face with kisses. He laughs, too, and wriggles–and then, she lets him go,

"They're beautiful, Henry," she says sincerely as she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Henry beams at the compliment and his eyes cast down to the flowers. "I'm glad you like them."

"When get get home, I'm going to put them on a vase on my dressing table, so I can look at them before I go to sleep and see them first thing when I wake up."

Again Henry beams.

"The room could certainly use some brightening up" Robin adds, sitting up as his hand slides over Regina's hip and he offers Henry a wink. "And these will most certainly do the trick!"

Regina turns and grins gently at Robin–offering a silent thank you that doesn't need to be offered as she leans back into him and turns her attention back to her son. "Are you enjoying the picnic."

Henry nods. "It's nice to be outdoors."

"I agree," Robin says. "Finally some nice weather."

"But the rain made it smell good out here."

"That's true, and that is the upside of rain."

"Well, aren't you two a pair with this riveting conversation about the weather," Regina laughs as she looks between them. "Perhaps that's a signal we should move on to the orchard."

"You've waited very patiently," Robin teases. "I know you've been itching to go since we got here." Regina's lips part, ready to protest, but Robin leans in and pecks her lips–and Henry giggles quietly. "I certainly hope it's not a let down."

"I doubt it will be. Mrs. Beakley said that Winston's been keeping it running to keep himself occupied. He sells ciders and things at a market." A grin twists on her lips. "I think he left shortly after breakfast so that there'd be fresh cider when we arrived."

"Ah…"

"I hope there is."

"Me, too," Henry chimes in. "I hope he has doughnuts."

"Doughnuts?" Robin asks, looking from Henry to Regina for help deciphering.

"Oil cakes," she supplies. "My father was abroad for a bit while we were staying with with my parents and when he returned their cook spent ages trying to recreate them."

"Did she ever get the recipe right?"

"No, I don't think so," Regina says as a soft laugh rises into her voice. "But Henry certainly enjoyed her many attempts and experiments."

"All the doughnuts were tasty."

"I bet they were," Robin says, turning back to the boy. "Perhaps if Winston doesn't have some you can convince Mrs. Beakley to try to make them."

Regina nods at the idea. "She does love a challenge." Robin's brow furrows, but she looks away from him. "Henry, why don't you go get Roland–and perhaps his butterfly friend–and let him know we're going to head over to the orchard while we clean up from our picnic."

"Can we do this again?"

"I don't see why not…"

"It was fun having luncheon outside." He grins. "And my sandwich was yummy."

"So was mine," Robin tells him as he gets to his feet and runs off the field where Roland is chasing another butterfly, this time with his index finger extended as if to invite it to perch. "I've said it before and I'll say it again," he murmurs quietly as he rest his chin on her shoulder. "But you're raising such a sweet boy."

"We are," she replied, turning and pecking his lips. "He's happier now."

"At the lodge?"

Regina shakes her head. "Just in general… since you've come into our lives," she tells him in a soft but earnest voice as she once more pecks his lips, but this time her lips feels softer and her breath warmer as she pulls away, drawing in a deep breath as her forehead rests on his–and then, a moment later both boys come bounding toward them and the little moment between them is gone.

She'd reached for his hand as they walked toward the mill–the boys running a few yards ahead of them as Winston greeted them warmly at the entrance. He'd presented them with two mugs of cider and apple slices for the boys–and Henry did his best at concealing his disappointment when it became clear that there were no doughnuts.

Winston made up for it by giving each of the boys a cup of applesauce, sprinkled with nutmeg and presented mugs of fresh cider to Robin and Regina. By the time she'd finished, she was dizzy–and she'd laughed when the butler confessed she'd likely figured out his secret ingredient. Robin steadied her as they walked to the back of the mill–and the scent of fresh apples was nearly overwhelming. He gave the boys each a burlap sack and they ran ahead of their parents, picking the lowest hanging fruit.

