Her senses were surely playing tricks on her. The room smelled of dewed grass and sunshine mixed with the warmest of breezes. She flexed her fingers and felt fabric bunch beneath them. Have I fallen asleep? Cora wondered, eyes still closed, as she brought a hand to her abdomen–the spot where her child should have been nestled.

An ache between her hips replaced the breeze and panic blocked the aromas as her mind recalled the trauma. She'd never encountered pain quite like it, but she knew if she gave in, her child would perish. This much-awaited baby that could secure the future of the Crawley line. A son for Robert, their boy. Yet it was overpowering, not coming in waves like with Mary and Edith, but a constant stabbing, her organs twisting and invoking about for room. Conflicting shouts of "Push!" and "Wait!" were silenced as her world had faded to black.

Cora opened her eyes against the brightness of the room and inhaled. Her eyelashes felt as if they had fused together from combined sweat and tears. Attracting the attention of of a blurry figure seated at her vanity, she heard a faint, "Thank God."

Where's the baby, Cora asked, but when the words didn't leave her lips she felt an all encompassing dread which must have communicated the question wordlessly. Robert placed both his hands on her shoulders, though she wasn't aware of having tried to sit up.

"The baby's fine. You're both fine." He soothed, as he eased her back into the mountain of pillows whilst quelling the perspired curls sticking to her forehead.

"What happ…" Cora could barely bring herself to speak over her elevated heartbeat. It was bouncing from her chest to her throat and settling in her ears.

"You-" Robert tried to introduce the subject gently. His squeamish disposition threatened to keep him silent and Cora could feel him contemplating how much to tell her. If she had felt like herself, she would have pressed him. Perhaps it was the blood vessels creeping from the corners of her eyes as if they had taken root there, rendering them bloodshot and spent, that bolstered his resolve. He came round without her probing.

"You were bleeding. But Dr. Clarkson stopped it and said that you'll need rest. And that you're going to be just fine." It was all he could offer if he was to keep his poise. The mattress sighed to accommodate his weight and he extended an arm across her frame. She could feel the warmth of his wrist, penetrating both the sheets and her nightgown, where it rested at her hip.

Cora blinked at his previous information and finally took in the state of her room. Blankets, towels, tools; it had all been removed and packed away out of sight to simulate normalcy. She observed the open window, the presumed source of the fragrance and the pleasantries of the air, and spotted papers piled on her vanity. With a botched breath, she glimpsed a bassinet in the corner. As though he had heard the blood rush to her ears, Robert followed her gaze.

"Do you want to see her?" Robert let himself smile, for he knew the answer and was already rising.

If she hadn't thought her legs might give out in the process, Cora would have leapt from the bed. But she simply nodded and felt tears gather in her eyes. She had not registered his use of the feminine. But as she watched her husband reach into the bassinet and pick up their child, their newborn daughter, she felt her entire body awaken.

"A girl." Her words were constricted, yet strong. Cora couldn't bring herself to feel any trace of disappointment. This baby was the sunshine. She was the breeze, the grass dripping with morning dew that had roused Cora, bringing with her not the failure of duty, but the joy of new love.

"Come here, darling." She heard him say over a whimper from the bundle in his arms. Cora rolled to her side and propped up on her forearm, preparing a spot where her child could loll.

"Hello, my baby." An explorative hand protruded from the swaddle, it's tiny fingers clasping onto Cora's thumb. Mother and daughter reunited earth-side. The scuff of chair on wood signaled Robert's action and he settled arms length from a tearful Cora. Her other hand brushed the tufts of dark hair, very obviously a trait she had given this new life, sprouting from her little girl's head.

"Oh, she's perfect." Wet splotches appeared on the cotton enwrapping the baby as Cora tranquilly wept.

Robert brushed two fingers against his daughter's cheek, downy like one of Cora's velvet evening gowns. Or a silk glove. No, Robert concluded, it's Cora's skin. This baby was Cora in every way. He felt sure the universe had understood it was not meant to be for them to have son and gave him a carbon copy of his greatest love instead.

"She looks just like you. Even Mama said so."

The mention of Mama reminded Cora this fairytale had an ultimatum. She lifted her head to Robert, tears having dried.

"We can try again." She tilted her head.

"No," he was quick to answer and she stiffened.

