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.

40. Chapter 40

The arrival at the Lodge was exactly what Robin said it would be.

They arrived late in the morning, and as soon as their carriage slowed at the house's approach, Roland and Henry came running out the door. Mal trailed behind them while Mrs. Potter and Winston waited at the door. As soon as they stepped into the house, she could smell cinnamon and cider wafting up from the kitchen downstairs. Winston offered his apologies before running out on a Christmas-related errand while Mrs. Potter buzzed on and on about plans for the holiday party—a tradition she loved as a girl and was glad to be bringing back this year.

In the two weeks since their arrival, things hadn't slowed down a bit, but nonetheless, they settled in easily, comforted by an undeniable feeling of home.

In some ways, things were exactly as they were at Sherwood. Mal kept the boys on a schedule—up at the same time every day, dressed before breakfast, and starting their first lesson by eight. They did the more serious subjects in the morning before a break for luncheon, then afterward, they had their music and art lessons. Going outside was no longer an option—much to Roland's chagrin—but they were no longer confined to a few rooms upstairs as they were at Sherwood. Here, they were all over the house—language lessons in the library, music in the drawing room on the old piano there, and games all throughout the house, often with Toulouse scampering behind them, biting at their heels and darting out from around corners to add an extra thrill to their play. Unlike at Sherwood, no one minds any of it—well, perhaps the maids mind the boys making messes and getting underfoot, but it only took one harsh glance from Mrs. Potter to stifle any complaints, even future ones. It's not to say that they get away with everything—those harsh glances can be pointed their way too, and for the boys, those looks don't just come from Mrs. Potter—but there isn't the same feeling of caution that there is at Sherwood.

The evenings at the Lodge are as full as the days.

At Sherwood, it seemed she and Robin went out of their way to fill up the time between dinner and bedtime for their sons, but here, it seems there's no shortage of things to do or people content to occupy them. Her father regularly entertained them with a board game or puppets or tales he made up on the spot, Mrs. Beakley regularly "needed help" in the kitchen and always with some sort of dessert, and Winston liked teaching them about the more practical side of the estate.

Though it'd always felt this way, the lines between staff and family were increasingly blurred.

Mrs. Potter frequently joined Henry and Roland at the piano, Mrs. Beakley and Winston often invited them on errands, and though it interrupted the lessons of the day, Mal always allowed it, sometimes tagging along and continuing their lessons in another way or enjoying a couple of hours for herself while they were occupied and away.

And so it hadn't struck her as unusual that her father spent the majority of this days in the kitchen. He sat on a stool beside the counter, watching as Mrs. Beakley cooked, keeping her company and helping as he could. Often from the window, she caught a glimpse of her father picking root vegetables from the garden and carrying in orders as they were delivered, and it'd become routine for him to go into town to replenish herbs, spices, and other ingredients either not readily available from the garden or ones that hadn't been planned for. He usually snagged one of the boys to accompany him, taking turns between them, and always returning with a sack of groceries and a happy, sugared-up child with a new trinket to play with in hand.

So, it wasn't strange to her when she went down to the kitchen that morning to find her father in an apron, stirring something in a large bowl as Mrs. Beakley skinned sweet potatoes. From the look of it, they were in the middle of a conversation, and her father had said something that made the cook laugh—a loud, hearty laugh that rang through the kitchen and had her father beaming.

"Um… I'm sorry to interrupt," she began, peeking through the open door. "I just wanted to—"

"Regina!"

"You're not interrupting, dear," Mrs Beakley said, setting down the knife and reaching for a cloth to wipe her hands on. "I've been meaning to come up and talk to you. I just wanted to get this in the oven before—"

"Oh, if it's a bad time—"

"Not at all." Mrs Beakley's voice is warm and her smile matches it as she rounds the counter, giving Henry instructions to keep stirring until whatever it is he's stirring is smooth.

There's something about the exchange that draws her attention, but she can't quite pin-point what it is.

"I assume this is about Roland's cake," Mrs. Beakley says, grinning. "I got a whole brick of chocolate just for that cake, and I plan to use it all."

"Oh, good. I was worried it wouldn't come on time."

"And I've got the back-up recipe all stocked, just in case that did happen."

"You… could always make both," Henry says, grinning up from his bowl, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, in case the chocolate's too rich or in case one goes ba—"

Mrs. Beakley doesn't give him a chance to finish the word before she whirls around. "Henry, you take that back!"

Regina smiles as her father laughs, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's just an excuse, you see, as lovely as my daughter is, she's a bit of a—"

"I can hear you, you know," Regina says, her eyes narrowing. "And Roland doesn't need two cakes… on top of the cookies and tarts we're also going to have."

Henry sighs, looking back to his bowl. "I'm not sure why you insist on being such a killjoy."

Her eyes roll as Mrs. Beakley turns back to her. "Ignore him."

"I usually do."

"So, I was thinking…"

Mrs. Beakley leads her to the pantry, pointing out the foil-wrapped chocolate brick that'll make the Devil's Food Cake and the basket of ingredients for the piquant frosting that Roland requests on everything he eats. She shows her the raspberries for the tarts, the apricot jam that'll go in the center of the sugar cookies, and the dried fruit already soaking in sugar water. She goes through the rest of the day's menu—and thankfully, for the most part, it lacks sweets. Mrs. Beakley seemed so proud of the breakfast she'd planned—a "hunter's breakfast": eggs and bacon, toast, oatmeal, and of course, an assortment of jellies they both knew Roland would slather onto everything. Throughout the day there'd be plenty of snacks, and then whenever they came back up to the house, venison stew—Roland's favorite and most requested meal—would be waiting for them with buttered rolls. She admitted she was still working out the supper plans, but promised it would be something to the birthday boy's liking—and Regina laughed as she imagined a giant bowl of chocolate pudding at the center of the dining room table.

They both laugh as they step out of the pantry to find her father still stirring dutifully and muttering things about birthdays being meant for treats and jelly making all foods better.

Regina watches as Mrs. Beakley rounds the counter and peers into the bowl. She gives Henry an approving nod before returning to the sweet potatoes—and then there's… something. A glance and a grin that shouldn't give her the strangest sense of deja vu, but it does.

And she has no idea why.

For a moment, Regina just stands there staring, awkwardly watching as they both continue on with what they're doing as if nothing unusual has happened.

Brushing it off, she takes a step back. "Well, now that that's settled—"

Her father looks up from the bowl before handing it over to Mrs. Beakley. "Are you going?"

Regina nods. "I just wanted to make sure the chocolate arrived. If it hadn't, I was going to pick some up when I went into town today because Roland's heart is set on—"

"You're going into town? Now?"

"Um… yes." She blinks. She hadn't expected her father's sudden burst of interest. "That's the last thing on my list, I think."

A grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth as her father brightens. "Could I tag along? There's something I need to pick up, and though the kid at the shop said he'd bring it by this evening, after the shop closes, I really do want to get it before then."

"What do you need?"

