"I spoke to the shopkeeper we visited, by the way," Raphael mentioned conversationally as he helped Jane roll snow into the shape of a ball. "The thing we've ordered shall be ready by the weekend."

'Oh, that's wonderful! It's going to be so perfect! I can't wait.'

Truth be told, Raphael was rather excited himself. He and Jane had been planning this particular thing for nearly a month now, and as the day drew nearer, he was seized by an embarrassing need to see it unfold according to his expectations.

How would Sylvie react when she saw what he had in store for her?

Preferably, she would throw herself in his arms, weep for joy, and declare that no one had made her any happier.

Christ, that secret wish wasn't pathetic and silly in the least.

"Honestly, Jane, I must tell you that Mister Snowy here is looking a tad peculiar," Raphael faced his ward in an attempt to dispel his uncharacteristically romantic thoughts; she stood with her hands at her hips staring down at the disproportionate-looking snowman she had been assembling under the watchful eye of her bleary-eyed nanny while the rest of the household slept. Rafe hadn't slept after Sylvie had left so had caught the sight of Miss Jane marching out into the garden, where a fresh sheet of snow had fallen the night before, with the determination of a general. He did not expect to be sleeping, so he had sent for a hot cup of chocolate for the two of them and had joined her outside.

'No!' She protested vehemently. 'Mister Snowy is quite the most handsome snowman there ever was!'

"Come now, Janie, his head is too small, his eyes keep falling out, he has no scarf nor a hat. He doesn't even have hands! This cannot be allowed to stand."

Jane let out a sad pout but sighed as she nodded in agreement.

'I do suppose we could make him look better.'

"My point precisely! You have laid an excellent foundation, my dear poppet, and now we must build on it! Fortunately for you, young lady, your Uncle Rafe is rather the best snowman maker to have ever lived."

Jane let out an unamused snort, much like her mother's, so Rafe chucked a handful of snow at her. She let out a startled sound and then laughed in delight, grabbing her own handful to extract retribution. Rafe twisted out of the way, making sure her hit only caught him partly on his trousers.

"Oh, now you've done it. You've really challenged the snowball champion of the Grand, The Great, The Exquisite, The Most Handsome Viscount of Carlisle to a battle ...to the death!"

'And I am the Queen Regent Jane of The Empire of Heartwood, Mistress of Snow! You are no match for me!'  

"We'll see about that, you little troublemaker! En garde, I say!" He challenged boldly as his opponent squared her shoulders and leapt behind Mister Snowy for some cover, and so their death match began, with both of them aiming and dodging until they were out of breath. Finally, Jane managed to launch a solidly packed ball straight for his chest. Raphael clutched his heart as if he'd taken a bullet and made a great showing of collapsing to the snow covered ground in defeat, but the little ruthless creature launched one final attack while he was on the floor, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Now, that was certainly against the rules of war, Jane," he huffed as he wiped the cold flakes from his face. She just signed that she was sorry while not looking sorry in the least. "The Queen Regent is a petty war criminal."

'Sore loser.'

"Ha! Better than being a sore winner!"

"Actually," Sylvie's voice stalled Jane from making a response. She came carrying a tray with a pot and three cups, presumably for their hot chocolate.  "A sore winner, at the very least, is still a winner."

Servants hurried out with a set of chairs and a table, and the three of them sat down with Mr Snowy, who seemed as if he would lose his carrot-nose any minute. Sylvie lovingly draped cloaks over both their shoulders and poured them each a cup of the chocolate. She wore a simple dressing gown over her night rail, looking as if she had just gotten out of bed.

Christ,but she was lovely.

When her glasses fogged over because of the hot beverage, Raphael plucked them off her face and cleaned them off with a napkin before handing them back to her.

"You should sleep," he told her gently. "You didn't get much rest. It's only nine in the morning."

"I was almost asleep, but I could hear the two of you laughing and screaming," she smiled at Jane indulgently. "I didn't wish to be left out."

"Well, in the interest of inclusion, have a look at poor Mister Snowy. He's one mild wind away from disintegrating entirely. Is there any way to resuscitate him, do you think?"

'Oh, that's a good idea. Mama is the best at making snowmen! She'll know how we can fix him up. We make them all the time in Carlisle!'

Sylvie observed Mister Snowy for a few silent moments, before turning to them gravely.
"I'm afraid there is nothing to do besides.......beheading him immediately," she announced with an executioner's gravitas. "His head is not the right size, his nose ought to be cut down to make it less heavy, mayhap we ought to fetch some clothing from inside to make him look a little less...sparse? Oh, and certainly we ought to break off a branch or two, can't leave Mister Snowy without arms, now can we?"

Rafe gave Jane an I told you so look as Jane finally sighed.

'This is why I think you should marry,' Jane gave them an exasperated look as if they were all fools. 'Wouldn't it be nice to be married to someone who thinks just like you? I could get a sibling out of it too. I have decided that a boy will be tolerable enough, though a sister is still prefered.'

"Jane!" He and Sylvie exclaimed at the same time.

"We are not getting married just because you want a sibling!" Sylvie said, the words light and without censure. When Jane raised her hands to respond, Sylvie cut her off with a quick, "And agreement on snowman construction is not a good enough reason to get married."

'Oh, very well! We may agree to disagree. Now will you pleeeaaseee come help with Mister Snowy?

