Author's Note: I'm humbled and amazed that this little story, even with the (I'm ashamed to say) long periods in between new chapters, continues to be read, favorited, and left kind reviews. Thank you for not giving up on me. I am truly grateful for generous readers like you!

In the modest but comfortable sitting room of the Ferrars home, Christopher and Edward sat in uneasy silence. They had been in one another's company for several hours now and had quite thoroughly depleted all topics of harmless conversation. The sun had begun to set, casting shadows across the room that did little to ease the solemn mood lingering there in the growing dusk.

Edward looked tired and worn, and indeed he was both. Only recently had he given up a restless bout of pacing, and now he sat with his bent head held in his hands, as quietly discomposed as Christopher had ever seen him. As for the Colonel, he could give little comfort to his brother-in-law, powerless to do much more than sit near him and offer his silent support.

It had been many hours since Edward had arrived at Delaford, winded after running there on foot, to announce that Elinor's time had come. Marianne's immediate reaction had been one of both joy and surprise, for Elinor had not been expecting the baby for another fortnight at least. Yet there had been no cause for alarm, Marianne had assured them. One never knew with too much certainty when a baby would arrive, and Elinor and Margaret both had been born earlier than Mrs. Dashwood had expected.

The midwife had already been sent for, and Marianne was to accompany Edward back to the Dell, Delaford's parson's cottage, while Christopher hastened to Barton Cottage to fetch Mrs. Dashwood. As the Colonel and his wife had parted ways at Delaford, Marianne had squeezed his hands tightly, her eyes bright with excitement. "Can you believe it, Christopher? Elinor is going to be a mother, and I am going to be an aunt. Oh, how wonderful it all is! I scarcely can believe it is time already. What do you think the baby shall be, a boy or a girl?"

"I hardly know," Christopher had smiled, enchanted by Marianne's excitement and feeling pleased himself at the imminent arrival of the child. He had always been rather fond of children, and welcoming little Emma into their home some two months past had been an adventure and a delight unto itself. How natural Marianne was with her, how brightly she shone whenever she played with Emma or charmed the child into ringing laughter.

Emma was casting a spell on them all, yet he couldn't help but think of the wonderful day when it would be Marianne's turn to bring their own child into the world. "Go with Edward, my dear," he had said to her then. "He is quite anxious to return to his wife, and I know that you are anxious to be with her too."

"You are right, Christopher. Off I go then." With one quick, enthusiastic kiss on his cheek she had hurried to join the waiting Edward while a bemused Christopher went to order the carriage brought round.

All that had occurred early that morning. The happy anticipation they felt in the first few hours had all too soon turned into a long and anxious wait for the two men. Now that the sun was sinking silently beyond the horizon, the gloom only grew with the shadows. In a room somewhere above them they could faintly hear a woman's pained cries. It seemed louder now than it ever had before, and Edward's head sunk further into his hands as he silently endured what Christopher could only imagine was torment indeed.

At the moment, he wasn't so certain he was eager to be a father after all. It was all too easy to imagine that it was Marianne's cries reaching his ears, that it was his wife who was suffering in ways he could not fully understand to bring a new life into this world. What if something were to go wrong? Marianne was young, but the fever that had nearly taken her life had surely weakened her. If a baby came too soon, or if there were other complications, what would happen then? God in heaven, what if he lost her?

Suddenly there was a new noise that penetrated the somber silence. It was the unmistakable sound of an infant's cry, strong and lusty despite the distance between them. Edward immediately sat up, running his hands raggedly through his hair. He met Christopher's eyes, sharing a look that spoke of both their hopes that the worst was at long last over.

By the time the sitting room door opened, they were already on their feet. In walked Marianne with shadows under her eyes and a smile on her face that spoke volumes. "Edward," she said gently, going to his side and taking him by the hand. "Come and meet your son."

"My son," Edward uttered in awe, squeezing Marianne's hand tightly. "And Elinor? She is…well?"

"Oh yes, Edward, very well!" Marianne swiftly assured him, bringing a wonderfully relieved smile to the new father's face. "Come along now. She is tired, but she longs to see you before she rests."