Robin laughed as Roland's eyes widened at the sight of a worm in one of the apples–and she couldn't help but smile was Henry explained to Roland how to choose apples without worms. Her heart warmed and Roland listened, nodding and watching as Henry pointed to the darker, softer spots on an apple and then showed him bright red, firm one. Since moving to Sherwood, Henry's confidence had grown leaps and bounds–he's always been so shy and quiet, often hiding behind her skirts in the presence of company. He never asked questions and rarely made eye contact, and he always waited to speak. Of course, it wasn't like that when it was just the two of them or when he was alone with his grandfather, but as soon as another person was around, he clammed up and became timid. But having a younger sibling had helped–there were things he just knew that Roland didn't and Roland looked up to him, often waiting to see what Henry did or said before acting on his own, and wherever Henry went, Roland was quick to follow. The boys got on well and it hadn't taken long for Henry to grow into the role of an older brother–and as he did, his confidence had surged.

"Roland's lucky," Robin murmurs softly, bringing her out of her hazy thoughts. "I didn't have brothers, but I had cousins–all of them older–and they'd have had me eat the worm in my apple instead of explaining how to pick healthier fruit."

"I'm not sure that would even occur to Henry."

"Which is why Roland's lucky."

"He adores him, you know," she says, turning her eyes up to meet Robin's. "He loves being an older brother."

"He's good at it." She grins and nods, watching as Roland points up to an apple just out of his reach and Henry steps up into the tree and offers Roland his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm?"

He chuckles softly as she blinks. "Between what Mrs. Beakley packed for us and the overflowing mug of cider you just had, you're… more than a bit tipsy."

"I'm fine."

"I didn't say that you weren't," he tells her in a soft and easy tone. "I am saying you're a bit drunk."

"I'm not…"

"Then you have terrible balance," Robin teases as his fingers press to her hip and her heart skips a beat as Henry jumps down from the branch just a few feet from the ground, and Roland follows. "Judging at how wobbly you were when we left the mill, I'm afraid you'd topple over if I let go of you."

"I wouldn't."

"Should I try."

Her eyes roll and her cheeks flush as she a grin twists on to her lips. "No."

Laughing, he pulls her a bit closer and presses a kiss to her hair–and she feels herself stumble a little as they follow behind the boys as they run to a tree with a few branches low and sturdy enough for them to climb. Robin reaches for a apple and plucks it from the tree, carefully shining it against the leg of his pant before reaching into the pouch at his side and pulling out a knife.

"You just… carry that with you?"

"For today," he says easily as he uses his thumb to steady the knife against the apple. "And since I knew we were coming here."

She giggles–then cringes at how loud it is–as Robin cuts into the fruit. "So, we packed a whole wagon for a picnic basket, a blanket and knife."

He grins and offers her a slice of the apple. "Well, it's a lot to carry."

"I could have managed."

"You had to hold Roland on your saddle. There wasn't much room for more." Her brow furrows skeptically. "And I imagine we'll be coming back with a couple of sacks of apples, a few crocks of cider, and two very tired little boys." He laughs softly as he cuts another slice of apple and tosses it into his mouth. "And you, if you have any more to drink."

"I'm not drunk."

"You keep saying that."

"I'll be fine to ride home."

"You can't walk alone," he tells her plainly.

Regina blinks a few times and watches as he drags the knife down the slice of apple, then offers it to her. "And that's why I'll have a horse to ride. He'll do the walking for me."

He chuckles softly as she bites down into the wedge and then he cuts off the remaining piece from the core and tosses it aside–and once more, she laughs too loudly as a squirrel runs for the core and claims it, then scurries away before any of the other woodland creatures notice his prize.

"Regina, look!" Her eyes widen as Robin stops and they both look up to see Roland and Henry sitting on a thick tree limb above them. "Look how high up we are!"

Regina swallows and her stomach lurches, her eyes widening as she looks up at the boys. "Yes, you're both… so far from the ground." She lets out a whimper as Henry leans back, his knees forming around the branch to keep him in place as he reaches for an apple hanging just behind him. He sits up and tosses it to Roland and then leans back again to select another for himself–and her heart jumps into her throat as he practically hangs upside down from, too far from the ground for her comfort. "Please, be careful."

