December 2, 1915

Isobel Crawley smiled. She sipped her tea and smiled at the two wonderful people sitting in front of her. For the first time in a very long time, Matthew and Mary both were in the sitting room at Crawley House.

"I am so glad to see you both together again at last and here with me. It was quite sweet of you to come for tea," she said.

"We wouldn't have missed it, Mother," Matthew said pleasantly.

He was still wearing his uniform, which Isobel still was not used to seeing. But it made her proud. Her son was a lieutenant now, and he was fighting for the freedom of the whole world. She worried for him, of course, but she was so very proud. What mother wouldn't be?"

"I'm afraid I'm not used to sharing you, Isobel," Mary quipped.

"I'm not used to sharing you either," Isobel responded with a laugh.

Mary had come for tea on her own once or twice each week for a few months now. Isobel had hoped that she and Mary might become friends. Mary was not Isobel's favorite member of the Crawley family by any means, but Matthew adored her. Matthew had married her, and Mary had agreed to marry him without even knowing whether or not Matthew would still be the heir to the Grantham estate. As it turned out, he wasn't, not since little John entered the world. But to her eternal credit, Mary Crawley had not lamented tying herself to the man who could now not give her any grand title for her future. She seemed genuinely happy to be Matthew's wife, even if he was only a lawyer and now an officer in the army during wartime. And she had been gracious and friendly to Isobel while Matthew was away. Isobel may have had misgivings about her son's choice of wife initially, but she was pleased to be proven wrong in this instance.

"Now then, tell me all about the anniversary plans," Isobel prompted.

"Well, given that it's only just above freezing, we can't very well do a picnic out on the grounds the way Matthew's been saying in his letters," Mary teased.

"I'm afraid I didn't much think it through that we were married in December. I had these grand notions of being able to relive the summertime at Downton in some lovely, romantic way. Alas," Matthew said with a small laugh.

Mary continued, "So instead we're just doing a private dinner for the two of us in one of the upstairs sitting rooms. I've arranged it all with Carson. Molesley will serve us while Carson and William stay in the dining room with the rest of the family. But Mrs. Patmore's planned something lovely for us. We still haven't had a honeymoon trip beyond a week in a London hotel, so we'll happily take any opportunity to be alone."

Isobel smiled. "I think that sounds wonderful. And Matthew, you're enjoying your leave?"

"I certainly am. Mary came to meet me at the station in London yesterday and we took the first train we could back to Downton. It always takes a day or two to settle in when I come back, but it is certainly nice to be home," Matthew said.

Mary beamed smiling. "I know we're married now and you both have been here for more than three years, but it still feels rather marvelous to hear you call Downton your home."

Matthew reached over and took her hand. "You are my home, wherever you are."

Isobel watched the scene feeling ever so lucky to witness her son so happy and with a wife who loved him so very much. Wartime was terrible, but it was so important to remember that there was still goodness to be found.

December 16, 1915

Charles Carson collapsed into his chair with as much dignity as he could muster. It was the end of a very long day. It had been quite a while since Downton Abbey had hosted a party, and this was certainly a party.

The young John Crawley, Viscount Downton had celebrated his first birthday today. In honor of the grand event, the family had invited practically every friend and relation in the whole of England to join them. Even with the war on, there were plenty of guests available to come to the festivities.

Carson, of course, had arranged for the whole thing. Lady Grantham worked on the menu with Mrs. Patmore and the decorations with Mrs. Hughes, but it was Carson who coordinated the execution of each and every detail. And he was half staffed.

There was talk that the government would be introducing conscription for the war effort, but most young men had already enlisted on their own. Young William had been so jealous of the hall boys and gardening staff who had already gone to serve King and country, but he respected his father's wishes that he not go to war unless he was forced. He was the only member of staff Carson could rely on now. Even a number of the maids had left to go help support their parents when fathers and brothers had gone away to war.

Thankfully, with Mr. Crawley home on leave, Mr. Molesley was back at Downton Abbey and available to help out. When Mr. Crawley—Lieutenant Crawley, now—left again, Mr. Molesley would return to his temporary position of butler at Crawley House as opposed to valet for Lieutenant Crawley. Still, Carson appreciated the extra set of hands to help with the serving for the large party.

And oh, what a party it was. If he squinted, Carson could see in it the grand events of days gone by. The house was magnificently filled with beautifully dressed people from all over. Lady Rosamund had come up from London, and Lord and Lady Flintshire and the young Lady Rose, all cousins to His Lordship, had come to stay as well. The other guests only came for the dinner, to toast to the little viscount.

He was a sweet little thing. Carson made no secret of the fact that Lady Mary had always been his favorite of the Crawley children, but the young Lord Downton was certainly vying for the prize in Carson's book. In demeanor, he was perhaps most like Lady Sybil—smiling and laughing and perfectly at ease. In looks, though, he was more like Lady Mary. But he had Lady Grantham's blue eyes, and he had Lord Grantham's dark curly hair. And the bigger he got, the more like he parents he looked. A funny, even-tempered little boy. Charming beyond belief. He had dazzled every person who had met him at this grand party in his honor. The little boy surely had no idea what was going on, but it hardly mattered.

Downton Abbey had shown off today. Carson was proud of his staff, what little of it there was. He was proud of the Crawley family and the way they showed all the grandeur of that fine family. And, of course, he was pleased to see everyone finally have a bit of happiness after the darkness the war had cast all over everything.

Today had been a good day. Viscount Downton was a year old. Lady Mary and Lieutenant Crawley, a year and two weeks married by now, were both present and happy and played their roles well. Lady Sybil was charming as ever, and she'd managed to keep her strong opinions to herself for the duration of the party. Lady Edith even managed not to mope so much. And at the center of the family, of course, were Lord and Lady Grantham. Despite the difficulties they'd both had over the last year, they had behaved like the perfect Earl and Countess of Grantham today. Everything had been as perfect as could be.

