Loxley Park, August 1914

"I won't be in a slightest danger, my sweet one," assured her Anthony in his usual kind voice. "There is no need to worry about me at all. I will be travelling a lot, but just for diplomatic talks and coordinating the army matters with our allies in France and Belgium. I won't go anywhere near the frontlines."

Edith swallowed thickly, trying bravely to smile.

"Just come home safely and as soon as you can," she said tremulously. "I will miss you terribly until you do."

"Write to me to through the War Office. They will forward your letters to whatever location I will be at. Who knows, maybe you will have some important news to convey," he smiled at her lovingly, looking briefly at her belly. Edith's hands fluttered there automatically, a smile of her own appearing on her face at the thought.

"Oh, I hope so!" she exclaimed, hugging her husband tightly. She pushed away a vague worry that it had been taking quite longer than she expected already and with Anthony away would be so much more difficult to achieve. Her monthly was a day late. It could very well mean nothing, but she hoped fiercely that it was not the case.

Breakfast room, Downton Abbey, August 1914

Robert stared at the telegram he just received, announcing the birth of little Rupert Carlisle.

If his boy survived to be born, he would have had a cousin of the same age.

He had no idea how to convey the news to Cora. He knew he had to – better she learnt from him than read the announcement in the newspaper – but he was in so much pain himself he had no idea how to find words to comfort her.

With heavy heart he started to climb the stairs.

Lady Rosamund's bedroom, Upper Grosvenor Street, Mayfair, London, August 1914

Sir Richard Carlisle was looking at his newborn son and heir.

Was this why he travelled somehow in time? To give life to this little creature?

Baby Rupert Patrick Carlisle seemed to inherit his mother's elfin features and possibly her red hair – although like with most newborns it was hard to tell for sure which relatives he really was going to resemble – but his eyes were definitely his father's, even if presently rather unfocused and wandering.

He handed the baby back to his wife, who was looking immensely satisfied with herself.

"I told you I was going to give you a son," she said smugly. Richard threw her a dry look.

"As if you had any way to know," he scoffed, but in a friendly way. He had to admit he was rather elated himself. He had a son and he was a grandson and a nephew of an earl. All kinds of door were going to be open for this little boy. "But congratulations, my dear. You have done a great job."

The Study, Painswick House, Eaton Square, Belgravia, London, September 1914

Jack was looking at Matthew's graceful hands while he was pouring them whisky and soda. He had always loved those hands, strong, with long slender fingers and deliberate movements.

But then, was there a feature of Matthew Crawley that he didn't love?

"Where is Mary?" he asked to distract himself.

"She is visiting Lady Rosamund and her baby cousin."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"And the baby's daddy?"

Matthew threw him a dark look at the reminder of that bastard Carlisle.

"He's supposed to be out somewhere tonight," he said curtly. "Mary checked with Lady Rosamund before she accepted the invitation."

"It's rather unfortunate that Lady Rosamund liked him enough to marry. He will always be part of the family now."

Matthew just scowled. Jack took another sip of his drink and steeled himself.

"I'm going to enlist," he announced. Matthew gaped at him in shock.

"Why?"

Jack shrugged uncomfortably.

"I don't see why not. They need men, especially now after that disastrous retreat from Mons, and I am young, healthy and unattached. You and Reggie will manage the firm and maybe even Pater will finally feel some sliver of pride for me."

"Is that the true reason? You want your father's approval?" asked Matthew, staring at him intently.

"It's a part of it," admitted Jack reluctantly, swallowing hard at the concern for him he could see plainly on Matthew's face. "But I do realise that the only person who would truly mourn me if I didn't come back from it would be you. And that sad fact just underlines it for me that it's better if I go rather than some poor chap with a wife and family."

"You could have them too, one day," said Matthew uncertainly. Jack smiled wryly at him.

"We both know that this is extremely unlikely."

Matthew acquiesced the point without further quarrelling. He did know, even if remembering the reason made him extremely uncomfortable.

It didn't matter though. Jack was his best friend, whatever his proclivities, and he could not stand the thought of him leaving to fight and possibly die thinking nobody cared about his fate.