His smile turns sly. "Never you mind, killjoy."

Regina's eyes roll, but before she can offer a retort, something curious happens.

"You don't mind?" he asks, turning to Mrs. Beakley who shakes her head. "Then it's settled!" Regina's brows arch as her father pulls off his apron and tosses it onto the counter. "Shall I meet you by the door in… say… fifteen minutes? I'll need to change into my boots and grab a coat."

Regina blinks. "Um… that… that sounds perfect."

For a moment, she just stands there feeling a little dazed as her father scurries off—and as she stands there, Mrs. Beakley continues on preparing the sweet potato dish as if nothing unusual has happened.

"Well, I… I should go and get ready."

"Yes, he's awfully excited to… go wherever it is that he wants to go."

Regina nods and grins. "Did he… tell you what he's up to?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Beakley laughs. "No. I asked about it this morning, but he wouldn't tell me." She grins as she looks up from the dish. "He thought I might tell you."

Frowning, Regina sighs. "That's what I was afraid you'd say."

Mrs. Beakley just grins and returns to her work as Regina excuses herself, unable to shake the strange—but not uncomfortable—encounter.

She mulls it all the way up the stairs and when she reaches her bedchamber, she finds Robin standing in the mirror loosening his tie.

"Oh, hello," he grins as he notices her reflection in the mirror.

"Hello."

"I feel like I haven't seen you all day," he says, turning to her and watching as she disappears into the dressing room. "After breakfast, you just sort of… vanished."

"Well, I have a lot to do. Tomorrow's Roland's birthday and all." She plucks a thick cloak from its hanger and returns to the bedroom. "I just… want tomorrow to go smoothly."

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

Taking a breath, she nods for what feels like the umpteenth time since morning. "I hope so."

"You know Roland will be over the moon just to have some cake."

"Chocolate cake, at that."

Robin smiles. "You've already won the day." His eyes fall to the cloak over her arm. "And… you're going somewhere?"

"Town to pick up a gift. I ordered it from France and this morning a post came that said it arrived."

"Oh, a gift from France. How fancy."

"It's not. But I think Roland will like it all the same." Taking a breath, she moves to the mirror, draping the cloak over her shoulders and fumbling with the clasp beneath her chin until she hears it click. "My father's coming along, too."

"Is he going stir crazy yet?"

Regina's eyes narrow as she looks at Robin through the mirror. "No, that's… that's…" She turns to face him, watching as he removes his cufflinks. "He seems quite comfortable."

"Well, that's good. He deserves to be."

"He's especially comfortable in the kitchen." She waits for Robin to drop the cufflinks into the bowl on the dressing table. "I was down there a few minutes ago and felt like I was interrupting… something."

"Something," he repeats. "What do you mean?"

"Something between my father and Mrs. Beakley."

Robin brows arch as he turns to her. "Something as in… something?"

"Maybe."

"You should ask him about it."

"I should just casually ask—"

"Why not?"

She blinks. "You want me to just ask my father if he's having an affair—"

"You're not asking for details."

"Robin, he's been here a week. There's no way he could've just—" Her voice stops. "They were just so comfortable and familiar and—"

"Would it bother you?"

"What?"

"The idea of the two of them being a pair."

Regina hesitates. She hadn't gotten that far. "I… I know that he's had affairs."

"That's not what I asked," Robin says easily, looking more amused than perplexed. "I asked if this affair, if there even is an affair, would bother you."

"I… I don't know," she murmurs. "I haven't thought about it."

"Was it upsetting to you?"

"Not particularly."

"Then, does it matter?" She frowns, and a soft chuckle escapes Robin as he crosses the room to where she stands. "Just ask him." He leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. "I promised Henry I'd teach him a new game to play with his dice. I have to go."

She grins gently, then watches him go before turning back to the mirror and smoothing her hands over the thick, felted fabric of her cloak, mulling over Robin's words and the odd interaction she witnessed in the kitchen. In the grand scheme of things, whether or not her father was or wasn't having some sort of love affair or whether or not he'd befriended to cook didn't matter. She had no loyalty to her mother and the whole point of bringing her father up the Lodge was to allow him some time away from her to enjoy himself. How he chose to do that was up to him.

But still, as she made her way down the stairs to the front entrance of the house, she found herself wondering about it, unable to shake her curiosity.

Her father greeted her warmly as she stepped out into the cold air, offering her two warm potatoes to keep in her pockets, just as he used to when she was a little girl.

"Winston says you want to walk," he begins as they take a few steps.

"Well, it's only a mile or so, and the horses deserve a rest after pulling us all up here."

Her father grins and looks up at the mid-morning sky. "And it's such a clear day. Why not enjoy it?"

"Exactly."

"I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to tomorrow—"

"I am, too," she admits. "Roland's never had a big celebration for his birthday. I can't wait to see his reaction."

"Everything's all set up in the woods," he says. "I checked it out myself after a handful of footmen finished with their task of setting it all up."

"Oh, I'm sure they loved that—"

"It doesn't matter how they felt about it," he muses. "They followed the instructions to a tee. It's perfect. That's what matters."

She grins as they continue down the gravel path that leads away from the house as her father relishes in the details of their perfectly planned scavenger hunt. He talks about the twists and turns, the clues, and the red-herrings as if she didn't help with each and every detail herself, but all the while she smiles, thinking of Roland as he winds through it and experiences it for himself.

"You… seem to be settling in here," Regina says as they round a bend away from the house. "Your room is comfortable enough?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," he says, grinning as he looks to her. "Quite a trade up from the barn at Dragon Head."

"I still can't believe you were practically living out there."

"I still maintain that the horses and barn cats made better company than your mother."

She grins. "Well, that's no surprise. She sets the standard quite low."

"But, yes, I am very comfortable here."

"I'm glad," she says, biting down on her on her lip, her thoughts still flitting around whatever it was she walked in on that morning. "You, um… you seem to be spending a lot of time down in the kitchen."

At that, her father's grin fades a little. "That is very true."

"I mean, it's understandable. It's the warmest place in the house and constantly smells amazing. If the boys had their way, they'd spend all of their spare time in there, too."

"Well, yes, there's that…" He clears his throat. "Regina, this…" He sighs. "You'd think now that you're a grown woman I'd be able to have these sorts of conversations with you."

Her stomach flops. "What do you mean?"

For a moment, he hesitates, shoving his hands into his pockets, likely gripping hot potatoes of his own. "Well, part of the reason it's been so easy to settle in here is… well… this isn't the first time I've been here. In years past, I…. I spent a considerable amount of time here."

"Here," she repeats, not quite understanding.

Of course, it makes sense that this general area would be familiar to her parents. After all, not long ago the house and the property surrounding it had belonged to her mother's family. Just because her mother lost the land didn't mean they also lost the connections that tied them to it—friends, family, favorite spots and memories.

"You were here once, too," he adds.

At that, she looks over at him. "What? I don't remember that."

"You were very young."

