A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you! I got distracted by an urge for an angst fix (check out 'How to Say Goodbye?' to see how that turned out!), and then a lack of muse. Booo. Thankfully AriadneO lent me hers (thank you!). Anyway, here is the final chapter of this fluffy endeavour. If you thought that Matthew and Reginald was sickly sweet... Well, you'll definitely be needing a dentist after this.

Thanks to Silverduck as ever for beta-ing, and thanks must go to my lovely Sarah for challenging me to write it in the first place!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Downton Abbey, and one line of this to Lark Rise to Candleford.

Hope you enjoy :)


Chapter 4

Matthew looked around him, a bright smile lighting his face. From her reclined position on the couch, Mary tried to stifle her grin at how stupidly proud he looked. For it was mid December; Christmas was approaching and this year, with Mary in her current condition, it was left entirely to Matthew to decorate. Well, Matthew and four eager little pairs of hands. Eager, but not necessarily helpful, Matthew considered as he surveyed the enthusiastic but haphazard decorative attempts of their children. They were currently putting the finishing touches to the tree; and there was a distinct line partway up beyond their reach where the decoration became suddenly much more ordered. Red and gold bells and baubles glittered in the firelight, little paper angels spinning gently from where they hung on the branches. Playing softly in the background were carols on a stylish new gramophone; an early present for Mary, as Matthew suspected that with the baby due any day now, Mary might not have so much time to savour it if he waited until Christmas Day.

"Now there's just one thing left to do!" he exclaimed excitedly, sweeping Lizzie up into his arms. "Bella, will you pass me the angel please?" Arabella immediately leaped up, carefully removing the delicate angel from its wrappings. Reginald and Julia scooted backwards to sit against the couch to see, as Mary lay a hand comfortingly on their shoulders.

When Arabella had placed the angel into Lizzie's grasping hands, Matthew stretched his arms up until the little girl was level with the top of the tree. His quietly whispered words of encouragement guided her until the angel was placed carefully into its proper place on the very top. Grinning from ear to ear, Matthew lowered her down, pressing a fond kiss to her soft cheek. Arabella, Reginald and Julia clapped enthusiastically, leaping up and throwing their arms around their father to celebrate their hard work. At a nudge from Matthew, they soon crossed to their mother, anxious that she should not feel left out of the festivities.

"Mama, do you like how I strung the bells along the tree?" Arabella asked excitedly.

"I do, darling, they look beautiful," Mary smiled. "And Reginald, I think you managed the baubles very well!"

"And I, Mama?" Julia piped up, patting her mother's knee.

"Yes, my angel! You have arranged the presents beautifully all under the tree." Julia scrambled up onto the couch beside Mary, curling into her side.

"See, Mama, we and Papa managed just by ourselves!" Arabella smiled proudly.

"We certainly did!" Matthew chuckled as Lizzie's arms tightened affectionately around his neck. "And I think we're in need of a well deserved rest. Come now, why don't you fetch the picture books that Granny found for you last week. You can read them by the fire before dinner."

The children all thought this a wonderful idea, and dashed off immediately to fetch them, with Lizzie stumbling eagerly after them once Matthew had set her down. Heaving a sigh of relief, he settled himself carefully by Mary, facing her as she lay back against the cushioned arm. Taking her hands in his and resting them on her belly, he leaned over and kissed her softly.

"Well done, darling," Mary murmured against his lips. "You did manage quite well after all. Maybe I should leave it to you every year!" She chuckled as her patronisation was swiftly rebuked with a firmer, less relenting kiss. As Matthew sat back up, he clutched her hands protectively.

"How are you feeling this evening? Any signs yet?"

Mary frowned at her belly.

"No, not yet. I am feeling well enough; I must confess that watching your decorating antics has provided a welcome distraction from all my aches and pains!"

Doctor Clarkson had visited a few days ago, and had warned them that the baby might likely make an appearance any day now. Matthew found himself permanently on tenterhooks; thankfully Mary had learnt by now to take each day as it came and not worry herself over it. At least, Matthew reflected, the crib had been finished and was ready for when it would be needed. For the past week it had lain under protective covers in a corner of the pantry, much to Mrs Bird's annoyance; but there it would remain. Matthew was determined to keep the finished article as a surprise for Mary when the baby arrived. He had to admit that he was rather proud of it; it had actually turned out better than his own expectations. He knew that he was not the most able of carpenters, but he had worked hard to produce a crib that he considered to be of high enough quality to carry his child. Mary's scepticism had not been forgotten; he had said he would prove her wrong in her doubts, and he was convinced that he would succeed.