His tone was suddenly serious and he swallowed hard, "That is, it's not that simple."

"You said I'll be fine." Between them, the baby blinked slowly, still entranced with her mother's thumb and ignorant to the the tension that had polluted the conversation.

"And so you will be." His hand found her knee, needing to touch her. She had nearly fallen victim to an all too real fate. Or so he had been told by a white-faced Dr. Clarkson.

"Then what?" She was pressing him, not fully appreciating the severity of the danger she had been in.

"Cora, you've been asleep for 12 hours," he began, "You could have…we weren't sure…" He trailed off as the bundle stretched and cooed. After all, it was over and they were both safe. The future could wait.

It was quiet for a while as Cora reveled in her baby. Robert observed; perhaps he would never be able to talk about it. To drudge up the terror that had fallen like a brick into his stomach would be torture. The words of a nurse carrying yet another cold towel past the top of the stairwell had pulled his heart into his throat. He had inquired about the progress as Cora's yells swept the gallery for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She's having a difficult time, Your Lordship, very difficult.

Cora's eyes found his and implored him to be honest, though he wrestled with speaking the fact into existence just yet.

"Besides–," he decided, deeming it easier to face it immediately and popping their bubble of bliss.

"This child will be our last."

"I don't understand." Her eyebrows kneaded together. She knew he was uncomfortable on such subjects but she needed to know more and couldn't wait to hear it from the doctor's lips.

"Whatever Dr. Clarkson had to do to ensure your safety will prevent us from having another child." Robert wasn't entirely sure why this had to be. The doctor had mentioned something about scar tissue and the womb being inadequate to bear another, but Robert had been nauseous from an influx of dread and relief. Barely able to keep himself upright, he hadn't been able to absorb medical detail.

"Oh." Cora looked back down at her daughter, pretty and perfect, nearly asleep. Her fingers had freed Cora's thumb allowing Robert's hand to replace them. But instead of the barely perceptible squeeze, a firm and tethering grip succeeded.

"I'm sorry." She was smiling, still overjoyed at their new daughter, but empathetic all the same. "I know this isn't what you wanted."

"I want you and our girls safe and healthy. That is all that matters to me." She sensed the loyalty in his immediate response and a sincere peace shared their space. Between their new life dozing before them and Robert's words of candor, Cora knew this moment could sustain them through the societal gossip that would undoubtedly arise.

"And I got what I wanted." Robert continued.

"Shall we go with Sybil then? I think it suits her." Cora watched as her daughter's eyes began to droop. All other names they had discussed presently sounded inadequate and foreign. This baby was a Sybil, sent from some divine inspiration and embodying every connotation of the name.

"I couldn't agree more. In fact," Robert returned to the vanity and picked up a piece of paper, "I was just writing to your mother. Since Sybil came a bit earlier than expected and Martha won't be here for another few weeks."

Robert handed the letter to Cora and watched as she scanned the lines.

Dear Martha,

I am writing to inform you that your newest grandchild has arrived much earlier than expected. Cora will need a bit of extra rest, but both she and the baby are doing just fine. We anticipate your arrival in the next couple of weeks where you will meet…

When Cora looked up, Robert had returned to the chair at her side and wore a grin. Thinking she'd surely read it wrong, she re-examined the final words.

Lady Sybil Cora Crawley.

All she could do was shake her head, her smile watery and felicitous. Robert could bear the modest distance no longer and moved to sit on the edge of the bed just below where Sybil's foot peeked from under her blanket.

"You have given me three of the most beautiful daughters in all of England and I wouldn't trade them for ten sons."

With an involuntary sniff, Cora ran her hand up and down his chest parallel to his buttons. He stilled her ministrations with his palm.

"She is named for you because long after you and I are gone she will carry on your beauty and your kindness. And your strength." His fingers slid over her wrist and down her arm, the translucent quality of her skin no longer a cause for worry; an interim byproduct of their daughter's grand entrance. Cora's dry fingers, full of life and clutching his own, were the recipient of his next kiss.

Sybil, who was in and out of slumber, whimpered and brought their attention back to her.

"And I want her to know how much I love her mother."

Cora brought Robert's hand to her chest, finally warm and showing a tint of its normal color, and stroked the top of Sybil's head with her other hand.

"Welcome to the Crawley family, my beauty."