"You and mother brought me—"

"No," he interjects. "Just me. Your mother was away."

"Oh."

He laughs a bit awkwardly. "Your mother and I never saw eye-to-eye—"

"I'm aware," she says lightly.

"Yes, well… when you were very little I… I wasn't always around… I… I sort of had a refuge that…" His eyes pinch closed. "Until you were born, none of that mattered. Cora lived her life and I lived mine. We… we didn't care that the other had affairs, and we didn't care that everyone around us knew our marriage was a sham—" He sighs and looks back to her. "Before your mother, I was engaged to a woman I loved very dearly, a woman I wanted to marry—"

His voice halts as if waiting for her to connect the dots, but as hard as she tries, she's not quite able to.

"My involvement with that woman didn't end when your mother and I married."

"That's… not very surprising," she murmurs as they continue down the path toward town. "What changed?"

"You."

"What?"

"I had to choose, and I chose you."

That's meant to be sweet, but it feels like a sucker punch. "Why?"

"Quite simply, when you were born, I fell in love harder than I'd ever fallen before. I tried to split my time, but in the end, I hated to be away from you. Your mother knew that and—" He sighs. "The rest is history."

"Daddy, I'm… I'm not following this."

He nods, offering a resigned sigh. "The woman I wanted to marry was Bentina."

It takes her a moment to understand, but as it clicks a little gasp escapes her. "You… you almost married Mrs. Beakley?"

"Yes."

"And you… you're still…"

"In love with her?" he asks, grinning gently. "I am."

"Did you keep in touch? You said things didn't end when you married mother, but surely—"

"For a time we kept on, but it was hard. We wrote letters, spent time together when we could—"

"But that ended when I was born?"

"Not quite. That just further complicated things."

"Oh—"

"I brought you here once. I don't suppose you remember—" Regina's eyes narrow as she tries to conjure a memory of it, but she can't and shakes her head. "Your mother was away helping to care for a sick aunt who she was hoping she could strangle a bit of inheritance from—"

"How surprising—"

Her father laughs. "Yes, well, I couldn't resist packing you up and getting the hell out of Dragon Head." He grins a little. "Even with your mother not there, it was still… so cold and, all those damn stone dragons used to petrify you."

"I do remember that part."

"We spent a few months here, living in Betty's cottage with her," she smiles at the nickname, "and we just… just pretended to be a happy little family. She'd bring you to the main house and you'd turn one of the cabinets into a house for your doll, then at night after dinner we'd all sit by the fire and read stories…" her father's voice trails off as he momentarily gets lost in a memory. "I contemplated staying forever, but—"

"Why didn't you?"

"Your mother would have never allowed it and back then, I thought… I thought you needed her." Regina's eyes fall and she nods. "I thought she loved you and I feared you'd grow to resent Betty and I for taking her from you."

At that, she looks back. "She doesn't love me, though, does she?"

"I don't pretend to understand what's in Cora's heart or mind, Regina," he says in a tentative voice. "But it took far too long for me to realize that Cora's primary interest in mothering you was based on how she could use you to get the things she wanted." A shiver runs down her spine as she considers the life she might've had, a life without her mother's manipulation, and though it's completely irrational she feels like something's been taken from her. "Anyway," her father says, clearing his throat and snapping her back into the present moment, "We lost touch after that. It… it was getting messy and that was unfair…"

"It was unfair."

"I thought… she'd… move on, have a family of her own—"

"She never married."

He nods. "I know that now."

"So, when you came up last week—"

"It was the first time I'd seen her since we parted ways all those years ago."

"Did she know it then? When you left, did she know that it was the end?"

"Yes. She didn't agree with it, but she knew."

For a moment, all she can do is stare—and then, a vague memory flickers. There's not much to it, just the feeling of warmth and the smell of apples baking.

"The apple tree at Dragon Head," she murmurs. "We planted the seeds together when we came back. I kept the seeds in a handkerchief."

Her father nods. "Before we left, Betty packed us a whole bushel. She used to tease and say you'd eat the Locksley fortune given the way you'd eat up their apples."

"Well, I suppose that's still to be determined."

He laughs gently. "Yes, I suppose so."

For a while neither says anything as they continue down the dirt path toward town. Her head spins with a newfound understanding—and she finds herself thinking about all the little digs Mrs. Beakley made at her mother, scoffing at what she believed to be poor parenting. From their very first interaction at the Lodge to the most recent, Mrs. Beakley was always kind and warm, always maternal—and now, that made so much more sense to her.

"Did you surprise her?"

"Last week? No, no, she knew that I was coming. We've been trading letters for awhile now."

She can't help but smile at that. "Have you?"

"After your first trip up here, she sent a letter."

Again, she smiles. "Does it make you sad, thinking about the time you lost? It seems you could've had such a happy life."

For a moment, her father doesn't respond. "Well I am certainly making up for it now," he says, brightening as the round a bend that'll soon lead them into town.

Regina can't help but notice that her father didn't answer the question, and she supposes that it doesn't matter. The past can't be undone and he likely doesn't see a reason to dwell on regrets, not when the future is a much happier thing to consider.

---

For as long as Regina can remember, Christmas Eve has long been one of her favorite days of the year.

But this year, it's taken on a new meaning.

She awakes early and shivers as she gets out of bed, quickly dressing herself before going to wake the boys.

Smiling gently, she sits at Roland's beside, careful not to startle him awake—and for a moment, she just sits there, watching as he sleeps. It seems so strange to think that this is the first birthday that she's spending with him, that he hasn't even been a part of her life for a full year.

Reaching out, she brushes a cluster of messy curls from his forehead, thinking of the first time she held him.

From the start, her visits to the nursery at Sherwood were frequent. She felt a constant need to be near Henry to ensure that he was alright and being cared for, and truly, she didn't know how to be without him. Since the moment her son was born, his needs consumed her. Being Henry's mother gave her a sense of purpose in the world, and he kept her going when she had no other reason to want to. For too long, Henry was the only thing in her world that brought her any sort of happiness.

Though there was a staff of people at Sherwood tasked with taking care of the boys' needs, she didn't quite trust that anyone would do as good of a job caring for Henry as she would. So, she woke up early and got him ready for the day. She stayed with him through his meals to ensure that he got enough to eat and she spent her afternoons taking him on walks and playing with him. At night, she was there to clean him up and change him into his nightdress, and she was there to tuck him in and ready him with a story. He was her shadow, her sense of normalcy and home.

And all the while, Roland was right there, watching.

He stayed at a distance, though, just watching and listening as she and Henry went about their day.

It wasn't that she ignored him—quite the contrary, actually. She was quick to include him in whatever she and Henry were doing. If they went for a walk, Roland was invited. If they played a game, she made sure that Henry asked Roland to play, too. If she requested something special for Henry to eat, she requested the same for Roland. But, for the most part, she left her step-son's care to Celeste.

Then, Roland caught a cold.