Like obedient soldiers, he and Sylvie set off to procure all the articles to bring Mister Snowy up to tip top condition. A tophat and a cravat were obtained, along with the sticks to make the arms, and by the end of it Raphael had even declared that Beau Brummel would be envious of Mister Snowy's impeccable attire. Jane let out a small sound of delight, reaching up to straighten out Mister Snowy's top hat and Rafe turned to Sylvie only to find her watching Jane with tears streaking down her eyes.

"Sylvie? Love, what the matter?"

But she did not answer, turning around and hurrying off in the direction of the house.  

Rafe made sure that there was someone to watch Jane and then hurried after his woman, he entered the house from the side entrance, where he found her, facing the wall and trying to repress her sobs.

"Love? Love, what's the matter? You're frightening me."

"I'm sorry, I tried to stop it, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to ruin things," she just shook her head, crying into her hands.

"Thomas should be here," she wept quietly. "He should be here to play hide and seek, and build snowmen, and take her ice skating. I miss him so much. I miss who he used to be."

Raphael's shoulders drew tight with tension and his heart broke a little. It seemed that the grief that Sylvie had kept locked up all this while had finally made itself known. It tended to be like that; loss and grief, you would convince yourself that you could handle it until the moment it grew so large that it overwhelmed you. And then something as benign as a snowman could send you overboard and lost to the waves of emotion.

"I was just looking at the two of you, and it just felt so unfair that he will never get to experience these things with her. Why couldn't he have just left it alone? Why couldn't he just come and live with us and let this thing live in the past where it belonged? There was no point! It didn't bring him justice, or peace, or happiness! He died chasing these ghosts when he could have lived with his daughter and given her everything that she owed from a father. Why didn't she matter? Why weren't we enough?"

"Oh, my darling," he was at a loss for words, so he just pulled her into his arms and let her cry. "You are enough, you and Jane are always enough. He wasn't well, my love, and you cannot try to put rhyme or reason to it."

"He's put her in danger! He's put you in danger!" She swiped at her cheeks. "And I feel so angry with him, but I can't even yell at him or fight with him because he's just gone! He's gone and he's left us to deal with the fallout from his recklessness, and I don't know what to do with all this hurt."

"You can grieve," he said gently, pressing a kiss to her nose. "You can grieve the person he used to be, and the person that he could have been. The person that he should have been for you and Jane. And as for the danger, you have nothing to worry about. This is what I do. This is what I am good at. I will protect Jane and you, Sylvie, with my life if need be."

She shook her head fiercely, taking a hard look at him. "We will all come out of this unhurt and safe. I will accept no alternative. Jane cannot lose you. I cannot lose you, do you understand?"

"You won't," he promised her gently. "You won't, I swear it."

The pitter-patter of Jane's footsteps had them breaking apart. She rounded the corner and came to a stop, her own face looking concerned.

'Mama? Mama, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Oh, forgive me, poppet," Sylvie hunched down and extended her arms. "I just missed your papa very, very much. We used to make snowmen all the time, you see, Papa, Uncle Rafe and I. I was just wishing he was here with us."

'I used to wish it too, Mama, but it's alright. Don't cry. We're enough for us, aren't we? You and I?'

"Oh, of course we are, Jane. You are always enough for me."

'And if you realllyyyy want me to have a papa, you ought to marry Uncle-'

"Jane!" Sylvie laughed, her tears finally dry, though Rafe detected a hint of blush on her cheeks. "You're like a dog with a bone."

In response, the child just shrugged unrepentantly and kissed her mother.   

It was at this point that Rafe noticed some commotion coming from the front of the house. Leaving mother and daughter to have their moment, he walked to the main foyer to see servants carrying trunks down the stairs. A few moments later, his father followed them down the stairs.

"Father?" The Marquess nodded to his son in a terse greeting. "What is happening here?Where are you going?"

Rafe took a closer look at his father, his eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, and his expression devoid of it's usually joviality.

"Home. I find myself rather sick of London."

"Wait,wait!" Raphael grabbed his arm as the Marquess made to hand a small valise to a footman. "All of a sudden? What about your Shrew?! And the Rothbury's house party is in two weeks! Did something happen at the ball last night?"

"I severely misjudged the state of her affections." He replied with enough dignity to veil his hurt. "Suffice to say she has made her opinion of me rather clear last night."

"What did she do?" Raphael snarled, his fists curling at the absolutely defeated look on his sire's countenance.

"It does not matter," The Marquess spat, an undercurrent of bitterness scoring his words. "But it has just shown me that I severely misjudged my readiness to expose myself to all this judgement and scorn."

"No." Raphael snapped firmly.

"No?" Father raised an eyebrow at his son's audacity.

"I will not let that joyless glacier of a woman run you off as if you have something to be ashamed of. You are no coward. You will go to the house party, with your head held high, and you will find yourself a wife, do you understand?"

"I don't think that-"

"I do not care what you think. I will not let you sabotage your own happiness because of one woman. You may quit London for a while, the Rothburies have an estate in Hertfordshire, you may take a small break there. But you will be at the house party, because you are not going to give up at the first sign of scorn or censure. The St. Alexander men are not so delicate as that. I don't care how your Shrew hurt you, you win by being undeterred and happy."

His father observed him for a few silent moments, before a small smile split across his lips, like the sun peaking through a cloudy day.

"Sometimes, boy, you really remind me of your mother. You are right. I will not turn with my tail tucked between my legs. I want more than what I have, and I will fight for it. Are you certain it won't be an imposition on His Grace if I were to be his guest in Hertfordshire?"

"Not at all," Raphael reassured him.

Even if Rothbury had a thousand objections, Rafe held all the cards.