Henry just giggles and Roland bites down into his apple. "Look! No worms!"

"That's a good one," Robin calls, as he tucks his knife back into his pouch and pulls out of of the small bottles of cider that Mrs. Beakley packed in their lunch. She swallows hards as Robin pulls out the cork and takes a quick swig before passing the bottle to her–and as he blinks up at the boys sitting on the branch, she takes a long sip, practically finishing off the cider before passing it back to Robin–all without ever letting her eyes leave the boys. "Not drunk, hm?" Robin murmurs before taking the last sip. "We'll see about that."

Eventually, Roland and Henry jump down from the tree and, eventually, they tire of the orchard. By the time Robin packs up the wagon, both boys are fast asleep. He helps her onto her horse and makes a quip about her wobbly state–and he keeps a watchful eye on her as he mounts his own horse. The horses walk slowly and closely back to the lodge and as they pass a little pond, Henry lifts his head and suggest they stop to swim. Robin laughs and shakes his head, reminding Henry that tomorrow will be another day and they'll have to pace themselves before they run out of fun things to do–and before Robin's even done with the statement, Henry's asleep again.

They lead the horses up to the front of the lodge, and Robin gingerly hops down and then looks to her, arching his brow as he looks from her to the gravel path.

"I'm… still a little drunk," she confesses in defeat and as if she'd done a good job of hiding it. "Can you help me so that I don't make a complete fool of myself?"

Robin nods and jogs around the wagon, offering her his hand. Grasping his fingers firmly she lets him pull her down and nearly as soon as she's off the saddle, her foot misses the stirrup and she falls into his waiting arms.

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment and her arms link around his neck, her hands pressing into his shoulder blades as she tries to secure her footing. She can feel him laughing and when she pulls her head up, he's smiling at her, those blue eyes shining in a way that always makes her a bit weak in the knees–and the only thing more embarrassing than falling drunkenly into his arms would be if she'd fallen because she was lost in his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, not really knowing what to say and not clear-headed enough to make a joke of it. "I really need to… watch where I'm stepping."

"I've got you. You're fine," he says in a near whisper, and instead of letting her go, his hands tighten around her hips.

He draws her in, brushing his lips over her before pulling back just enough to see her smile. He leans in again, this time capturing her lips between his as his tongue skims against her bottom lip.

And then, the front door opens.

"Oh, you're ba–" Mrs. Potter's voice halts as Robin pulls away and Regina's cheeks flush deeper. "And I'm interrupting."

"No, no," Regina says–attempting and failing at sounding convincing. "Mr. Locksley was just… helping me down from my horse."

Mrs. Potter nods. "Like a true gentleman."

"I do my best," Robin says with a nod–and she can't help but note the disappointment in his voice as he steps away from her. "And now that Mrs. Locksley is down from her horse and standing on her own two feet, I'm going to take the boys up and tuck them in for a proper nap." Robin steps back again and this time, releasing his hold on her and lingering for just a moment to ensure that she stays upright. He offers her a quick wink before rounding the wagon and lifting the boys carefully into his arms. "Mrs. Potter, please let Winston know that once I've got these two tucked into their beds, I'll be down to take the horses and wagon back to the stables."

"Oh, you needn't do that. Winston returned to the house about an hour ago. He wouldn't mind."

"And neither do I," Robin says easily as he turns toward the front entrance. "Besides, it'll keep me occupied while my wife and children are napping."

"I don't need to–" Robin's brow arches and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "I suppose a short nap might be… refreshing," she murmurs as he pulls away, winking at her before carrying the boys inside and leaving her a bit flustered as Mrs. Potter laughs softly to herself. "I suppose I am a little tired."

Mrs. Potter nods. "When we get inside, I'll call for Belle."

