A/N: Tomorrow Edith and Anthony face the world, but for now they have each other, and what more could two people so well-matched want? :)

(I'm giving a fluff-alert for this installment, as well as a heads up it may be slightly more than 'T' later. I sincerely hope those parts are handled with dignity and delicacy, but I thought I would give fair warning nonetheless.)

Thank you so much for continuing to read and review. I hope you enjoy it even a fraction of how I've loved writing it...

All of time slowed for just a moment. The rain, which had been falling lazily all day, seemed suddenly louder in the courtyard outside the kitchen windows, and the wind clamored noisily against the stove vents. Edith held her breath, watching and waiting for Anthony's reaction.

The timing, as he had said himself just a few moments ago, was less than ideal. Sybil's funeral had not finished six hours ago, and here Edith stood, asking her husband to rejoice in the very thing that had caused her dear sister's death. And, despite her grief and trepidations, Edith was indeed rejoicing.

"You're pregnant?" he finally asked, turning his great, blue eyes on Edith. She saw the tears behind his lashes, but couldn't yet tell which emotion they portrayed. His voice was rather numb, his posture stiff.

"Yes. Dr. Clarkson confirmed it. It's not very far along, but it is definite."

Anthony's eyes scanned the room without really seeing it, and Edith's heart began to pound. She so needed him to be glad, and brave. But his face was frozen in that one lopsided smile of his that doesn't necessarily indicate happiness. She saw it when he proposed the first time, and that day in the church, and nearly anytime Granny said something awkward. It told her nothing now.

Just when Edith thought she couldn't take another moment, Anthony took a stuttering breath, as though he had just come up from water. To Edith's surprise he began to laugh; not heartily, or loudly, but he was laughing. When he didn't speak Edith stomped her foot impatiently and dropped her hands.

"Well are you going to say anything?"

"I don't think there are words, dearest," he replied. His smile grew, stretching wide and setting Edith immediately at ease.

"You're pleased," she sighed. It wasn't a question, but a statement with immense implication, a release of all her fears and trepidation.

"Pleased? I am so delighted I could sing with it."

Before she knew what was happening, Edith collapsed into sobs. She found herself sinking to her knees on the slate floor, one hand over her mouth as she gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. Anthony was kneeling before her in an instant, holding her chin in his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, not overly concerned. He recognized the relief in her face.

"It seems my legs have failed me, momentarily. I'll be alright," she stammered, laughing almost as hard as she was crying.

"Yes," he said pointedly, in one of those rarely authoritative moments. "You will be. You will be fine, and the baby will be fine. We're none of us going anywhere."

"I thought you might, given what happened, be unhappy—"

"I know I'm prone to worry, but Edith, we made a child. Come what may, I could never find despair in that."

Edith pitched her arms hard around Anthony's neck, burying her face against his shoulder.

"In this moment, more than ever, I wish I had both my arms to hold you to me."

"Well hold me twice as long with the one you've got and we'll make do."

And he did. Together, on the floor of their deserted kitchen, the Strallans laughed, and cried, and laughed again, and when they collected themselves enough to move into the library, they were no longer Lady Edith and Sir Anthony, but the Strallan family.

Edwards was in the great hall with the two footmen, overseeing the rotating of the rugs. When his Master and Mistress entered from the back stair, he wasn't greatly surprised to find the Lady clinging to Sir Strallan's arm. Nor could he really say he was surprised to see her pull him to a stop in front of the stairs and say something in hushed tones.

"Anthony," Edith said, stopping short of the door to the library. Anthony turned back to her, a certain giddy lightness brightening his features. Edith's eyes caught the old butler's, who immediately looked away. "It's been rather a long day. Might we go upstairs and take have a lie down?"

"Of course," he said simply. Turning to his Butler Anthony said, "Edwards, it's been a rather trying day. Please tell Mrs. Bass not to bother with dinner. Lady Edith and I are going to have a rest, and we may not be back down." He gave Edith's hand a kiss before leading her up the stairs.

"Very good, Sir," Edwards muttered, bidding them a good night. He seemed sympathetic to their mourning, and saw nothing of the elation they were both drunk with.

When they reached the landing and were away from view, Edith stopped again. She took a few of the steps so she might be closer to eye-level with Anthony and turned to face him. They were still holding hands, and Anthony's thumb drew affectionate circles in her palm as he waited.