He was sniffly and teary, miserable and in need of comfort—and in Robin's absence in the nursery that morning, she had to do. Roland hadn't hesitated. He climbed into her lap and soaked up whatever comfort she could offer.

After that, Roland started to come around, and it wasn't long before she had another shadow.

She fell in love with Roland long before she loved his father, and when she was still navigating the sort of relationship she and her new husband would have, she found herself mothering his son.

Roland was a sweet and precocious little boy. He was bright-eyed and silly, and when he smiled at her, regardless of circumstance, her heart melted. It didn't take long for him to have her wrapped around his little finger, and it didn't take long for her to find herself thinking of him as hers.

"Sweetheart," Regina whispers, leaning in and gently pressing her hand to Roland's stomach. "Sweetheart, do you know what today is?"

Roland's eyes flutter and a groggy smile stretches over his lips. "Christmas Eve."

"And?"

He brightens. "My birthday!"

"Do you want your first present?" she asks him, her hand already reaching for a little sachet bag in her pocket. "Or do you want to wai—"

"No! Now!" Roland's quick to say as he sits up, suddenly quite awake. "I love presents."

She grins and nods. "Well, this one is a very special one." Roland watches as she pulls out the satin sachet and tugs at the ribbons. "My father gave this to me when I was a girl and his father gave it to him."

Slowly, Roland looks up at her—and if he weren't so damn cute, his expression would be heartbreaking. "And you're giving it to me?"

"I am," she says easily as she hands Roland the open satchel. "Look inside."

She watches as he fishes out a compass and traces his fingers over the engraved coat of arms belonging to the Spanish royal family. "It's beautiful," he whispers. "What is it?"

"A compass."

"Oh."

"Do you know what a compass is?"

Roland shakes his head. "No."

"Come here," she murmurs, pulling him into her arms. "I'll show you." Roland's legs wrap around her as she lifts him up and carries him over to the window, pointing up above the trees where the sky is beginning to lighten. "Do you know what direction that is?"

"East," he tells her proudly. "I know because that's where the sun rises."

She grins. She can almost hear Mal's words coming out of Roland's mouth. "Very good." Roland beams and looks down at the compass, watching as her finger tip slides to a little button at its side. "Press there," she instructs. "Hard until it pops." Roland does and she stifles the urge to laugh as he presses down as hard as he can, his little finger shaking until the compass finally pops open, and when it does, he pulls back, giggling in surprise as he looks back to her. "Do you see the arrow?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you see what it's pointing to?"

Roland leans in, looking at the face of the compass. "East!" he exclaims, looking back to her. "And so are we!"

"Yes."

Laughing out, she spins him around so they're facing in the opposite direction. "How about now?"

Roland studies the compass. "West!"

She spins again, twirling until Roland is laughing hysterically and she's dizzy. "Now?"

"North!" he announces. "The arrow points north!"

She sets Roland back on the edge of the bed, smiling as he continues to examine every detail of the compass, holding it out from side to side and checking the arrow for accuracy—and her heart melts as she's reaching for one of his new wool sweaters and hears him whisper that it's magic.

Mal arrives in the nursery to wake and dress Henry just as she's helping Roland pull up his socks, and her heart swells as Roland rushes to show Mal his compass—and when Mal tells him it'll come in handy later on, his head whips around to look at Regina. She shrugs and offers him her hand, telling him that he'll just have to wait and see—and that's when Roland realizes that this birthday will be different from the ones that came before it.

Robin greets them both at the stairs, kissing her cheeks before bending to scoop up Roland as they all go down to breakfast. Robin takes Roland to look at the tree that was brought in shortly after he and Henry were tucked into bed, and she watches as Roland rubs his fingers over the colorful glass ornaments in their wooden crates, absolutely mesmerized by the glass and porcelain jewel-toned orbs.

"Do we get to help decorate this one today?" he asks expectantly as if somehow this particular tree is different than the others that were brought in and decorated throughout the week in preparation for the masquerade party the following night. "Tomorrow is Christmas."

"It is," Robin murmurs as he sinks down to Roland's level. "But it'll have to wait until later. From what I understand, you've got a very busy day in front of you."

Roland whirls around, looking up at her with wide eyes and a silly grin, but again, she only offers a shrug and a grin in reply.

By the time Mal brings Henry down and they all proceed into the dining room, Roland is bouncing. He climbs into his chair at the table and doesn't hesitate when Mrs. Beakley announces that, "the birthday boy gets to eat first." Her father helps Roland to fill up his plate with a heap of scrambled eggs and several strips of bacon. He takes two pieces of toast and a full bowl of thick oatmeal, and when he slaps a huge dollop of cranberry jelly into his bowl, she says nothing and instead passes him the apple jelly for his toast.

When breakfast is done, under Regina's instruction, they bundle up. Mrs. Beakley gives Roland and Henry each a pair of hot potatoes for their pockets, and when they all pile into the wagonnette, her father beams as he points to a box beneath the bench that's tied with a bright red bow.

"Well, I wondering what on Earth that could be."

"It looks like a Christmas present," Roland says.

"Or," Henry begins, nudging his brother's arm. "A birthday present."

Roland's eyes widen and they all laugh as he dives down under the bench to retrieve it. "Can I open it now?" he asks, looking between all of the adults. "Please?"

"Well, it is your birthday," Regina replies.

"Mm, and if you don't open it up, I will," her father tells him. "So, go on now."

Roland doesn't hesitate. He tugs off the bow, tosses it aside, and when he struggles to open up the box, Robin helps, wiggling it until it loosens—and when it finally opens, a little gasp escapes both father and son.

"It's a bow!" Her stomach lurches as Roland lifts it from the box, his fingers petting the smooth wood.

"It has arrows, too," Henry whispers, his voice awestruck and envious. "Wow."

Roland nods and pulls one of the arrows from its little leather quiver, flicking the feather at the end with his thumb and finger. A smile draws onto his lips. "Henry, feel."

Regina watches as her son reaches out and touches the arrow's father tip and grins. "Neat."

"Daddy," Regina whispers. "You got him a weap—"

"Shhh—" He shakes his head dismissively. "Don't ruin it, Regina."

She watches as her father beams while he watches his grandsons load the arrow into the bow and point it—and she rolls her eyes as Robin chuckles softly beside her. "I'll teach them," he murmurs. "Don't worry. They won't hurt themselves."

"I'm just picturing them shooting each other—"

"They wouldn't, love."

She blinks and looks over at him. "I didn't say they'd do it on purpose."

The wagonette rattles on toward the woods and all the while, the boys marvel over the bow and arrows. Roland pulls the compass from his pocket and shows it to Henry, and Henry giggles as he points to the compass face and tells him that "the arrows match," all the while her father calls Roland a "proper huntsman," a title her youngest son relishes in for the rest of the ride.

Finally, they arrive at a clearing in the woods that she knows will eventually lead them to the orchard. Roland is the first to hop down from the wagonette with Henry on his heels, and her father not far behind—and when Roland looks expectantly at her, she feels her excitement bubbling back up.