"Oh, you don't need to–"

"I think I do," Mrs. Potter says, offering her her hand. "Let's get you to the sitting room to wait." Regina's cheeks flush again, but Mrs. Potter smiles warmly as she leads the way. "He's a lot like his grandfather, you know."

"Is he?"

Mrs. Potter nods and motions to a chair. "He is–and he's so in love with you. It's sweet."

"He's… not… I mean, not that way…"

Mrs. Potter's brow arches and she shakes her head as Regina sits down and once again, she feels a bit dizzy. "Well, in whatever way that he does, it's sweet to see." She offers a quick wink. "Belle will be down shortly."

"Thank you," she manages to say–and when Mrs. Potter is far enough from sight, she groans and lets her head fall into her hands, momentarily wallowing in her embarrassment. And then, a soft little giggle escapes her and she finds herself hoping that what Mrs. Potter said was true.

Mrs. Beakley grins as she comes into the kitchen a few hours later and she smooths her skirt, a bit nervous to begin.

There were only a handful of recipes she could make well–and she'd impressed Robin once before with one of them. But messing up a meat and potato pie was difficult–that's why she was good at it. And as she looked at the assortment of ingredients lined up on one of the counters, she couldn't help but think that even with careful and expert instructions of Mrs. Beakley, she'd somehow manage to mess this one up.

"I wasn't sure that you'd make it down," Mrs. Beakley says in her usual kind voice. "Mrs. Potter mentioned that you were a bit tuckered out after the picnic and orchard."

She nods. "A bit drunk is more like it," she admits with a grimace. "Does everyone know?"

"Well, it's a small house."

"And everyone in it knows that I was drunk… before noon."

Mrs. Beakley grins. "Winston's cider is known for being strong. That's why he sells so much of it," the cook says, laughing softly as she waves her over. "And there's nothing to be embarrassed about, M'lady."

"Well, it's not very ladylike to get myself drunk." She shrugs her shoulder. "But I suppose I'm not a real lady, so it doesn't matter."

Mrs. Beakley's brow creases. "You're the lady of this house, and you can do as you please." She laughs a little as she bends to retrieve a bowl from beneath the counter. "Besides, there's not much else to do up here, and I'll admit, on more than a rare occasion I find myself sipping on the cooking wine… even when the recipe doesn't call for it."

Regina grins. "My mother wouldn't approve."

"Of me sipping the wine?"

"No, of me getting drunk on cider and making a fool of myself for all the household to see."

Again, Mrs. Beakley's brow creases. "You hardly made a fool of yourself–and your mother always was uptight."

"You… know my mother?"

"Everyone around here knows your mother–or well, the family, at least." She sighs. "I don't mean to speak ill of her…"

"Don't worry about it. There's… not much else to say."

A grin edges onto Mrs. Beakley's lips as Regina leans against the counter, surveying the ingredients–the recipe, whatever it is, looks simple enough. "Well, I am very glad to see that the apple fell very far from that particular tree."

"How do you know her–or, her family?"

"Once upon a time, they had a summer house up here, on the other side of the woods." She grins. "When they had parties, my mother would farm me out to help in the kitchen." She laughs a little and again, chooses another, larger bowl and a pan. "Your mother's coming out party was… really something."

"I'm sure it was," Regina says, sighing softly. "Everything she does is something."

"There was a rumor that was to inherit her father's entire fortune."

"Sadly for her, it was just a rumor, and she ended up with my father." Mrs. Beakley's lips part, but she says nothing and Regina suddenly finds herself uncomfortable, but this time, for a completely different reason. "So, tell me, Mrs. Beakley, what are we making today."

"Apple pudding."

"Oh that… is simple," Regina says, feeling a bit relieved. "Or, I hope it is."

Mrs. Beakley nods. "My mother's recipe–and yes, a simple one."

"Should I grab the sack of apples?" Regina asks as she motions to the two sacks in the corner of the kitchen that the boys brought back from the orchard. "How many does the recipe call for?"

"Ten," the cook tells her. "Eight for the pudding and two for the iced cream."

