branson will be forgiven eventually. and sybil will have the baby at downton. and that is that.

XXX

Considering that, all hatred driven hence,

The soul recovers radical innocence

And learns at last that it is self-delighting,

Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,

And that its own sweet will is heaven's will;

She can, though every face should scowl

And every windy quarter howl

Or every bellows burst, be happy still.

"Isn't she beautiful?" her youngest whispers. "Isn't she beautiful?"

The first time her daughter fell in love, it had broken Cora's heart. Her defiance, her anger as the chauffeur stood beside her, these rebellions shocked Cora. But it was the look she had given the man they had trusted to deliver their daughter safely that had truly hurt her. Such love. Such fierce, all-consuming love. She should have known. She was her mother. She should have known.

But now she watches Sybil fall in love in an entirely new way, and she cannot help but be reminded of herself, holding her child much in the same manner as Sybil is holding her granddaughter now.

"Another girl," her mother-in-law had sighed, but even her disdain could not ruin Cora's joy. They had hoped for a boy, yes, an heir to finally secure Downton's survival. But one glimpse of Sybil's tiny pink mouth and staggeringly small fingers and Cora was head over heels.

"Oh, Mamma," Sybil breaths now, no longer a baby in her arms but a fully grown woman with a child of her own. She looks at her mother, flushed and so happy, and Cora cannot speak, she is so moved. Wordlessly, she tucks a damp curl out of her daughter's face and smiles, struggling to keep her tears at bay.

A knock at the door. Mrs. Hughes pops her head in.

"I think the poor father's going to worry himself to death if he has to wait a moment longer," she comments wryly, but the look on her face as she spies the newest addition to the family is gentle, a rare moment of tenderness for the normally brisk housekeeper.

"Let him in," Sybil says, and Mrs. Hughes steps aside to reveal Branson, exhausted and disheveled. His hair is a mess - he looks as though he's done nothing but run a shaky hand through it since Sybil first went into labor. And, oh, his clothes: rumpled, a new brandy stain, and the sleeves are rolled up in the most vulgar manner. Just how, exactly, he manages to look as if he hasn't shaved for a week when yesterday he was as fresh as a footmen is beyond Cora. She makes as if to stand up, to give them some privacy despite her misgivings, when she is stilled by the look on her daughter's husband's face.

Goodness, she thinks. He's fallen in love, too.

It's true - there's a light in his eyes that belies their weariness, and all his rough edges suddenly seem softened. He walks to Sybil as if in a dream.

"There's someone who wants to meet you," her daughter says shyly, and Cora's breath catches, for hadn't she said those exact words to Robert so many years ago? And Robert, trembling and utterly bowled over, had held Sybil like Branson holds his little girl, the same look of awe now gracing his son-in-law's face. He beams at Sybil, and Cora eases herself out, giving Mrs. Hughes a quick smile as she goes.

Well, she can hardly dislike a man who adores her granddaughter so much. Branson is forgiven, she admits with a sigh. Though heaven help him if he thinks he's going to spirit that child away to Ireland. Cora has a lot of spoiling to do.

XXX

excerpt from "a prayer for my daughter" by w. b. yeats. i like me some yeats. appropriate, i think.