A week later, there was still no sign of the baby, and Mary was growing increasingly frustrated; a fact which wasn't helped by the concerned fussing of Matthew and their parents. Even the mistletoe that Matthew had hung over the sitting room door (and frequently caught her under) had failed to rouse her spirits. She was deeply restless and uncomfortable, and Matthew was struggling to juggle the demands of her and their excitable children. He had taken the week around Christmas off work; an absolute blessing. Miss Beecham had been invaluable in her support, attending to the needs of the little ones, but now it was Christmas eve and she had returned to her family for a couple of days. Matthew had been rushing to and fro like a lunatic all day, finalising preparations and presents, ensuring that everything was ready for the following day, all the while on edge in case Mary's condition changed.

Now, though, the evening drew in and he allowed himself, for the first time in nigh on a week, to properly relax. The fire was lit, the stockings were hung, and the soft sound of carols floated across the air. Reginald had badgered Mrs Bird all afternoon, finally proudly obtaining a fresh mince pie and a carrot which now lay by the fireside for Saint Nicholas and his reindeer. Everything was in place.

It was a picture of perfect family contentment. Matthew settled himself on the floor against the sofa as Mary lay reclined upon it, her hand resting on his shoulder, tickling affectionately at his neck and occasionally twisting into his hair.

"Are you all ready?" Matthew called to the children, who were utterly engrossed by the sight of gifts and stockings, wondering what joys they would bring forth in the morning. At his question, they all eagerly scuttled over to him. Lizzie clambered straight into his lap, as Julia snuggled into his side, Arabella leaning her head affectionately on his arm beside her. Reginald tucked himself snugly under Matthew's other arm. Tears sprung to Mary's eyes as she watched from above; the children's adoration for their father was blindingly clear. Sometimes she did worry whether they were much fonder of him than of her. She did love them so very dearly, but perhaps wasn't always quite so good at showing it as Matthew. Her worries were quickly quieted as Reginald suddenly twisted round to smile at her, reaching his small hand up to briefly clutch hers where it lay on Matthew's shoulder.

"Is Mama ready too?" he questioned, not wanting her to miss out.

"Yes, my darling, I am." She smiled as she ruffled his soft hair affectionately.

Matthew had swiftly adopted the tradition, even when Arabella was still too young to fully appreciate it, of reading The Night Before Christmas to his children on Christmas eve, before they went to bed to dream of snow and sleighbells. It had been faithfully carried out every year, with Mary continuing the tradition herself those hard years when Matthew was serving in France. She had gladly done so, the action making her feel some connection to him when he was so far away. Now, casting an eye quickly around him to make sure everyone was settled, Matthew opened the precious book resting on his lap. In a hushed voice, he began to read.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

The children listened intently, quietly enthralled as their father read. His low, soothing voice settled them from their excitement of the day, preparing them for blissful sleep. He smiled as he felt them relax against him, their eyes lazily following the words.

He had just reached the thrilling climax of Saint Nicholas sweeping down the chimney, and was partway through describing his jolly appearance, when he was interrupted by a soft cry from Mary. Her hand suddenly gripped his shoulder a little more tightly, making his heart jump in a familiar panic.

"Mary..." He twisted around awkwardly, the unspoken question in his eyes. She simply nodded, biting her lip nervously. Feeling his pulse begin to race, Matthew took a deep breath. He would be no help at all to Mary if he wasn't calm himself! He hugged his arms about the children, before snapping the book shut on his lap. "I'm terribly sorry children, but I think that your story may have to be finished by Granny." Sensing that something was amiss, each sat up properly, concerned frowns lining their faces. "Now then, you remember what we said would happen when Mama's baby decided to come along?" Swiftly standing, Matthew pulled them to their feet. He took Lizzie in his arms and rubbed Julia's back reassuringly; Arabella and Reginald were less concerned, being quite used to this routine by now. "Run along and get your things together, and Granny will be here shortly to take you to the Abbey. Alright?" Gently patting their backs in encouragement, he flashed them a quick smile of reassurance. Arabella confidently took the hands of Julia and Lizzie, and the four went to do as their father had asked; but not before each had given their mother a quick, comforting hug.