"Do you know what a scavenger hunt is?"

Roland shakes his head. "Do I get to use my compass for it?"

"You do."

Roland grins proudly as he pulls it from his pocket and clicks it open, ready to use it. He and Henry both listen intently as Regina explains that they've set up a path through the woods with little clues and prizes that'll lead to a treasure trove of gifts. Roland's eyes light up at that last part, and then, he fidgets nervously and asks what happens if he doesn't find all the clues.

"You'll have help," Regina tells him.

"But what if we get lost?" Roland's quick to ask, looking anxiously behind himself. "The woods can be scary."

Her father chuckles. "That's why you have a bow and arrow, my b—"

"Daddy—"

"You'll have me, too," he explains with a wink. "We'll get through it just fine. You'll see."

Roland seems satisfied, and when Regina hands him a folded up little piece of paper, he and Henry stare at it for a moment—and then, exchanging knowing looks, they take off running into the woods, her father hustling behind them, already looking winded.

"And… what do we do?" Robin asks, looking a little lost.

"Well, we could… just go up to the mill and wait for them—"

"Or?"

"We could follow."

She can see him mulling it over, but truly, she doesn't want there to be an option.

Laughing, she reaches down to hitch up her skirt; then her other hand finds his, quickly tugging him toward the woods. They're barely a few feet from the main pathway when she hears Roland's laugh ring out, and she smiles to herself knowing that he's found the first clue—a "treasure map" that'll help guide them and a tin filled with raspberry tarts. She looks back at Robin and finds him smiling at her—his eyes bright and wide, and filled with love and gratitude. Her heart flutters a little before she tugs him further down the path.

They all continue through the woods, collecting little trinkets and clues for the better part of an hour—and the whole time, both Henry and Roland remain at least six feet ahead of the adults, solving their puzzles and hurriedly finding new clues that will take them to the next.

Her cheeks sting from the cold December air and her fingers feel numb, but it's all worthwhile to see Roland's face at the end of the path.

He stops dead in his tracks as he comes to a large golden key hanging on a rope from a branch. He looks back at them as he pulls a little note from it. Henry leans in to help him read it, and her stomach flops with excitement, knowing the little treasure trove of gifts is not far off.

Roland take the key and he and Henry proceed around the bend to the mill—and she watches as his face lights up as he takes in the orchard. It's decorated with pennants and crepe paper, and there's a little sign on the door congratulating him for finishing the quest—and on the door is the last of the clues. Carefully, he pulls it down and again, he and Henry read it before pushing inside where a little wooden chest awaits him.

Regina takes Robin by the hand, pulling him into the mill, arriving just in time for Roland to see the giant stuffed blue dragon sitting atop the chest. He gasps a little as he reaches for him, petting him in amazement as he turns to look at them, hoarsely whispering that it's, "just like Henry's!"

It takes him a few minutes to remember that there are more presents that await him, and Robin rests his chin on her shoulder as they watch Roland use the golden key to open up the chest to find an array of small gifts wrapped in red metallic paper.

It doesn't take long for Roland to open the first few—a set of jacks and a few other tinker toys, and a Chinese Chess game. Then, she watches as he reaches for the book. She isn't entirely sure why her stomach flops nervously as he takes it, rubbing his fingers over the paper as he grins up and remark that, "this one is heavy!" She holds her breath as he pulls back the paper, his head tilting to the side as tries to read the title, finally stumbling fully through, "Robin Hood: A Collection of All the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballards" and then, excitedly, he looks to her and asks if she can read him one of the stories.

Her father builds a fire and Robin heats them all some apple cider as she begins the first story. Roland settles in her lap and Henry's at her side, and for just a few minutes as they read and drink the cider, everything is cozy and calm.

Until her father announces that there's yet another surprise.

Robin looks to her as she shrugs, and they all go outside, following her father as he excitedly leads them all into the orchard where they find targets set up on some of the trees. Her stomach lurches again as they boys clamour toward him, begging to be to be shown how to shoot.

Her father just laughs as he looks to Robin and she feels a slight jab of relief at the realization Robin will be the one to teach them and not her father. Still, she holds her breath as she watches her husband kneel down in front of his son, helping him to hold the bow and tweaking it, so that it snaps. Roland and Henry both giggle at that, and she gasps as her father rolls his eyes—and then, when the first arrow goes sailing through the trees, she finds her eyes pressed closed, unable to watch.

Eventually, she returns to the mill for another mug of cider while Robin, her father, and the boys continue to shoot arrows at the targets—and despite herself, she can't help but smile when one of the boys hits the target for the first time and her father and Robin start to cheer wildly in celebration.

At half past noon, the cookies, tarts, and candies that the boys found along the way are gone, and Roland's presents—including one of the targets—are loaded into the wagonette.

"Read to me again, Mama," Roland says as he climbs into her lap and reaches for his new book, tugging his new dragon along with him and propping him up at Regina's side.

She nods and kisses the top of his head. "Are you having a good birthday?" she asks, accepting the book from him and lifting the ribbon that marks the page she left off on.

"The best," he says, yawning as she cuddles back against her—and just before she starts to read again, she catches Robin's gaze, and again, he's looking at her with those bright, wide eyes so full of love and gratitude.

---

The remainder of the day is spent in the library.

When they arrive, a fire is already roaring in the hearth and the boys waste no time crouching down in front of it to warm their hands. She smiles as Henry touches his palms to his cheeks, sighing contently at the warmth, and then she can't help but chuckle as Roland pulls off his boots and socks to warm his toes, wiggling them in front of the screen. Robin joins them, fanning out a blanket before sitting down and pulling Roland onto his lap as he whispers something to Henry—and curiously, they all look back at her and laugh.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously, but there's no time to question it.

Mrs. Beakley brings in bowls of venison stew as maids hurry behind her on Mrs. Potter's order, lining every possible surface that the boys might touch while eating with butcher paper. Roland does most of the talking, chattering on about his birthday between spoonfuls of stew, and at the end of his bowl, he announces that his dragon has a name. He leaves it there for a minute until Henry nudges him, whispering that everyone probably wants to know what the dragon's name will be, and Roland beams as he announces Bruni—not Bruno, a clarification that earns an eye roll from Henry.

And of course, when Mrs. Beakley comes upstairs with Roland's cake, his whole face lights up, and when it's time to cut it, Roland is quick to remind everyone that Bruni needs a rather large piece, too; after all, he's a growing dragon.

When everyone's had their fill of cake, their plates are cleared away and replaced by bowls of cranberries and orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and little gingerbread stars. She and Robin sit back as Mrs. Potter and Mal join them, showing Henry and Roland how to string the berries and orange slices and how to tie knots around the cinnamon. Roland sits on Mal's lap and Henry stands between Mrs. Potter's knees, carefully making garlands and ornaments for the tree.