"Iced cream?" Regain asks, her eyes widening as she reaches for one of the sacks. "That… sounds less simple."

"I've already started it," Mrs. Beakley replies, laughing softly as she reaches for an extra apron. "We could serve the pudding on its own, but nothing beats a hot pudding with a scoop of iced cream."

"No… I suppose not," Regina says, taking the apron and tying it around her skirt. "I hope you didn't go to too much trouble for a silly little bet."

"Oh, no, no. It wasn't any trouble at all. We had most of the ingredients here–what we didn't have, I was able to get from the village."

"Is that far?"

"A nice walk on a nice summer day," Mrs Beakley assures her. "I needed some nutmeg–mine keeps disappearing on me–and some extra milk and vanilla."

"I… think I know where your nutmeg keeps running off to."

"It's Winston, isn't it?" Mrs. Beakley asks, rolling her eyes. "He refuses to order his own–says he's got too much else to do–and then ends up stealing mine." Regina laughs. "Working for your brother is not advisable."

"You're the butler's sister?"

"It's a bit of a family affair up here."

"That's… so quaint."

"That's one word for it," Mrs. Beakley laughs.

"You don't share a name though. Usually, cooks don't marry, but take the missus title–or so my mother told me."

"I'm a young widow," Mrs. Beakley explains. "Mr. Locksley's grandfather saw no reason not to hire me."

"That's kind… and, sounds an awful lot like Robin."

Mrs. Beakley nods and hands her a knife. Regina starts to skin the apples, cutting them into slices as Mrs. Beakley instructed. Every now and then, she looks up, watching as the cook churns the iced cream, carefully adding spoonfuls of nutmeg and brown sugar to the mixture. She returns to the counter and instructs Regina through making the batter and powdering the apples–and she cubes and mashes the remaining two apples for the iced cream. She inhales deeply as she pours the batter over the apples and she can't stop a grin from edging onto her lips–already it smells wonderful she can't help the excitement that bubbles up inside of her at the prospect of surprising Robin.

"You should be proud of yourself, M'lady."

"I simply followed your directions–and, we've yet to taste it."

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful."

Regina nods, watching as Mrs. Beakley slides the pan into the oven and then tosses another log onto the fire. She pulls of her apron and watches the cook stokes the flame. "How long will it take?"

"About an hour."

Regina nods and looks around the kitchen. "I suppose I should prepare something for the boys. They really enjoyed the sandwiches you made for them picnic. Are there still eggs? I could make them. I think I can manage that."

"That reminds me," Mrs. Beakley says, straightening herself up and pulling off her apron. "When I was in town, it seemed they were setting up for some sort of fair. There were games set up and a friend of mine told me there'd be live music."

"Oh, how fun. Is it just for the one night?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I thought maybe we could go." She pauses. "We're not used to needing to ask for permission, and I know Mrs. Potter would enjoy the chance to see her son."

A grin pulls onto Regina's lips. "She has a son?"

"Christopher," Mrs. Beakley says with a nod. "He owns the tavern in the village. It's called Chip's–that's what we called him when he was a boy. Maybe you passed it on your way in?"

"It was so dark. I didn't notice."

"And I was thinking, the boys might enjoy something like that."

Regina blinks. "My boys?"

Mrs. Beakley nods. "Perhaps not a dinner at a tavern, but–"

"It wouldn't be their first time eating in a tavern. They rather enjoy it."

"Chip makes an apple cordial that I'm sure they'd enjoy."

"I am sure that you are right," Regina says, taking a breath as her chest flutters with anticipation. "I don't see why you couldn't take them."

"Oh, I'm so glad, M'lady," Mrs. Beakley says, grinning knowingly. "I hope you and Mr. Locksley will enjoy the quiet time. I don't imagine you get very much of that with two small children running about."

"No, we… we don't," Regina murmurs as a grin edges onto her lips and her stomach flutters.

Robin's eyes narrow as he looks around the empty dining room–and he can't help but feel a little confused.

