December 16, 1914

Joseph Molesley had been living at Downton Abbey for two weeks now. Ever since Mr. Crawley married Lady Mary, Molesley had taken the position of Mr. Crawley's valet. He'd left his position as butler at Crawley House because Mrs. Crawley insisted that she didn't need a butler anyway, and she'd make do with a maid and Mrs. Bird, the cook. Molesley hated to leave her, of course. She was a fine lady to serve and he enjoyed the time he'd gotten to spend with her these last two years. But while going from butler to valet was a step down in title, going from Crawley House to the big house at Downton Abbey was quite the step up indeed. And his dad was proud, which was all that mattered.

Being in the servant's hall at Downton Abbey brought Molesley a great deal of new friends, too. He'd known most of the servants for a long time, but seeing them and working with them every day deepened that bond. It was different than just being in Crawley House. It was nice to feel like he belonged, like he was part of something bigger. Mr. Carson was tough but fair, as was Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Bates and his new fiancée, Anna, were incredibly kind and welcoming. Anna was now lady's maid to Lady Mary, so Molesley worked alongside her more than the others.

But one member of the household staff had stood out to Molesley. Mostly because she seemed so intent on not standing out. Miss Baxter was quiet and kept to herself. Molesley hadn't actually spoken to her too much. She didn't seem to speak too much to anyone, actually. But she…oh she was lovely. Her dark eyes were captivating to him. He could hardly explain it. She was a bit plain, perhaps, but pretty in her way. She had a gentle demeanor that he liked. He wanted to talk to her, to hear what she had to say, to learn about her, to—

The bell to the Mercia Bedroom rang, and Miss Baxter hopped up immediately from where she sat with her tea at the table in the servant's hall, unaware of how Molesley was watching her. He stumbled to stand when she did, out of respect. He watched her as she hurried away, and he sat down when she'd gone out of eyesight.

"I hope everything's alright," Anna worried aloud.

Molesley turned his attention to her. She was right to worry, of course. By now, everyone knew the story of how it was Anna who discovered Her Ladyship convulsing in the bath and screamed for help. It was Mr. Bates who had rescued Lady Grantham, but without Anna going to check on her, both mother and child might have been lost.

And now Lady Grantham was about to burst with that child. Every time the bell rang for the Mercia Bedroom, everyone downstairs was on tenterhooks to know if the baby was finally coming. So far, Miss Baxter had returned each and every time explaining what unfortunate ailment Her Ladyship was suffering. It was never childbirth.

All of a sudden, Miss Baxter flew into the room. "Mr. Carson, can you please use your telephone to call for Doctor Clarkson? Her Ladyship thinks the baby might be coming now."

Carson went into his pantry without delay, but Miss Baxter stayed behind.

"She thinks the baby might be coming?" Molesley inquired.

"Well, she said she felt a pain and then she made a kind of noise that I think can only come from childbirth. It was awful," Baxter explained, wringing her hands nervously.

Carson returned a moment later. "Doctor Clarkson is on his way. I shall inform His Lordship. I believe he's in the library."

Robert Crawley paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Poor old Pharaoh just lay there, old and arthritic. The cold did him absolutely no good, and Robert knew his dog's time was coming soon, but he just couldn't face it.

Right now, though, he had far more pressing issues at hand. It was after dinner, where he'd not eaten a bite. The girls had gone through, and Matthew had accompanied them, leaving Robert in peace. It had been hours and hours and still no news. Robert hadn't remembered it being like this before.

Carson had informed Robert just before tea that Doctor Clarkson had been called because Cora said the baby was coming. Robert had wanted to sprint up the stairs and see her, but he knew he couldn't. It wasn't done, of course. And he certainly did not want to be in the way or to annoy her when she had so much more to be getting on with.

"Alright enough sulking."

Robert turned to see Mary enter the library. Following close behind were Edith and Sybil and Matthew. The whole household had come to join him. "I'm not sulking, Mary," Robert informed her, "I'm anxious."

Sybil took a seat on the settee, leaning down to give Pharaoh a scratch. "Was it like this when the rest of us were born?" she asked.

None of the girls would have remembered what this was like, he realized. Mary was barely a year old when Edith came. Sybil was just three years after that. And at four years old, it wasn't as though Mary would have had any idea what was happening. Robert had been without company for all of those blessed occasions. "No, it wasn't like this at all," he said.