It's not lost on her how still they are—likely tired from the morning and likely minding their manners in front of their tutor—and it's a nice change of pace. Mrs. Beakley brings up a kettle of cranberry-orange tea for her and Robin as her father sits down at the piano, gently tapping at the keys as her plays a medley of Christmas songs. Regina recognizes a couple—Hark! The Herald Angel Sings and Joy to the World—but for the most part, she doesn't pay attention to the songs themselves, instead focusing on the comfort and warmth she feels.

It's such a contrast from a year before when she and Henry celebrated the holiday at Dragon Head—the first time Henry experienced any real sort of celebration.

Before returning to Dragon Head, Christmases were relatively bleak. By late-December their little apartment was cold and drafty and the window panes were perpetually frosted. Leading up to the holiday, Daniel did what he could to work extra jobs—mucking out stalls in barns, oiling carriages to prepare them for journeys, delivering turkeys and hams or whatever else needed to be taken to the surrounding estates, and cleaning chimneys. He never earned much, but they usually scrapped together enough for a small gift for Henry—some sort of trinket that made him laugh and entertained him for hours on end—and she was able to cobble together a relatively decent meal. Daniel's cousin typically gave them a couple of cornish hens and at the end of the harvest season, his cousin's wife had taught her how to save beets and greens in vinegar. By their last Christmas, she'd become skilled at making potato dishes—and on their last Christmas, it snowed. Daniel took Henry outside and they danced around in it as she watched from the window—and though they didn't have much, at least on Christmas, they were happy and fed.

For as long as she could remember, her mother was not fond of the holiday, and their family celebrations were usually dismal. One year, when she was around eleven, she'd asked for a Christmas tree. Her mother looked horrified at the request—and she'd barely been able to choke out that Daniel's family had one, and she thought that it was nice. She still remembers the way her father's eyes cast down in disappointment as he muttered something about "it not causing any harm" and she still remembers how her mother flew off the handle, ranting about "common people" and "keeping up appearances."

Regina was never sure what "appearances" needed to be kept; after all, no one ever came to Dragon Head for Christmas. When they did celebrate the holiday with others, it was at the invitation of one of her mother's friends—though, those were always far and few between.

Gifts were always practical and never anything fun, and usually on Christmas night, she went to bed early. The years when Zelena lived with them were marginally better—at least she had someone to commiserate with—and though her father tried to make up for her mother's lack of spirit and cheer, it always fell short. Usually after dinner, he disappeared—probably for a drink at the pub—and when he returned, his cheeks were rosy and he smelled of whiskey. He'd creep into her room and wake her up, and they'd have their own little celebration. One year, he'd given her a porcelain doll that was sent to him by a cousin in Spain. Another year it was a music box, and when she'd been a little older, it'd been a pair of boots and a silk hair ribbon she'd been eyeing. He'd get out the newspaper and read the annual Christmas ghost story that was published in that morning's edition, and he'd make a big deal of doing all of the character's voices—and as fun as that little tradition was, she always had to answer for it in the morning.

Her mother inevitably noticed the doll, the music box, and the boots—and inevitably, all of those treasured Christmas presents disappeared within the week.

So, her first Christmas back at Dragon Head was met with dread.

It said a lot that those bleak little holidays spent in a cold and drafty apartment were happier—and when she and Henry awoke on Christmas morning, the house was eerily quiet.

By then, Dragon Head was in trouble. Her father had lost their money and quietly, they'd begun to sell off some of the more valuable assets of the estate. Her father had gone to an auction a handful of days before Christmas. He claimed the delay was due to weather, apologizing profusely in letters, but she had a sinking feeling he merely wanted to avoid her mother whose behavior had become infinitely worse since their financial struggles had set in. And that left Cora to her.

Since her return, Cora had taken a renewed interest in attending church—and when she returned on Christmas morning, instead of being filled with the spirit of the season and hope for the coming year, she started on a tangent about how embarrassing it was to be there, having to recount her sinful daughter's less than ceremonious homecoming with a bastard child in tow. She ranted for the whole day, rehashing it time and time again, and so Regina and Henry spent the day locked away in her room playing with the sock puppets she'd made for him and given to him that morning.

They ate dinner in silence with Cora scowling at them, and before dessert Henry asked to be excused and sent to bed. She allowed it and by the time Henry was tucked in, her mother was waiting in her bedchamber ready to unleash her wrath.

At the time, she couldn't ever imagine her situation improving.

And yet, here she was with the previous year's Christmas seeming more like a bad dream than a memory.

Henry and Roland laugh out, snapping her back into the present moment.

They each hold up two gingerbread men that they've decorated—Roland's have mis-matched shoes that take up half their legs and Henry's have eyes that practically cover their entire faces—and she grins and tells them their gingerbread men are some of them best she's ever seen.

Henry laughs and teasingly calls her a liar as Roland giggles maniacally at the faces of Henry's men—and as Robin gets up, leaving her by the hearth, her heart warms as he scoops Roland up onto his shoulders, then takes Henry by the hand, leading them over to the tree, leaving the gingerbread men with Mrs. Potter and Mal. They take the garlands and wind them around the tree, getting caught up and tangled time and time again. The garlands criss-cross around the tree, creating uneven little x's all over it. Mrs. Potter and Mal bring over the gingerbread men—most of which they ended up decorating with thin, pristine lines of icing—and the rest of the orange slices and cinnamon sticks, handing them to the boys who carefully place them on the tree.

She joins them and opens up the crates of ornaments, showing them how to carefully handle the glass bulbs and which branches are best to hold them. The boys move slowly around the tree, and when the bottom half is covered, it's Henry's turn to go up onto Robin's shoulders to decorate the top.

By the time the final velvety red bow is placed, the sky is beginning to darken as the sun sets.

Winston comes around and lights candles around the room while two footmen prod at the fire, and then they scurry off with Mal and Mrs. Potter behind them. She isn't sure when her father disappeared, but as the boys get out Roland's new set of jacks, she finds that it's just the four of them—and she finds herself relieved.

Robin's arm circles around her hips as he tucks her back against him, pressing a quick kiss to her jaw as he asks if she's tired—and though she is, she smiles and shakes her head. She's not ready for this day to be done.

They settle together in an armchair by the fire, watching as the boys play with the jacks.

"Tomorrow will be awfully busy."

"I know," she sighs. "I… sort of regret agreeing to this."

"Do you? I thought it was your idea?"

She grins and looks back at Robin. "Mrs. Potter suggested it, and… I went with it."

"She loves having… things to do."

Regina nods. It's true. Since they started coming up to the house, the staff of the house has come alive, relishing in the refound purpose of the estate. "It's nice to… have things to do, other than dust mantles that no one sees and shine banisters that no one touches."

"She was the head maid when my grandfather lived here—"

"Her sister was housekeeper, right?"

"Yes."

"Ah—"

"I think… it makes her nostalgic, getting to participate in all of these old traditions again and estates like this one do serve a purpose, or… they're supposed to."

"I know," she murmurs. "That's why I agreed to it."

"At least it's just brunch."