After Regina laid down for a nap, he'd found himself lingering in the nursery and watching as the boys slept. They looked so sweet and innocent–and it was one of the rare moments they weren't moving or making noise. He'd sat down at the foot of Roland's bed and before he knew it, he was nodding off–and when he opened his eyes, the boys were gone and their beds were made. John left him a note, apologizing for leaving him to dress himself for dinner, but assuring him that Regina had approved a staff outing–and not only had she approved it, she insisted that he and Belle go with lodge's staff. They'd taken the boys to some sort of fair and he hoped they'd all be back not long after dinner–and though that was the hope, Robin doubted that it would happen.

Regina brushed past him in the hall, still wearing her gray skirt and pink shirtwaist and as she hurried down the stairs, she told him that he didn't need to change and she'd meet him in the dining room.

He'd proceeded to the dining room and sat down at the unset table–and he waited, and waited.

Finally, he heard footsteps and he looked eagerly to the door, grinning as Regina entered, carrying with her a tray and two silver lidded bowls. Beside it were two soup bowls and some silverware, and in the corner was a familiar brow glass bottle that he knew to be Winston's cider.

"Let me help–"

"No, no, no. I've got it," Regina says as she comes into the dining room, taking careful steps. "All I want you to do is sit back and enjoy."

"Did you cook?"

She shrugs her shoulders and offers him a coy, little grin. "I told you that I would."

"Did you? I don't remember you saying anything about–" And then his voice halts and his eyes widen. "Our bet!"

"Our bet," she confirms with a nod. "You may have bought my needlepoint–"

"Which wasn't cheating."

"That's still debatable," she says, setting the tray down on the table. "But I am a woman of my word. The needlepoint sold, even if it was to you, and so I owe you dinner."

"I suppose you do." Grinning, Regina hands him a bowl and a spoon. "And what do I have the pleasure of being served this evening?"

Catching her lip between her teeth, she lifts the lid from the first bowl. "Apple pudding," she says before reaching for the second lidded bowl. "And vanilla nutmeg iced cream."

"Dessert…"

"For dinner."

He grins. "That's fun."

She laughs and shrugs. "I haven't tried the pudding yet," she tells him as she sets a bowl in front of the chair to his right. "But Mrs. Beakley made the iced cream and I snuck a taste as I was putting it into the bowl, and it's quite good. So, at least there's that."

"I am sure the pudding will be fantastic."

"And if it's not, there are plenty of eggs in the kitchen and… well… I'd like to think I can cook an egg."

Robin grins, unsure of how to tell her that no matter what, there's nothing she could do that would be a disappointment to him–and even if the pudding were terrible, he'd never have the heart to tell her. "I am sure you are more than capable and I am sure your egg-cooking skills will not be needed tonight."

"Let's hope," she says, as she dips a serving spoon into the pudding–and she breathes in the sweet and savory smell of apples and nutmeg. "I will say, it smells incredible. So, at least there's that."

He watches as scoops a second helping into her own bowl and then reaches another spoon for the iced cream. She serves him first and then drops a dollop onto her pudding and takes a breath as she sits down, eagerly waiting for him to take a bite. Dipping his spoon into the pudding he grins up at her, dipping his spoon into the iced cream as he looks up at her and grins–and visibly she holds her breath.

"Well?" she asks, her eyes hopeful and wide. "Should I put on the eggs?"

"Not a chance!" he says, swallowing has he dips his spoon back into the pudding and iced cream. "This is absolutely delicious."

She eyes him skeptically. "You're not just saying that?"

"Try it yourself," he says easily, his mouth full of pudding. "Try it before I steal yours."

He can't help but smile when she laughs before taking a tiny bite of just the pudding–and then, she breathes out in relief, and again, he feels a smile curl onto his lips. "Well, it's good to know I won't be poisoning you."

"Quite the contrary," he says easily, watching as she takes another bite of the pudding. "And I do think I've officially got the better end of the bet."