Tired as he was, Carson tried not to let the doom and gloom seep into him. He did not want to spoil the pride he felt in that perfect day. But it was hard to ignore the voice in his head that warned that today might be the last perfect day this house might have for a long, long time.

December 24, 1915

Cora Crawley knocked lightly and opened the door to the nursery. "Good evening, Nanny," she greeted softly. "I wanted to put out his stocking myself."

Nanny smiled. "Of course, Your Ladyship." She left the room to give the countess some privacy with her young son.

It was very late, and Cora knew she should just put up the stocking with the orange and the chocolate hidden inside, but she paused at the end of the cot.

Her son, her little miracle baby, was sleeping peacefully. He was on his back with his arms above his head. His dark curly hair, so like his father's, was already a mess. His little lips were parted as he breathed slowly in sleep. And his little body, so much bigger every single day but still so very small, was at rest.

Cora felt an ache of sorts in her belly as she watched him. She loved him so much that it physically hurt to even ponder sometimes. It had been this way with all of her children. All four of them Cora had made and birthed of her body. John had been the only one she'd been able to feed from her breast, and as important as that had been to her, Cora could now concede, with the necessary distance, that it had perhaps been a mistake. Well, not a mistake, per se, but if Cora had known more of what she was doing or had been able to…no, it was not worth looking back on what she could or should have done.

All that mattered was here and now. Here, in the nursery of her beloved home with her family. Now, with her miraculous son who had been so desperately wanted and was so overwhelmingly loved. He was perfect, this sweet boy of hers. Cora was eager to see him grow up and get to know the person he would become. Already she felt she knew him. He was quiet, like Edith had been, but he did not have her sulking quality. Though perhaps that was because John did not have a sibling a year older constantly taunting him the way Edith had suffered. No, John had a happy personality like Sybil. He had her good humor, too. But Cora had noticed that John seemed to notice and pay attention to things in a manner that seemed highly intelligent. All of Cora's children were clever, she knew, but Mary had always possessed the sharpest mind. Perhaps John might give her a run for her money. Cora was eager to find out.

Not too eager, though. There was a part of her that wished for time to stop so that he could remain her baby boy forever. Cora shook her head, banishing that silly though. She leaned into the cot and lightly kissed his soft baby cheeks.

"I love you, my sweet boy," she whispered. "Merry Christmas."

She did not want to disturb him any further, so Cora made quick work of the stocking and allowed Nanny to come back into the nursery. They bid each other a pleasant night, and Cora made her way to her bedroom to ring for Baxter.

December 25, 1915

Robert Crawley woke early on Christmas morning. He woke beside his wife this year, as he had not done so last year. He turned to kiss her softly on her pale cheek. She made a little noise of contentment and turned over. Robert chuckled lightly and whispered, "Happy Christmas, my darling."

He got out of bed and donned his dressing gown and slippers in order to silently leave the bedroom and pad down the corridor to the nursery. Nanny was already up and about, which was helpful. She greeted him politely and seemed to know why he was there.

"May I take him, Nanny?"

She was already lifting the sleeping boy out of his cot. "Of course, Your Lordship. Lady Grantham had requested that he be with the family for Christmas breakfast, so I'll go speak with Mrs. Patmore to ensure his food's ready. I'll be downstairs if I'm needed."

"Of course," Robert answered. "Thank you."

Cora had mentioned the idea of John joining the family for as much of the Christmas festivities as could be arranged, and Robert thought it was a fine idea. Mama would probably protest, but hopefully she would be distracted by Mary and not bother Robert and Cora and John.

Robert brought the baby downstairs, holding him upright with his dear little head resting on Robert's shoulder. This time last year, when John was only a few weeks old, Robert had to hold him much differently. It was amazing how much he'd grown in a year. Their baby was bigger every day, it seemed. He'd started saying a few words and could even stand on his own, but he wasn't quite walking or talking properly yet.

The house was still and quiet, and Robert was glad of it. He brought John downstairs to the library amidst all the beautiful Christmas decorations. He sat down on the settee by the fire. Isis was already there and got up to investigate.

"Be gentle," Robert warned the dog.

She sniffed at the baby and licked his cheek. That finally caused John to wake. He fussed a little, but Robert soothed him quickly.

"You're alright, lad. It's just Isis saying hello. You both are about the same age, you know. We got her as a puppy earlier this year, but I think she was born just before you were. You and she will grow up together. Isn't that nice?"

John's bright blue eyes were bleary with sleep still. He rubbed them with his pudgy fists from where he was perched on his father's lap. He gazed around and landed on Isis. "Da!" he announced.

"That's a dog, John, yes," Robert told him. "Can you say 'dog'?"

"Dag," the baby answered resolutely.

"Close enough for now, I suppose," Robert conceded. He kissed his son's cheek. "Very good. And a very merry Christmas," he added. "We shall have to go back up to the nursery so you can see what Father Christmas put in your stocking." Cora had told him what she'd done, but as their son was barely a year old, he wouldn't really understand the concept of Christmas just yet. It didn't much matter that he didn't wake up to his presents.

John reached up and patted Robert's cheek. "Dag!"

"No, I'm not a dog," he corrected. He pointed to Isis. "That is a dog."

But the distinction was lost on him. He giggled and repeated, "Dag!"

Robert sighed, "You can play with the dog." He put John down on the settee where he and Isis could get to each other a bit more easily, and Robert watched with amusement as his son and his Labrador shared Christmas morning becoming friends.