"Granny and Grandfather must have been there," Edith reasoned.

Robert nodded. "Your grandmother—both of them, actually—were in the room with your mother when each of you was born. Martha always seemed to make it just about a week before each delivery. She and Granny were up in the room with the midwife and the old doctor. And your grandfather was down here with me. Though he wasn't nearly as nice as all of you," he added with a smile.

"Is it likely to be much longer?" Matthew inquired.

"There's no way of knowing," Robert replied. "Edith came the quickest. If I recall, the labor started just after breakfast, and she arrived right in time for dinner. With Mary, the labor began midday, like this one, but she was born at dawn. Sybil…well…" He didn't continue. The story had been told before, that the labor had been nearly two whole days, and the complications nearly guaranteed that there wouldn't be any more children. Until this one. This miracle of a child.

"Well, it could be any time now. What are you going to call the new little one?" Mary asked. She stood beside Matthew behind the other settee, where Edith had taken residence.

"We do have a name. We talked about it for a long time, actually. I know what first name your mother wants if it's a boy, but based on prior experience, I think we all know it'll probably be a girl," Robert told her.

"Go on," Sybil encouraged. "What's my new little sister going to be called?"

Robert chuckled at her charming eagerness. Everything about Sybil was charming. "We've decided to call her Vivianne Violet Crawley. I thought Vivian, but your mother liked Vivianne better, thought it sounded a bit more American. I don't disagree with that, which is why I didn't like it as much, but this well and truly will be her last child, so I was happy to concede."

"Oh Papa, that's lovely. Vivianne! I can hardly wait to meet her!" Sybil gushed.

"And Granny will certainly like having one of us named for her. But won't Grandmother Levinson be annoyed?" Edith asked.

"I don't think your mother is too bothered by that. With the war going, it's hardly safe to cross the Atlantic. We'll have to break the news by telegram. And maybe we'll just inform her that Lady Vivianne Crawley has come into the world and leave it at that."

"Speaking of, has Cousin Violet been told that Cora's in labor?" Matthew ventured.

Robert felt his anxious heart sink into his chest. "Crikey, I don't think so. Oh god, I suppose I ought to have word sent to her. Cora didn't ask for her like she did with…well, she was living here the last time Cora gave birth, it wasn't as though she wouldn't have known." Robert ran a shaky hand through his hair, feeling quite overwrought.

"Papa, calm down. I will send for Branson to drive me to the Dower House. I'll tell Granny myself and bring her back here. I can't imagine she won't want to be present to meet her last grandchild."

"Thank you, Mary," Robert said weakly, letting his eldest daughter march purposefully out of the room.

"Come sit with me, Papa," Sybil said sweetly, catching his hand and gently pulling him toward her. He flopped down on the settee beside her.

"I'll pour you another drink," Matthew offered.

Robert accepted the glass of scotch pressed into his hand and felt terribly out of sorts. Cora was up there, in labor, in pain, and there was no guarantee that she or the baby—Vivianne—would be safe and well. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Richard Clarkson was filled with adrenaline. It wasn't often he helped a countess deliver a child. Actually, this was the first time he'd encountered such an event. Lady Grantham—Lady Downton, then—had already finished having her children by the time Doctor Clarkson came to Downton, and before this, he'd studied and trained in a small practice in Dundee.

Now, though, he was far from Scotland and far from a quiet life as a country doctor. He had known this moment was coming for five months. Five months of visits and examinations for Lady Grantham to ensure that she and her unborn child stayed as healthy as possible. There was only so much he could do, really, but he knew what this child meant to the Earl and Countess of Grantham, the hope and possibilities that hung in the balance. More than that, though, he had seen firsthand how Lady Grantham loved this child already. She was more demonstrative than most English people he had known, likely because she was American. But she was gentle and excited all through these five months, and it was a lovely thing to see. And now the moment had come. The long labor before she could finally hold that child in her arms.

He had been called just at teatime, and she was already a few centimeters dilated. The labor progressed quickly, as he'd warned her it might. It had been a long time since she'd given birth, but after the first baby, the ones after tended to come quicker. It was late in the evening already, but not so late. She was ready to start pushing, not even six whole hours after he'd arrived.

"You're doing very well, Lady Grantham," he told her soothingly. "You're certain you don't want me to fetch anyone to be with you?"