Neither Marianne nor the Colonel had ever seen Edward move so quickly. He was there one moment and gone the next, leaving them both a little bewildered but unspeakably happy with the outcome of the day's events. "Well, I don't suppose he needs me to show him the way after all," Marianne mused, smiling tiredly.

Christopher laughed softly, opening his arms to his wife. Her smile grew even wider as she eagerly went into his waiting arms. "A son, Christopher," she sighed, her words slightly muffled against his jacket. "They have a son!"

"Yes," he murmured against his wife's hair. "And you, my dearest, are an aunt."

"I can scarcely believe it." With a weary sigh, she sagged against him, causing Christopher to tighten his arms around her.

"Are you well, Marianne?" he asked her anxiously, his hand smoothing down her hair.

"I am tired, that is all. It was…" She sighed again as she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "It was wonderful that I could be with my sister, but it was…well, I admit that it was frightening at times. But Elinor was so strong and so brave. It will not surprise you at all that it was she who comforted my mother and I more often than we comforted her."

Christopher gently led her towards a comfortable couch at the far side of the room.

"I understand from Mamma that Margaret made a terrible fuss when she was left behind this morning. I'm afraid she'll be beside herself by now."

"She is with Mrs. Jennings," Christopher said, content simply to have her settled beside him. "No doubt she has been kept very well amused these past hours. Emma is with them as well."

Marianne's eyes brightened at mention of their ward. Though they had employed a kindly and matronly nurse to ensure that Emma would always be well looked after, Marianne herself spent much a good deal of time with the child. Christopher too was fond of her, though the memory of Emma's mother rose painfully whenever he looked into her startlingly blue eyes.

In this, Marianne was imminently patient. She seemed to understand without question that the transition was not an easy one for Christopher, who remembered too well that he had failed Eliza and her child both.

"You are thinking," Marianne said after a long while, having gone nearly boneless where she was pressed against his side.

"And you are tired," Christopher responded, frowning. "We must get you home."

The Brandons returned to Delaford very late, falling into bed as soon as they saw Emma off to the nursery in the care of her nurse. Sleep did not come easily for Christopher that night, and when it did, it was filled with vivid and strange dreams that left him restless and cold. Finally, just as the sky began to glow with first light, the thoughts that preyed upon him could no longer be ignored. Turning over, he reached for Marianne, grasping her arm and gently shaking her.

"Marianne?"

"Hmm?" For all intents and purposes, his wife had been dead to the world since they had retired for the night. Still half asleep, she drew in a deep breath as she placed her hand on Christopher's, running her fingers over his. "What is it, my love?"

Guilty at having roused her from so deep a sleep, Christopher considered letting the matter go. But when he did not respond, Marianne became a little more alert and slowly turned over to face him, her sleep-softened eyes filled with concern. "Christopher? Are you all right?"

He nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment in the dim light of the setting moon. Rolling onto his back, he sighed heavily. "I've been thinking, Marianne."

"Thinking," she repeated. When no more information was forthcoming, Marianne pushed up on her elbows and leaned over her husband, her long curls trailing along his nightshirt. "It must have been a very serious thought indeed for you to wake me over it," she said, a smile in her voice. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

He pulled her further on top of him until she was partially sprawled across his upper body. His hands, large and warm, began to rub up and down her arms, almost lazily. He wanted her near, took comfort in her touch and her warmth. His troubling thoughts were more difficult to express than he had imagined, and it took him some time to collect them. "Was your sister in any danger today? With the baby, I mean?"

Understanding dawned in Marianne's eyes. "There is always some danger in childbirth. I don't think, however, that Elinor was ever in any serious danger. The midwife was very competent and very supportive. She seemed to think that everything progressed as it should, although it did seem to take a very long time."

Her hand wandered its way along the side of his face, stroking softly across his cheek. "I think I understand your worry, my love. You're considering how frightening it will be when you are in Edward's shoes."

"I am a decorated officer, Mrs. Dashwood. You should know by now that there is very little that frightens me," he said in mock offense.