Her brow arches. "So, you admit it," she says, mocking seriousness as she eyes him. "That needlepoint is ghastly."

"Not at all–but my statement is a testament to your talents."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and he reaches for the bottle of cider on the tray, filling each of the glasses and handing her one. She takes it a bit reluctantly, making a quip about having a love-hate relationship with cider before they slip into an easy conversation about the day–recapping the highlights for one another.

"I have to admit," she says, reaching for a second helping of the pudding. "I'm more than a little embarrassed that Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley saw me so intoxicated."

"It's not like you were acting like a drunken fool," Robin says, grinning as she rolls her eyes. "You were just sort of… wobbly and giggly."

"Still…"

"Did they say something?"

"No, it was the exact opposite, actually." She shrugs. "Still, though."

"You really ought to cut yourself some slack. You're always so hard on yourself."

"It's just my nature," she says as she reaches for the glass of cider, narrowing her eyes at him as he reaches for the bottle, ready to refill it. "Perhaps it's a side effect of growing up with my mother."

"I understand," he nods, lifting the bottle from her glass and refilling his own. "My father's cut from the same cloth."

"And somehow we survived."

"But we're not without our scars."

A grin twists onto her lips as she takes a sip of the cider. "Do you think Roland and Henry will one day have this sort of conversation about us?"

Robin's eyes widen. "Bite your tongue! You and I are nothing like them."

"That's true," she murmurs. "I do worry, though, that one day I'll wake up and find that I've turned into her."

"That can't happen."

"You sound so sure."

"I am," he says confidently as he takes another sip of cider, and then he watches as her eyes fall to her plate. "Is… something the matter?" he asks, suddenly feeling the tone of the evening shift. "You seem… sad, all of the sudden."

She looks up and shrugs. "Mrs. Beakley said something today that… caught me off guard."

"Something that made you think you'd one day turn into your mother?"

"No, nothing like that, really," she says slowly. "Apparently, my mother's family had a place up here–and it reminded me of a comment my mother made about this house."

"My grandfather's hunting lodge?"

"She called it dingy."

"How kind."

She smirks and nods. "She's nothing if not kind." He watches as her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a breath, and still, the conversation feels a bit more serious than it had and he's not sure how he feels about the change. "It just… it made her realize there are parts of her life I know nothing about." She smiles softly as her eyes meet his, and again, she shrugs. "And that got me to thinking that there will be parts of my life that Henry never knows–or at least, parts I hope he'll never know–and that made me wonder."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair–remembering the conversations he'd overheard between his father and the family lawyer having in closed up room after dinners and remembering how those snippets of a plan had prompted him to ask for her hand in marriage. "Perhaps, I can fill in some of the void. I don't know much, but I think I know a little of it."

"Do you?"

"Maybe…"

A grin twists onto her lips. "You've been holding out on me."

"Everyone has their secrets."

Her smile fades and something he can't quite place registers in her eyes–and then, he blinks and when his eyes reopen, whatever the look was is replaced by curiosity. "Our families have been… enemies for awhile now, and apparently, my grandfather stole your mother's inheritance."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Why don't I know this."

"I'm not sure. I didn't know of it until… recently."

"How recently."

"Around the time I decided to marry you."

Her brow arches. "Was that your way of making things up to my mother?"

"Not exactly," he says with a laugh. "Believe it or not, your mother didn't factor into my decision to ask for your hand."

She laughs softly then feigns seriousness. "So you took the long way around returning what your family stole."

"That's… a bit closer to it."

"How is that different?"

"I'm… not sure," he says, laughing awkwardly as her arms fold over her chest. "But it's not how I like to think of it."

"No?"

"No," he says quickly. "I genuinely thought we'd be a good match. The rest of it was… an excuse."

"I see."

"That's all I really know, though," he admits. "About your mother's family and mine, that is."

"You made it seem so… intriguing."

"You sound disappointed to know that we hail from the modern day Montagues and Capulets." Her brow arches and then she laughs. "I hope that our story ends less tragically."