"Anthony," she hedged, feeling slightly awkward. They'd been married for four months, and were as acquainted with each other as most couples who had been married four decades. But somehow, in this moment, she was unsure how to tell him what she wanted. The way he was looking at her now, patiently and adoringly, didn't seem to be helping. She began to fuss with the lapel of his suit. "I don't really want to take a nap."

When he spoke his voice was sure and rather humorous, as though she had underestimated him. "Edith, sweetheart, I'm half a century old. I know how this works."

She smiled at him, and was saying, "I suppose I should know better" when he cocked his head in a curious way. Edith watched him, hesitantly, trying to guess what was on his mind.

In an unusual but most welcome display of unrestraint and command, Anthony took a swift step into Edith, throwing her over his left shoulder as though she weighed nothing, causing her to let out a little shriek. He said nothing as he marched them down the hall, and Edith was left quite speechless herself.

It took them almost no time to get each other undressed. The room was cold, as the evening fires had yet to be lit, and their only light was the fading, steely glare from the October sky. They were quick to seek the shelter of the thick bed linens. But once they found each other under the sheets, neither party seemed to hurry things.

There were times when their encounters were fiery and zealous; when Edith saw a side to Anthony she believed no one else in the world ever had, when his eyes grew darker and his movements were fiercer and his presence was altogether more forceful. There were other times when they were gentle, and quiet, and their hands always managed to find each other in the midst of things and their movements were deliberate and demonstrative.

And then there were times such as this, which were not uncommon but tempered just enough with the others to make them special, when they would find themselves beyond words, transcendent of need, and in utter awe of one another.

Anthony's hand slowly trailed every beloved curve of Edith's supple frame—almost painfully slowly—as she lay on her side next to him. She watched his face while he explored, keenly interested in the concentration and ardor that he expressed. His eyelashes, though light, were incredibly long, and she admired them from a viewpoint most did not have the privilege of knowing as he kissed her collarbone, and her breast, and her ribs. Her own hands rested on his head and his shoulder. She loved the feel of his broad muscles and of his hair in her fingers, and the smell of his skin.

Unable to wait any longer, she pulled him gently back to her so she might kiss him. Anthony was far more patient than his wife in nearly every aspect of their lives, but especially when they were lying close together. He smiled against her mouth as she urged his open and slid her tongue somewhat forcibly underneath his upper lip.

"What's so amusing?" she muttered petulantly, leaving his mouth free to answer and nibbling slightly on the space between his jaw and ear.

"Your enthusiasm, darling."

"Does it bother you?" she challenged, bracing herself on his shoulders as she moved to hover over him.

"On the contrary, my lovely, it does my old heart well."

Edith pulled Anthony up so he was sitting beneath her and took both his hands in hers, holding them between their heaving chests. They examined each other's eyes for a long while before she spoke.

"I grant I have a biased view, but do you think it's just possible we love each other more than any two people ever have, or ever could? I ask you because, as you've said, you're half a century old. Surely you, Methuselah, will know better than I."

"My opinion is subjective as yours, I'm afraid. And to be honest, my thoughts are just a bit beleaguered at the moment." He glanced down briefly, but pointedly, at their bodies and she arched against him in agreement. "But yes, Edith, I think we may be exceptional in that way. Very exceptional indeed."

They spent the next several hours proving exactly how exceptional they found each other to be.

The sun had long-since left the great paneled windows of their room, but Anthony had lit the fire and a tray with some bread and tea had been brought up. Edith sat in bed, sheets gathered around her, sipping from her cup. Aware that Anthony was watching her she finally turned to him, blushing. "What on earth are you staring at?"

He was sitting opposite her, feet crossed, leaning against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, wearing only his navy pajama pants.

"You. What else?"

"Why?"

"Because I can't stop thinking that my child is in there, our child, and I'm rather astonished by it. I'm sort of proud of us. Aren't you proud?"

"Anthony," she muttered, tears welling at his sincere and direct response. He simply shrugged, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, but she knew somehow that he was remarkable, and she was incredibly lucky to have him; even more that she was lucky to have children with him. "Exceptional, indeed," she repeated as they sat, beaming at each other and sipping their tea.