"Still, you are right that I would mourn your stupid face if anything happened, so you better be careful out there and make sure to come back, if there is no chance of me talking reason into you."

"I will try my best," promised Jack softly.

Drawing room, Eryholme, September 1914

Matthew frowned and looked up from the letter he was reading.

"I'm afraid I will have to go to Manchester."

"Why?" asked Mary, raising her head from her book.

"The tenant renting Glendale House has enlisted and his wife wants to move back with her parents for the duration of the war, to have more help with the children. She asks if I could come in the last week of September to settle the accounts and confirm she left the house in good order."

"It is a pity to lose them, if they were good tenants. Will you be gone long?"

"Just a day or two, I expect. I could probably have everything done in a day, but if I drive, I might be a bit too tired for the drive back, so it would probably be better if I spent the night and drive in the morning."

"Of course you must spend the night!" exclaimed Mary, immediately alarmed at the prospect of Matthew driving when tired. "Why don't you take the train instead?"

Matthew winced at the thought.

"With all the emergency transports of soldiers and war supplies, the delays are going to be extremely cumbersome. I'd rather drive, it's only a hundred miles or so. Anyway, I think I might stay a day longer, now that I think about it. There is a potential client there, an owner of a factory, who would like to become an established army supplier. He heard that my firm represented APOC and expressed a wish for a meeting. I was going to ask him to come to London, but since I am going to be in Manchester anyway, I could meet with him there."

"Could I go with you?" asked Mary.

Matthew's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I don't see why not," he answered, dumbfounded. "But since when you're willing to go to Manchester?"

Mary shrugged. She was not going to confess that she would have gone to France if it meant Matthew did not leave her sight.

"You keep saying it's not such a bad place. Maybe I finally decided to give you a chance to prove it to me."

Glendale House, Manchester, September 1914

Mary looked around with extreme curiosity. So that was where Matthew had grown up!

"Not exactly Painswick House, is it?" noted Matthew teasingly.

No, Painswick House it was not. But, Mary was forced to admit, the house was not as bad as she feared.

She wondered if she could have been happy here, if Matthew had decided to go back to Manchester instead of joining the partnership in London. On the one hand, it would have been an enormous adjustment for her. She had no illusions about her own snobbery and she doubted that Matthew had many. On the other hand – if the choice had been between living here with Matthew as a wife of a thoroughly middle class lawyer or living in luxury without him, she knew what she would choose. She had had doubts about it when his inheritance had been called into question the first time around – and she did not think it had been unreasonable of her. It had been practical to wonder whether she would have been so unhappy about her change in circumstances and expectations that she would have been miserable in her marriage and made Matthew miserable in turn. But she was past such doubts now. She knew, intimately and viscerally, how it felt to live without Matthew. There were no circumstances which could have been worse than that.

And Glendale House, while modest by the standards Mary was used to, was a thoroughly comfortable house. Which currently suffered from a conspicuous lack of staff.

"Matthew," asked Mary with growing suspicion. "You did arrange for some servants to be here, didn't you?"

She did not like the twinkle in his eyes at all. Especially when he burst out laughing.

"Oh, darling, the horror on your face! I'm very sorry, but I couldn't resist. Yes, Mrs Bird's niece is coming here to prepare dinner and she will be back in the morning to light the fires and serve breakfast. I assumed we will have tea somewhere during the tour of the city."

Mary glared at him.

"It says something about you that you could make me suspect you would have us fend for ourselves."

"Yes, that I am capable of surviving without an army of servants on my back and call," answered Matthew dryly, embracing her and adding in a low voice. "Besides, I am obviously corrupting you."

Mary raised her eyebrows, but leaned into his chest as his lips caressed her ear.

"How so?"

"You didn't insist on bringing Anna."

"Well, I expect you will be able to assist me in the evening," she said, struggling to keep her composure under his ministrations. He was awfully distracting when he wanted to be. "And as for my hair tomorrow, it's only Manchester. I won't be seen by anybody who matters."

Breakfast room, Glendale House, Manchester, September 1914

"By the way, darling, I was thinking about our investments," started Mary carefully.

"What about them?" asked Matthew curiously.

