The Most Miraculous One Of All

July 27, 1914

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, stood in the library and looked out over the beautiful lawns and trees that made up the grounds of his beloved Downton Abbey. It had been about two weeks, now, since the family had returned from London after the season. He was glad to be back. Glad, always, to be home.

That was the nicest thing about travelling, he always thought, coming back home. Oh Robert adored travel. Exploring exotic lands and being immersed in the history he'd read about. He and Cora had gone all over Europe and Arabia and Egypt and Greece. South America had been something of an interest to him recently. He had thought that after Sybil was presented, they'd be able to take another grand trip sometime soon. Sybil had been presented and triumphed, and Robert was immensely proud of his youngest daughter. But it seemed to Robert that it would be a while yet before he and Cora might travel again.

He'd now had a few days to get used to the idea. Cora was pregnant. Again. After eighteen years since Sybil, she was finally pregnant once more. Doctor Clarkson had tried to explain it, but Robert couldn't focus on what the doctor had said. Or what Cora had said. The fact remained, regardless of what Robert understood, that Cora was going to give them another child.

Robert took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh. Downton, his home and his birthright, might be passed down to this child. They had another chance to produce an heir. Of course, Robert was not so confident they'd have a boy this time after three girls all those years ago. Still, there was a chance.

Matthew was a good enough lad. Better than just good. Robert had come to know him and love him like a son. He would be a good heir, once he got his bearings. And if, sometime around Christmas, Cora gave birth to another daughter, Robert would happily continue to guide and train Matthew to be the next Earl of Grantham. But since there was still a chance that Robert might pass such things down to his own son…well…that would be his greatest prayer answered.

All they could do was wait and see.

Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham, closed her eyes and relaxed for just a moment, smiling to herself. The warm, soapy water swirled around her body in the bath. There was always something so luxurious about taking a bath in the middle of the day like this when things were quiet but the sunlight came through the windows and made the glass and the metal of all the bathroom fixtures positively gleam. Cora was not as extravagant or particular as so many women might be in her peerage, but she did like to indulge in luxury in these quiet ways.

Everything in this moment was just so perfect. She could hardly believe it, but it was. Everything was perfect. She was pregnant once again, a miracle if there ever was one. She had the love and devotion of a husband she adored. Her eldest daughter would hopefully soon be engaged to a man she loved, a man who could give her not only a good life but a purpose greater than the life she had been born into, a life Cora herself had a times yearned for herself. Her middle daughter was doing just fine, well on her way to growing up and finding her footing as a woman in the world, well on the way too, it seemed, to having a nice man propose to her. And her youngest daughter—well, youngest daughter for now—had just been presented to London society in a triumph beyond measure. And Cora's work in raising those girls into magnificent young women had earned her the respect of everyone.

Even Mama had, somewhat begrudgingly at times, come to respect Cora. Mama was now desperate for Cora's assistance in finding a new lady's maid. O'Brien was instrumental in ensuring Cora's success. If nothing else, O'Brien could be counted on to know the proper way to do things like this. She was certainly difficult at times, hard-headed and opinionated, but her etiquette was always impeccable. Much more so than Cora herself. Try as she might to overcome it, Cora Crawley was still Little Miss Levinson at heart, the young girl with wild hair streaming down her back as she ran barefoot through the horse pastures at the farm where her grandmother lived in Ohio.

Ah well. Despite her humble upbringing and the family's skyrocket to wealth and the desperate need of some class and standing to go along with it, Cora had found her place in the world. And she knew she had the admiration of those around her along with the love of her family. That was all that mattered.

Cora traced her fingers over her abdomen beneath the bathwater. She could just barely feel the rise of the bump of her baby growing inside her. Soon she would expand beyond belief, just as she had with her prior pregnancies. Being eighteen years older now, she wasn't sure if she would ever regain the slim, elegant figure she currently possessed. But that was a worry for another day. For now, Cora just reveled in her blessings.

The sudden slamming of a door cause Cora to jump, shocking her heart into skipping a beat. The next thing Cora knew, her vision went black and she struggled to breathe.

Sybil Crawley wandered the corridor in the bachelor's wing. There were no guests staying at Downton just now, so it was deserted. She often came up here to think. There was just so much in her head, so many things she wished she understood better. Pacing in the quiet all alone was quite helpful.

It was nice to be home. Sybil liked London well enough, but there was such a thing as too much excitement. Politics and world events were one thing, and Sybil would never get tired of those. It was just that being in London required all sorts of social commitments. For years, Sybil had watched her sisters get invited places and getting dressed up for balls and all those magical things that debutantes got to do, and she had longed to join them. Now that the time had come, Sybil found that her excitement had waned. She wanted more from life than just putting on a fancy frock and dancing and drinking champagne. It was all great fun, but Sybil wanted a dinner companion who knew about the Labour Party and had read the current affairs section of the Times, but instead, all the boys she seemed to meet only wanted to talk about the last polo match and what party they'd gone to and who they'd seen and all that sort of superficial nonsense that Mary was always so concerned with.