"Of course, Colonel," Marianne smiled indulgently, letting her head fall forward against his chest. "The thought doesn't frighten you, then. It merely concerns you, or discomfits you, if you like. All the same, I think it's only natural, Christopher. I can assure you that I'm no more fond of the thought of childbirth than you are. But nothing worth having in this world is without risk, and the birth of our children will be no different."

"You are not frightened yourself, then?" Christopher asked, observing how the low light of early morning made his wife's braided hair look like dark, liquid gold.

"It's not something that I dwell on, to be honest." Seeming to sense that this was not as satisfactory an answer as her husband had suspected, she continued, "But no, I'm not afraid. I want a child, Christopher. More importantly, I want to have your child. That's not so hard to imagine, is it?"

Her smile, so lovely and warm in the moonlight, sent a wave of comfort and contentment through him. He should have known that she wasn't afraid. His brave wife feared very little, as far as he could tell. "I want that as well, Marianne. You know that I do. A life with you is already more than I could ever have hoped for, and the added blessing of children would be wonderful indeed. But the thought of losing you… It is difficult to comprehend."

"You haven't lost me," Marianne insisted, leaning up on one arm to gaze down intently upon him. "And you're not going to. I confess, husband, I used to dwell on thoughts of the romantic and the tragic, but I've since learned the foolishness of filling one's head exclusively with maudlin thoughts. It is no way to live. Our lives are not always our own, and so it is only natural and good that we concentrate on what we have here and now; what we have together."

Nodding solemnly, Christopher pulled her closer, rolling slightly until they both lay side-by-side once more. "You are as wise as you are beautiful, my lady wife, and I do hope that I don't need to remind you that that is very wise, indeed." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he sighed softly, his worries allayed for the moment.

When Marianne spoke again, there was a measure of hesitancy in her voice. "There is also Emma. I know that she is not our child, and I know it is strange for you to have her here, but…"

Christopher sighed. "Not so strange as all that. I mourn for my ward, mourn that I could not do more. I will always feel some responsibility there."

Marianne ran her hand over his stubbled cheek, the gesture as soothing as it was welcome. "And I will always remind you that you are not at fault, not for any of it." She ran her hand over his arm now, choosing her words carefully.

"I am growing to love Emma already. I may have loved her even before you carried her into Delaford. It is not in me to love by halves, Christopher. Surely… Surely it isn't wrong of me to think of her as our own?"

If possible, Christopher loved her more than ever in that moment. "No, dearest, it is not wrong. She is not of our flesh, and yet she will be our child in truth, if that is what you wish."

"It was my idea to bring her here, after all," Marianne reminded him. "But if it is too painful for you…"

"No, no," he assured her, and he kissed her as though he could take away all her worries. Judging by the happy and ever so slightly dazed glow in her eyes when he pulled away.

"Now see here," Marianne said impishly. "I'm supposed to be soothing you, not the other way 'round."

"And you have done magnificently, madam," Christopher assured her. "We have quite succinctly laid out our present concerns regarding our family, and the end result is that we already have a daughter and will be delighted when our next daughter-"

"Or son."

"Or son," he nodded, "is to come."

Marianne grinned. "Right you are." She tried and failed to stifle a rather lengthy yawn. "Now that we have worked all of that out, do you think we can go back to sleep? I promised to return to the Dell first thing in the morning, which I fear isn't very far away anymore."

Christopher pulled the light covers up over them and waited for his wife to settle herself more comfortably in his arms. "Of course. Sleep, my love. Sleep." She hummed in contentment, and then sighed as she quickly drifted back to sleep. Christopher joined her shortly. The nightmares did not return.

Jonathan Edward Ferrars was christened on the second of September. It was a joyous occasion for all, marred only slightly by the attendance of one Mrs. John Dashwood.

Fanny had changed very little over the past two years. She was still a thoroughly aloof and selfish creature, if somewhat less haughty in her present dealings with the Dashwoods. They were, after all, related through both her husband and her brother now, though she made it no secret that they were not the most ideal of relations. Fanny and Marianne remained on what could pass for civil terms, although Marianne could never completely forget how terribly cold the woman had been to her mother and sisters, never mind to herself, in the months following her father's death.