"And games and presents and—"

Robin laughs. "I used to love this day when I was little."

Regina turns so that she can see him. "Really?"

He nods. "Everyone would come up from the village with their families—there must've been hundreds of people who'd come up."

"Well, a nice, hot meal that's free—"

"It was my job to scoop the oatmeal," he tells her, practically beaming as he remembers it. "And tell them they could pick from apple butter or maple syrup."

Regina nods—and it occurs to her that had her father stayed here, she'd have been a part of that, and that she and Robin might've grown up the way that she and Daniel did. "Was it… like the gigantic feast that Mrs. Beakley is preparing?"

"I remember it being that way, yes," he murmurs. "But, things always seem so much bigger and better when you're a child, so it's hard to say." He grins. "But there were sausages and bacon and this… egg dish that I could've eaten entirely on my own."

A soft laugh bubbles out of her. "I think I know why you were on oatmeal serving duty."

Robin laughs, too, and he nods. "Oh, I am positive that was a very deliberate choice."

"I… have been warned that I'm not to touch the apple cobblers."

Robin smirks. "Looks like you'll be on oatmeal duty this year."

Nodding, she grins and thinks of the crates stacked out behind the kitchen. They're filled with all sorts of things—a big bag of potato flour and a jar of lard, dried fruits and canned vegetables, a brick of coffee, and other things that are both filling and will last a while should the winter be rough.

"It's a nice tradition," she decides. "I'm glad to do it. I just… today was so nice."

"It was nice," Robin agrees. "It was… perfect."

"Roland seemed to have fun."

"Fun is an understatement. My boy had the time of his life."

"Perhaps we can do it again next year?"

"I think we have to," Robin tells her, his tone both playful and serious. "It seems we've started a new Christmas Eve tradition."

"Well, it's not quite that," she says. "It's not about the holiday. It's about Roland."

"Indeed it is."

There's a long pause after that and she knows that he's thinking of Marian—she hasn't forgotten how difficult this day is for him and for everything he gained six years ago, he lost just as much. She plucks up his hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, grinning up at him as she nestles against him. For awhile, they stay just like that—with her pressed against his chest, her head against his shoulder as his head rests atop hers and his fingers trail up and down her arm, moving from shoulder to fingertip and then back again. It's soothing and relaxing, and such a perfect moment sandwiched between two busy days.

She feels herself drifting and her eyes feel heavy. She blinks, then looks to the fire, then she blinks again and looks to the boys, mustering a soft smile as she spots them asleep underneath the tree.

"Look," she murmurs softly, nudging Robin. "Look at them."

It takes a minute, but as his eyes fall to them, she feels a laugh rumble in his chest. "Perhaps this could also be a tradition—asleep before six! It's unheard of."

It's true.

While the boys love their bedtime routine of getting washed up and into their warm beds, their excitement isn't about sleep, but the story they know is coming. Bedtime with Henry and Roland lasts for hours—and though she doesn't mind it, it's also nice to have an early night for herself sometimes.

"Should we take them up?"

"I suppose," she sighs, blinking a few times as she tries to wake herself. "Though, I hate to disturb them."

"Yes," Robin murmurs, leaning in a little to press a feathery kiss to her jaw. "But the sooner they can get into bed, the sooner we can get into bed."

She looks back at him with a cocked brow, and then a little giggle escapes her. "You make it sound like we'll be doing something other than sleeping."

"Well… it's a possibility…"

"Or we could actually rest."

He frowns. "I heard your father call you a killjoy earlier and I now understand how you've earned that title."

Rolling her eyes, she looks back to the boys. "They didn't have dinner. Maybe we should wake—"

"They'll be good and hungry come morning, then," he reasons. "Besides, they ate more than enough today to keep them full. Between the snacks and sweets and actual meals, I'm pretty sure they ate double their usual."

She sighs. "That's probably true."

"Come on," he says, gently pushing at her back. "Let's get them to bed."

Nodding, Regina gets up from his lap and walks toward the tree. Carefully, she scoops up Roland, smiling as his little body instinctively coils around her and as Robin picks up Henry. Henry wakes up momentarily, asking what time it is, and Robin whispers a soft, "It's bedtime, my boy," before kissing his hair. Henry nods and closes his eyes again, and by the time they reach the stairs, Henry is asleep again.

"Well, would you look at that—" She and Robin both turn to see Mrs. Beakley coming up from the kitchen with Mal and Mrs. Potter behind her, all with cups of tea in hand. "They're all tuckered out!"

"It was quite a day," Robin says, nodding as he rubs Henry's back. "All the excitement tired them out early."

"I know you had a special dinner planned, but I think we're all going to turn in early. It really has been a tiring day."

"Oh! Don't you worry about that. The maids and footmen won't complain if I serve it to them. In fact, I'll just tell them that Christmas came a bit early for 'em."

Regina smile and thanks her for understanding, and as they wind their way up the stairs to put their sons to bed, her mind starts to wander and she finds herself thinking about what an early night for her and Robin really could entail.

---

With the boys in bed and with her and Robin deciding on an early night in, Mal and Mrs. Potter take the opportunity to head into town—Mrs. Potter for a visit with Chip and Mal to join Ruby and Belle for a drink. Winston retires early to prepare to welcome in hundreds of people the following morning, and by the time the boys are tucked into their beds, the whole house is quiet. Not even a hallboy remains.

"I think it's safe to assume that our dinner is being enjoyed," Robin muses as they head to their bedchambers.

"Oh, I'm sure of it."

"I think my grandfather would have really enjoyed that the dinner that was meant for us is going to the staff here."

"He sounds like he was a very giving man."

Robin nods. "Looking back, I think he was."

"Looking back?"

"Well, I always idolized him. He was my grandfather, after all. But, you know how my father is—"

Regina sighs. "What happened when you were eight?"

"Hm?"

"You always say that you spent a lot of time here until you were eight. So, what happened?"

Robin shakes his head. "My father and grandfather had a falling out over money. I don't remember much of it, but I do remember my father spatting the word 'frivolous' quite a bit."

"Richard doesn't strike me as the most charitable person."

"Not at all, so I'm sure that was a sore spot."

Regina nods. For her entire life, she heard stories about Robin's grandfather and how he was a playboy who stole her family's fortune by taking advantage of an elderly aunt. She supposes she'll never really know what happened there, but she's certain the stories she grew up hearing were half truths at best. The money that was meant for her mother would've been spent on dresses, parties, and other status symbols while the rest of it was stashed away in some bank somewhere; instead, in the hands of Robin's grandfather, it seems to have done such good.

When Robin proposed and she adamantly fought against accepting, her mother had tried to rationalize, telling her to think of the money. She hadn't realized then that Cora was looking for much more than an allowance from the Locksleys that would maintain her lifestyle; she was looking to reclaim the inheritance she felt was owed to her through this estate.

"Do you… ever think about how connected our families are?"

Robin blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… before us... there's this whole history."

"Yes, and what a sordid history it is."