Matthew instantly moved to ring the bell for Molesley, feeling himself calm as he reminded himself that they had managed this successfully four times before. Well, Mary had managed it; he always felt so pitifully useless. Molesley was swiftly sent to telephone to the Abbey, Doctor Clarkson was summoned (along with Isobel, who insisted upon supporting things each time), and fresh towels and blankets were readied.

Before long, the children had been sent back in the car with Lady Grantham to wait at the Abbey. Matthew was a little disappointed for them, after they'd been so excited with their stockings hung, but while the option was there he preferred that they were out of the way; for their own sake as much as anything else. He found it difficult enough to cope with the unbearable wait of labour, and the clear pain Mary went through; he certainly could not expect them to deal with it too. Lord Grantham remained at Crawley House, knowing how unbearable Matthew found it, and had grown used to offering him quiet support.

Long, tedious hours passed into the night. Mary had deigned to allow Matthew to remain with her for most of them, finding his presence by her side a comfort during the trying wait. Now well into Christmas morning, though still before the dawn, he left her as the time drew near. Mary would not have said that she had any shame in front of Matthew, not now; but she was somehow too stubbornly proud to allow him to see her in this state. And Matthew of course grudgingly respected her wishes, departing with a firm kiss and a proud, reassuring squeeze of her hand.

Agitatedly he paced back and forth outside the door, feeling tense and anxious. He hated it. Absolutely hated it. He physically winced as yet another agonised scream reverberated around the house. Standing quietly to the side, a comforting presence, Robert observed the young man's discomfort knowing sadly that there was no way to relieve it. He smiled wryly to himself; yes, it may be that women went through the pain of labour, but sometimes he wondered if they ever realised that it was certainly no easy task for their husbands to simply stand by uselessly in the meantime.

Barely a minute or so had passed before Mary screamed again; longer this time, louder, a raw, almost animalistic sound of pure agony. Even Robert flinched this time for his daughter. In utter despair, Matthew ceased his pacing and sagged against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would block out the sound. He turned to rest his forehead upon the wall, raising a hand and pressing his palm to it, as if he could somehow reach her through the brick and plaster. His shoulders shook slightly as he let out an enormous, shuddering sigh. Robert calmly placed a hand upon his shoulder; a small gesture of solidarity and understanding, and Matthew welcomed it.

Suddenly, there was silence. His breath coming in shallow gasps, Matthew raised his head and stared blindly at the wall, as though if he stared hard enough he'd be able to see straight through it. He felt Robert's hand tense upon his shoulder. The silence, Matthew always thought, was almost even worse than the screams. Had something happened? Had it all gone terribly wrong? Was everything alright? His heart almost stopped, hardly daring to breathe in case it might drown out a sound, waiting. His fingers clutched uselessly at the wall where his hand still lay against it.

And then, the most wonderful, beautiful sound filled the air, loud and undeniable, as the tiny babe announced its presence to the world. Matthew's entire body sagged in relief, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent a tear slipping out. Slowly, he pushed himself to standing, turning and smiling weakly in grateful relief at the earl. Tapping his thighs nervously, he resumed his pacing as he waited. Eventually, after several long, unbearable moments, the door clicked softly open and his mother poked her head out into the corridor. Matthew snapped around to look at her, his eyes questioning desperately.

"Well?" he gasped.

Isobel beamed at him.

"Everything is perfectly as it should be, Matthew." She paused a moment, mischievously enjoying the fact that he was practically bouncing in nervous anticipation. "Now, would you like to come and meet your son?"

Matthew's nervous bounce suddenly stopped dead, his mouth dropping open as he stared in delighted shock at his mother. She simply smiled and nodded. Her eyes cast over to meet Robert's, sharing a smile of relief and joy as Matthew dashed past, pushing his way into the room. Mary was sitting up on the bed, looking flushed and exhausted, her hair plastered to her face and her skin glistening. Clutched tenderly in her arms was a tiny bundle. As Matthew entered, entirely ignoring Doctor Clarkson who respectfully left the room, her eyes shot up to his, a grin of absolute and pure joy spreading across her face at her husband. He ran to her, perching himself gently on the bed beside her.

"Mary..." he breathed her name in wonder, his heart bursting with love and pride. "Mary, you absolute darling, you treasure." Repeated exclamations of affection spilled from his lips as he kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. Pulling back, his gaze wandered almost reverently down to the tiny figure in her arms, gently squirming and gurgling. Mary lifted the babe up slightly, tenderly edging the blanket away from its face so that Matthew could properly see his son. Matthew gently reached a finger out and tickled the baby's wonderfully soft cheek, his eyes shining with unshed tears, overcome with emotion. The dawn light was just beginning to creep into the room, and he suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. As Mary gently passed their son into his arms, he gazed adoringly at his wife and child, reflecting that he could not imagine a single better way for Christmas to be heralded in.