Yet it had been her own idea to invite her half-brother and his wife to stay at Delaford rather than settle them at the nearest inn. Fanny was, after all, Edward's sister. She was also, sadly enough, one of the few relatives he had who was still speaking to him. Their mother had yet to forgive him for either his engagement to Lucy—now his much doted upon sister-in-law, as fate would have it—or for his marriage to Elinor. It was shocking, not to mention hypocritical in the extreme, for Mrs. Ferrars had quite forgiven Edward's brother for his folly in marriage. Marianne was only too glad that she had never met the woman, for she was sure that she would dislike her even more than Fanny.

A lovely brunch had been prepared for the family on the lawns at Delaford following the christening. Unfortunately, an unexpected rain shower had quite thoroughly ruined those plans. The party was instead held indoors at Delaford, with a small army of maids and footmen rushing this way and that to see the affair all set to rights before the return of the family and their guests.

The party was small enough that they fit quite comfortably in the large dining room. There was a bounty of every good thing upon the table, and they dined happily together with laughter all around—or nearly so, in the case of Fanny—celebrating together the birth of little Jonathan.

In a move that was either quite clever or quite devious—Marianne had yet to decide—she had arranged the seating so that Fanny sat beside Mrs. Jennings. It appeared to be working precisely as she had designed. Fanny said little (and was therefore given little opportunity to condescend or offend), while Mrs. Jennings prattled on and on about this and that, never letting her neighbor put in a word edgewise. Her daughter Charlotte was mentioned a great deal, naturally, as well as the expected arrival of her next grandchild. Elinor and Marianne met eyes more than once over that. They were still quite interested to hear how the new baby would agree with Charlotte, not to mention her taciturn husband.

"Damn shame about the weather," Sir John said around a mouthful of kidneys. Although he was an endearing sort of man and much beloved by his family and friends, Marianne had ever observed that he had a tendency to eat in the manner of the dogs he loved so dearly. She did not mind in the least, seeing as she was seated on the opposite end of the table, but she did notice that Fanny seemed to wince whenever she caught sight of the aging man seated across from her and his voracious appetite.

"And such a shame that we couldn't enjoy the beauty of Delaford Park as well!" Mrs. Jennings put in, earning sympathetic smiles from all Brandons and Dashwoods present.

"That's English weather for you," Sir John chortled. "But as they say, if you don't like it, wait an hour or two and you just might."

"The weather is always very fine in Sussex, you know," said Fanny, one dark brow raised in a superior fashion. "My mother's home is in Sussex, and I am sure that we never see so much rain there. It is really quite lovely, and the landscape is not nearly so wild."

"My dear Fanny, I recall no such thing. English weather is English weather, I daresay," Edward gently disagreed. "And I am rather fond of Devonshire. It is, I'll grant you, of a different sort of beauty than Sussex, but it is beautiful nonetheless."

Fanny did not look particularly pleased to be argued with, and by her own brother, no less. But she gave a tight smile as her only response, and then made a great show of taking a delicate sip of punch from her glass.

It was here that Marianne chose to enter the fray. Smiling sweetly, she candidly said, "I confess that I did not know what to expect when we first left Norland Park and came to live at Barton Cottage. Norland was the only home I had ever known, and I was certain that no other house or county could be so dear to me as the home I was leaving behind. But Devonshire, lovely, wild Devonshire, is now more home to me than any other place in the world. It is, I am sure, one of the most beautiful counties in England."

"I would most heartily agree," Mrs. Dashwood said, her genteel voice soft but emphatic.

"Oh yes, certainly," Margaret enthusiastically agreed as well. "Devonshire really is superb! And look at all that's happened to us since we came here. Marianne would have never met the Colonel, and we would all be so sad because of it and never even know!"

Colonel Brandon smiled warmly and lifted his glass in silent salute to his young sister-in-law. "Ah, but it is I who should be grateful," he said, his voice like warm treacle as his eyes sought his wife's across the table. "Certainly, Devonshire has never been the same since the Dashwoods saw fit to invade the county."

"Quite," Fanny agreed woodenly. She held her tongue for the remainder of the meal. If anyone noticed, they did not complain, and no one sought her opinion on any topic of conversation for the rest of the morning.