"No," she insisted through clenched teeth. "I don't think I could bear an audience in case…" She trailed off, not giving voice to her fears.

Doctor Clarkson had warned her, of course, that labor would not be easy at her age, and there were a lot of potential complications. She was frightened, and she had every right to be. He could not promise her that everything would turn out alright. Even though she'd been fine since her seizure and only suffered some low blood pressure and other ordinary pregnancy symptoms, there was every chance that the seizure had already caused its damage to the baby. There was no way of knowing until that baby came into the world.

Not to mention, of course, the possible effects of this birth. If it was another Crawley girl, they'd all go on as they had. But if it was a boy, the whole family would change. Everyone in the village would be affected if Lord and Lady Grantham had a son. There would be a new heir.

"It's time now," he said, positioning himself to prepare for the delivery. "When it feels right, you push."

Lady Grantham was almost silent, other than her gasping breaths. Somehow even amidst the pain and fatigue she was surely facing, she remained quiet and dignified. If ever there were cause to be loud and unrefined, it was now. But of course, that wasn't really Lady Grantham's way.

"The head's coming!" Doctor Clarkson announced.

A whimper came from Lady Grantham, but she did not relent. She carried on. The baby was almost here.

Cora Crawley was nearly ready to pass out in sheer exhaustion. But while her body and mind were tired, her heart and her soul were wide awake. She could hardly stop staring at the little bundle in her arms. This small baby she could finally hold after so, so long.

She'd insisted that Doctor Clarkson and the nurse assisting him clean up the baby and then fetch Lord Grantham. With her other children, Mama and her own mother had been with her, and they'd made sure Cora was pretty and presentable by the time Robert was brought in to see her and meet the new baby. This time, she didn't bother. She was practically middle-aged, and her husband of over twenty years had seen her looking terrible before. Just now, she didn't care what she looked like, and she rather thought Robert wouldn't care either.

A knock came at the door. "Come in," Cora called softly. She didn't want to disturb the baby.

Robert appeared, looking rather wild in the eyes. "Doctor Clarkson told me to come up. He wouldn't say anything, he said you only wanted him to tell me that both you and the baby are alright."

"And we are," Cora assured him. Her heart thundered in her chest over the gravity of this moment. "Robert, come and meet your son."

He looked as though he could be knocked over by a feather. "M-my son?" he stammered in disbelief.

"John Robert Crawley," she announced. "I know we didn't really discuss much beyond naming him after Bates in honor of how he saved us, but I have always hoped to be able to name a child after you, Robert." And it was true. Back even when she was pregnant with Mary, before she gave birth to that perfect, beautiful baby girl, Cora had hopes of a son, a perfect little boy she could name for the man she loved more than any other in the world.

As if in a trance, Robert walked delicately over to where Cora sat in bed with their baby boy. "John Robert Crawley," he repeated, dazed.

"I assume you're pleased," Cora said teasingly. She was feeling quite mad, overwhelmed by the exhaustion and the decimation of her body and the outrageous giddy joy she felt in this moment.

"I'm…" Robert sat at the edge of the bed, his hips against Cora's thighs, turned toward her. "I never dreamed…"

"Neither did I. Well, I dreamed and I hoped, but I don't think I really expected it. But it's finally happened, Robert. We have a son and an heir." A warmth bloomed inside Cora and radiated to every inch of her being, proud beyond words to finally be able to claim success, to have given her darling husband the one thing in the world he'd always wanted but had never been able to have.

Unable to form words, Robert placed a gentle hand on the swaddled baby and leaned in to kiss his wife. Cora smiled under his lips. He pulled away and looked down at their little John Robert Crawley. He was beautiful with his pale pink little face and his swathe of dark, wispy hair. "He looks like you," Robert murmured, full of awe.

Cora agreed, but she didn't say anything. She just beamed with joy, watching Robert gaze lovingly at their son. Soon, she would offer for him to hold the baby. And then, she knew, it would be time for his first feed, which she and Robert had agreed she would attempt on her own. If she had any trouble, they'd hire a nurse, but Robert promised that Cora could try.

After that, the family would be brought up to meet the baby and be given the news. Everything would change, now that it was baby John who would be the heir instead of Matthew. But all of that could be worked out in due course.

Just now, all Cora wanted to do was sit here just like this, reveling in this beautiful, perfect moment with her husband and their son.