Well, it was the sort of nonsense Mary used to be concerned with. Ever since she and Matthew had made friends, Mary had been much more interesting. She'd always been intelligent, but she put it to better use now. She didn't hide it so much. Sybil was quite pleased to see it. She wished Edith would be like that, too. Edith was clever but never seemed to have a hint of interest in any sort of intellectual pursuit. It was a pity, really. She could be far more appealing if she could just manage to stop trying so hard to be what people expected of her and instead just tried to be herself.

Sybil gave herself a little shake. She hadn't meant to spend her time thinking about her sisters. What she'd needed some time to herself to contemplate was the fact that she might have another sister very soon. Mama was pregnant, and Sybil was excited for her, of course. And yet…she also very much wasn't. For one who found such importance and possibility in change, this particular change was a bit difficult to swallow. It was just that Sybil had always been the youngest. She knew her place in the family, and she'd learned to enjoy being the youngest. How was she supposed to be an older sister? Sybil had wonderful role models in Mary and Edith, seeing the good and the bad in them both and learning accordingly. What sort of role model could she be? It would be wonderful to teach the next little Crawley how to speak her mind and read about the world and get an interest in modern things, but was that really the best thing? It was for Sybil, certainly, but not everyone had the strength of character for the rebellion Sybil was so proud to stand up for.

And oh, what if the baby was a boy? What then? Would Cousin Matthew and Cousin Isobel move back to Manchester if Matthew weren't Papa's heir? Sybil had been so happy to have such modern thinkers in the family, and she did not want to lose them.

She stopped her pacing and leaned up against the wall with a sigh. She wanted to be excited for the new baby. She wanted to be happy for her mother. And she was. Mama was terribly excited, as was Papa, and strange as it was, sometimes, Sybil loved nothing more than seeing her parents so happy. They devoted themselves to the family so much, and knowing that their dreams of a son might come true was too wonderful for words.

Thinking back, there had been signs that Mama was pregnant, but in the midst of the London season, no one had paid much attention. Mama had been more tired than usual, taking naps during the day whenever she could. Sybil had just assumed she was getting older and the commitments of Sybil's first season as a debutante were weighing on her. Mama was quiet and contemplative more often than usual. Sybil knew her mother to be soft-spoken and charming and gentle, but this had been different. And, of course, Mama's affection for Papa had been a bit more blatant than what some—Granny, particularly—would have thought entirely appropriate. Sybil didn't mind such things, though Mary did like to tease them. Sybil realized now that Mama had likely suspected she was pregnant and been too excited by the prospect to entirely keep it to herself.

Sybil smiled. Yes, everything would be alright. Somehow. There was still time to adjust. They'd all find their way through.

She walked back down the corridor, deciding that she might like to go downstairs and check in on Mr. Carson and how he was getting on with the new telephone.

Anna Smith had just finished putting away a dress in Lady Edith's bedroom that had needed some beads replaced on the bodice when she saw Miss O'Brien tearing down the hall.

"What's got your goat?" Anna asked, hoping a little light teasing might get O'Brien to say something revealing. Anna was not one for gossip, but O'Brien and Thomas were always up to something, and since their target was more often than not Mr. Bates, Anna thought it best to know what was going on.

But Miss O'Brien merely glared and swept past without a word. Anna watched in surprise as the older woman went not through the door to the servant's stairs but right down the main staircase of the house.

Anna had been mending Lady Edith's dress in the servant's hall when she'd heard Miss O'Brien mention that she was off to run Her Ladyship's bath. It hadn't been that long. Was Lady Grantham still in the bath? Had Miss O'Brien gotten upset about something and left Her Ladyship in need? For all that she was devious and terrible, Anna had never known O'Brien to ever shirk her duty. She was a very good lady's maid, and Anna had observed her in hopes of gaining some skills to eventually become a lady's maid herself one day. O'Brien would never do anything that would let Lady Grantham down.

Just in case, however, Anna figured she'd go to Lady Grantham's bedroom and check in. The thunder cloud of O'Brien's face had been quite alarming. Best go see to Her Ladyship on the off chance that O'Brien had done something unthinkable.

Upon reaching the door to the Mercia Bedroom, Anna knocked softly. She paused, listening. She didn't hear anything. Her Ladyship might be asleep. Or possibly still in the bath.

Anna opened the door as gently as she could. The bedroom was full of light but otherwise empty. Her Ladyship's dressing gown was tossed over the chaise, likely where O'Brien had left it when she'd stormed out. Anna retrieved the garment and went to the bathroom door, which was open ajar.

She knocked gently at the door. "Your Ladyship?" she called softly.

No response.

Anna opened the door wider. At first, she thought the bathroom was empty. And then she saw very clearly it was not. And Anna screamed.