She smiles. "My whole life I was told to stay away from you."

"I heard a similar message."

"And yet, here we are."

Robin nods, not quite following, but nonetheless, making an attempt. "I rather like where we are."

"If your father were anyone but the person your father is and my mother was anyone but the person she is, our marriage would've been inevitable."

For a moment, he just stares, and then he nods again. This time, there's an understanding behind his eyes. "We'd have been pushed into it."

"And I'd have resisted."

"I'd have… resisted less," he says, chuckling softly as they reach their bedchamber. "I don't think I'd have liked being told who I had to marry, but being told to marry a gorgeous girl would've softened that blow."

Regina's eyes roll. "You're such a man sometimes."

"Well, I can't quite help that—"

"No," she murmurs, grinning as he closes the door behind them. "I just… when you first proposed, it seemed like such an unlikely union, and yet—" Her voice trails off as she thinks of the story her father told her about the time she spent as a girl in the kitchen of this very house. "You know, we might've met another way had things… gone another way."

"What?"

"My father, um… he… he had this whole love affair with none other than Mrs. Beakley—or, Betty, as he calls her."

For a moment, Robin just stares as if working to connect the dots—and when he does, a grin works over his lips. "Is that so?" She nods. "Well, that… makes a strange amount of sense."

"Doesn't it?"

"I knew he had an affair when you were young—"

"You did?"

"He told me about it. He… he told me he felt guilty for saddling you with Cora as a mother—" He stops and laughs. "He just didn't tell me who the affair was with though." He grins and she can tell he likes the notion. "It… explains how she treats you, though, doesn't it?"

Biting down on her lip, Regina nods. "From the start, she's always been so warm and—"

"Maternal."

"Yes."

"Wow."

"I know." A little laugh escapes her. "Had my father not gone back to my mother, had we stayed here, you and I would've crossed paths." She watches as he considers that. "I'd have been the little girl in the kitchen and you'd have been—"

"The little boy who stole cookies from the kitchen."

"Yes."

"Would you have ratted me out to my father?"

Her brow arches. "Would you have shared?"

He hesitates, then grins. "Yes."

"Then no. I wouldn't have told anyone about your thievery." For a moment, neither of them says anything and for a moment, it seems that they're both lost in what might've been. "We'd have been friends," she says after a moment. "We'd—"

"Definitely not have been pushed into a marriage."

"No—"

"I'd have fallen for you, you know that, right?"

A grin twists onto her lips. "Well, given how we ended up, I can see that being very plausible."

He grins. "At some point, I wouldn't have gone to the kitchen just to steal cookies."

"No?"

"No—"

He steps in, his hand reaching for her waist—and then, as she reaches up to stroke the back of her fingers over his stubbly cheek, she catches a glimpse of her own and hand and suddenly notices that her ring is missing.

"Oh—"

She pulls back and Robin's brow furrows with confusion.

"Oh. No. No, no, no—" Her voice halts and she looks up at him. "Robin!"

He blinks. "Wh-what just happened? I… thought… well…" His lips purse as he stares at her, stifling a laugh. "Is the thought of kissing me so bad—"

"What?" she groans. Her voice is more abrasive than she'd intended.

"I was going to kiss you and you—"

"My ring is gone!" For a moment, he just stares at her, still looking confused. "Robin, my wedding ring is missing! It's not on my finger. I… I must've lost it. I—"

He swallows and steps in, gently grabbing her by the arms. "Regina. Calm down."

"My ring is gone!"

"Regina—"

"Robin, it's—"

"It's alright. It's… it's just a ring. It's—"

She feels her eyes go wide. "It's not just a ring. It's—"

"I know," he cuts in. "It's your wedding ring. I… I shouldn't have said that. I just—" His voice halts and his eyes shift to the window. "It's just… it could be anywhere and there's not much—"

"Oh, god. I could've lost it anywhere!" Her heart starts to beat faster. "I could've lost it in the woods or at the mill or—"

"Or in the barn or in the wagonette or—"

"Or in the tree!"

His brows arch. "Do we have to go search the tree?"

"You're lucky I'm not going to make you search the woods tonight," she says, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the door. "My hands were in those crates and… and maybe it just fell off when we were on the chair. Maybe it's just in the cushion of the chair or on the carpet."

Robin hesitates, then nods. "Fine," he says, reaching around her to open the door. "Let's go look."

Slowly, they retrace their steps. They examine the upstairs carpet, looking beneath tables and in corners; they even search the nursery, with her gently pulling back the boys' bedding as Robin holds up a candle so she can see. When they don't find it there, she checks the hamper while Robin all but combs the stairs—and her heart sinks when they don't find it.

They check every imaginable spot in the library and when they don't find it, they end up in the cellar, looking through the crates the footmen carried away once the tree was decorated—and when they don't find it there, it takes everything in her to hold back the tears as they come up from the cellar.

"It must be out—"

"It's dark and it's cold. We are not going to look for it outside."

She hesitates, looking around the dark kitchen until she finds the window. She wants to continue their search, but she knows that Robin's right. Now isn't the time. "Maybe in the morning we can—"

"I'll personally go out to look at sunrise."

Biting down on her lip. She knows that's an insane thing to ask of him, but she finds herself nodding. "Thank you."

"It'll turn up."

"You don't know that."

He sighs. "And if it doesn't, it… it can be replaced."

Her eyes widen and she bites back the urge to argue. "Robin, I… I feel terrible. I can't believe I didn't notice—"

"Things happen," he says, taking a step toward her. "It was cold and—"

"How stupid of me."

"No—" She looks up as he lifts her chin. "Things happen. It's not your fault, and I won't allow you to beat yourself up for it. If it doesn't turn up, it can be replaced. It's a ring. Yes, it's your wedding ring. Yes, it means something to you, but no, it's not irreplaceable."

She pouts, again, trying to resist the urge to argue. "But it's—"

"It's a thin little piece of metal. That's it."

She looks up at him and nods, wishing she could be so practical about it, wishing she could see it as he does. "I know, I just—"

He doesn't let her finish. Instead, he leans in and brushes his lips over her, pulling back just enough so that she can see him smile. He leans in again, this time pulling her in by the waist and pulling her flush against him. His tongue slips between her lips and his hand tangles in her hair, and in spite of herself, she can't resist kissing him back.

"You know," he begins, pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. "I think I can distract you."

"You think so? I… I am pretty upset."

"I know," he murmurs, rubbing his nose against hers. "But I've been told that I am quite talented."

She swallows hard. She can feel his breath on her lips again—and for a brief moment, she finds herself thinking of the first time they were alone like this in the kitchen of this house. She remembers how drunk she was and how badly she wanted him, and she remembers how good it felt to finally, after all those months, give in and let herself enjoy him. "Oh? Well, who told you that?"

"You," he says, smirking as he leans in the rest of the way, kissing her again. He lifts her up and carries her back upstairs, and by the time they reach their bedchamber again, her missing ring is all but forgotten.