She nods. "Given that neither of us is an overly dramatic or impulsive teenager, I think we'll be alright."

"Is that how Shakespeare wrote them?"

Regina shrugs. "It's how I read them." And then her eyes narrow as she points. "I'll ask you not to point out the irony of what I just said, thank you."

"I wouldn't think of it."

"Good," she says with a satisfied nod. "This is why we get on so well." Robin feels a laugh bubble up from his chest and her smile brightens–and once again, the light and easy mood of the evening returns. "Mrs. Beakley also told me that you're a lot like your grandfather. She seemed to… think highly of him."

Robin blinks and swallows. "Good heavens, I've gone from Romeo to Claudio in the blink of an eye."

She laughs–and he appreciates that she caught the joke. "Regardless, I'm still Juliet."

"You studied Shakespeare," he says, his voice piquing with surprise as he smiles. "Most girls don't cover much of that in their education."

"I did–and that is true," she tells him. "Since I was an only child, my father insisted I have a more traditional education, the same a son would have had."

"How progressive of him."

"So, there was lots of reading and mathematics and history instead of…"

"Needlepoint."

"Exactly."

Robin laughs. "Why don't I already know this?"

"Like you said, everyone has their secrets. Besides, I sometimes sort of forget that it was an atypical way to raise a daughter." She shrugs. "Though, it's hard to imagine that I could forget. My mother insists that's the root cause of my disgrace."

"Ah yes, the dangers of a literate woman."

"Utter those words to my mother, and you'll win her over."

A chuckle again bubbles up from his chest and he grins over at her. "Speaking of disgrace…"

"Oh, what a lovely transition…"

He shrugs. "It was an opening. I took it." Clearing his throat he scoops up what's left of the apple pudding and takes a quick sip of cider. "My grandfather was a complicated man who seemed to have several personalities. I'm like him in some ways, but unlike him in so many others."

"Mrs. Beakley seemed to be referring to one of the likeable versions."

He nods. "She liked him–most people did."

"Except your father."

Again, Robin nods. "He grew up here, for a time." He pauses momentarily, collecting fuzzy memories. "My father never knew his mother. She and my grandfather had a fling, and when she had the baby, she left him with his father and vanished into thin air." He shakes his head. "So, he cozied up to a lonely old woman without any children and…" He shrugs. "And he fell in love with the housekeeper at her favorite getaway."

Regina grins and nods. "I don't suppose you know why he didn't marry her once the old lady died, do you? I'm curious."

"Are you?"

"I like a juicy story," she says with a laugh. "Especially when it doesn't involve me."

Chuckling softly to himself, he nods. "I don't know much, but I do know that her husband wouldn't have much liked that–her tossing him out and marrying someone else."

"Ah, I see where that could have posed a… problem."

"Just a small one… if you'd asked him."

"Is that why he spent so much time here?"

Robin nods. "It is and Sherwood was never his home. He never felt… connected to it. And I suppose it reminded him of the old woman he'd swindled."

"Perhaps… and perhaps, that's why your father's so attached to Sherwood."

"I'm sure of it. It felt… untainted by his father, even though it was." A grin curls onto his lips. "And I suppose that's what I'm trying to do here, with you."

Her cheeks flush slightly and her bottom lip catches between her teeth as he eyes fall to her plate, and to avoid making a reply, she reaches for her glass of cider and takes a long, slow sip–avoiding him the way that she does whenever the notion of real feelings between the two of them comes up.

"We've… made quite a mess of the table."

"Oh," she breathes out, looking at melted droplets of iced cream and crumbles of apple pudding between them. "We certainly have."

"And we've given the staff the night off, so we're going to have to clean all of this up."

"I don't mind that," she says, standing as he stands–and at the same time, the reach for the cloth beneath the serving bowls. Their fingers touch and they look up at each other, grinning softly. His throat goes dry as he pulls back, letting her take the cloth. His stomach flutters at the sudden and obvious realization that they have an entire evening together, alone without interruption–and he wonders where the night will take them.