The morning passed by in a pleasant blur. Lady Grantham soon enough returned with the children, all eager to meet their new baby brother (Reginald particularly so; the poor boy had been beginning to feel a little bit outnumbered). Gifts were unwrapped and stockings emptied, and a wonderful atmosphere of delight hung about the house. Now, feeling pleasantly lethargic and full after Mrs Bird's exquisite Christmas dinner, the family gathered in the nursery around the crib. Mary reclined, curled peacefully, on a chaise longue over the crib, and the children knelt on the floor around it, flitting between playing with their new toys or peering curiously at their little brother. Matthew sat contentedly on the floor watching his family at rest, firmly believing that he couldn't possibly feel happier.

He was wrong. The scene was only improved as the door clicked open with the appearance of Molesley and a tray of tea. Having served Mary, and passed cakes out to the children, he resumed his position on the floor with his teacup and saucer in hand. He glanced up at his wife, his lips quirking upwards as she gazed with eyes filled with wonder into the crib, oblivious to all else around her. Raising an eyebrow, Matthew broke the peaceful silence.

"What is your final, considered opinion then, darling?"

Her eyes flashed to his, her lips parting a fraction. She frowned gently, not understanding him. He nodded down at the crib, his eyes twinkling at her.

"Oh..."

"Come, dearest. You didn't think me capable of building it! Would you judge it to be a satisfactory article for our newborn son to sleep in, now that you see the finished product?" His lips twitched, suspecting her answer.

Smiling in fond annoyance, Mary cast her eyes carefully over the crib. Though she hated to admit it, it was beautifully made. He had worked so hard on it, crafted it with such love, and that knowledge served only to make it seem all the more beautiful in her eyes. The legs and struts of the basket were smoothly shaped and polished, and soft, fluttering violet drapes hung from the bar over the babe's head, down to where he lay tucked contentedly amongst soft, downy furnishings. She blinked away a tear, replying to Matthew with her gaze still lovingly fixed upon their little son.

"Oh Matthew," she sighed gently. "You know full well that I think it could not be more perfect... It is beautiful." She chuckled softly as she correctly imagined him sitting smugly back against the wall, looking stupidly proud of himself. Well, she reflected, not stupidly; for his pride was, irritatingly, well deserved.

"High praise indeed!" Matthew exclaimed in delight. Ceasing from their play a moment, Arabella tapped Reginald on the arm, nodding a smile at their parents. They didn't understand the games their Mama and Papa played, but they were fun to watch nonetheless. Julia and Lizzie were oblivious, gleefully playing with a beautiful little set of miniature horses from their mother. "Does this mean then," Matthew continued, "that you admit to being mistaken in your estimation of my abilities? That I was, in fact, correct?"

Mary briefly raised her eyes to glare at him with great affection.

"I suppose..." she grudgingly mumbled.

"Ah," a small noise of smug satisfaction left Matthew's lips. After a fond smirk in Mary's direction, he very deliberately returned his attention to his tea, raising the delicate teacup to his lips. As he was about to take a sip, his gaze suddenly caught Reginald's eyes watching him in fascination. With love filling and swirling in his soul, he realised that this, this, was Christmas. He threw a cheeky wink to his eldest son over the rim of his teacup. "You will learn this soon enough, my boy; what Christmas joy to prove a woman wrong!"

Grinning delightedly, he took a very smug sip of his tea.

Fin


A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading! I hope you've enjoyed it. I'd really love to know what you thought, so reviews are definitely welcomed!

For interest's sake, these are the lines that I took from Lark Rise to Candleford:

"Woman, you have been pestering me for weeks!"

"There's a baby every time he so much as looks fondly upon me!"

"What Christmas joy to prove a woman wrong!"

"Have you fallen out with (Mary)?" "Ma'am, I have not fallen out with (Mary), my irritation is entirely to do with a lack of breakfast!"

"You did look handsome (...)" "(I have been...), and all my wife can say is handsome! There's a woman's thinking for you.."

"My loveliness is in my appearance only. My clothes, my -" "Not at all! Your loveliness is in every ounce of your being."

Aaaaaaand I just realised that I missed one out. GRRRR. Hmm... Epilogue...?