"I know it's probably very unpatriotic of me, with the war going on... But it is actually exactly because of the war that I had this thought... Do you think we could transfer some of our savings into American dollars?"

Matthew looked at her in surprise.

"Why?"

Mary hesitated. How could she explain how she knew that the British pound was going to lose half of its value over the next few years?

"We're at war," she started, thinking fast. "America is not. From what I understand, our government needs a lot of money to equip and pay the army. Maybe it would be safer to diversify, just in case things go badly with the economy."

Matthew frowned thoughtfully.

"It does make sense," he admitted, and then smiled at her. "As your advice and ideas usually do. I will take care of it next week."

"Do you think there is any chance you could talk Papa into it?" asked Mary casually. "I have no hope he will listen to me."

Matthew's lips turned down, as it often did when confronted with his father-in-law's disregard of his wife's capabilities.

"I will try," he promised. "Although he doesn't always listen to me either."

Lady Caroline Spencer's wedding to Mr Lucius Blake, Althorp, Northamptonshire, September 1914

"I told you that standing in line at a society wedding is even more boring than being the one to receive the congratulations," said Mary to Matthew as they were slowly inching their way thorough the meandering receiving line at the wedding of Lady Caroline Spencer to Mr Lucius Blake, heir apparent to Sir Severus Blake, an Anglo-Irish baronet.

"And I told you that the excellent company would make the time fly and that I could never feel bored with you around," whispered Matthew, his fingers caressing Mary's hand. "And I was right."

xxx

It was sometime later during the festivities that Mary managed to run into Agnes and drag her into a more secluded part of the garden to inquire about the state of matters with the Duke of Crowborough.

"I tried, Mary," said Agnes in a tremulous voice. "I told and told Mama and Papa that I don't want to. But they won't even hear of breaking off the engagement."

"They can't force you either, Agnes. It's you who has to say 'I do' at the altar," urged Mary, but with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"I know, but... I just cannot stand it anymore," confessed Agnes miserably. "Papa just glares or shouts at me whenever he sees me, and even when he is quiet there is such an air of constant disapproval from him that I barely can be in a room with him. And Mama tries to understand, I think... But she doesn't. She keeps talking about the houses and the estates and the position at Court... How I am going to be a duchess... And how the duke is so charming, but so very busy that I will barely have to see him and I will be able to enjoy my life and my new status with very little bother."

"Except," pointed out Mary coldly, "the matter of an heir."

Agnes blushed.

"Oh. Yes, except for that."

She looked at Agnes shrewdly and then glanced around quickly to ascertain that their conversation would remain private.

"Agnes, do you know exactly what this would entail?"

"I... I think so... But," she looked up at Mary with sudden determination. "Maybe you could tell me anyway? Just in case?"

Mary nodded, extremely uncomfortable, but equally determined. If there was no way to save Agnes from this marriage, she wanted to at least be able to tell herself that she did everything she could to try.

Agnes's eyes grew wider with every sentence.

"Oh," she said faintly when Mary was done. "Good that you have told me... I wasn't as well informed as I thought."

She remained silent for a long moment.

"Can it be pleasant?"

Mary looked at her frankly, even as her fingers were playing nervously with her wedding and engagements rings in some of the worst embarrassment she had ever felt. She barely could force herself to speak of such things to Matthew on a good day!

"They can be very pleasant," she said, feeling herself blush. "Fantastic, even. But only when your husband is loving and concerned about your pleasure and feelings. If he's not... It's probably the opposite."

Agnes nodded and bit her lip.

"And you don't think that the duke will be like that towards me?"

"I cannot possibly know for sure," said Mary, thinking miserably that unfortunately she did know for sure, even though Agnes had given very few direct complaints over the years. Her hints had been clear enough. "How is he reacting to your doubts, anyway? Does he even know that you're hardly an enthusiastic bride?"

"I've always been polite to him and made an effort to know him better, but I don't think he really cares about what I think. He never asks me about my feelings or opinions on anything."

Mary stared at Agnes in horror.

"Even now? When he's trying to make himself pleasant? Agnes, for God's sake, get out of it while you still can! Can you really expect that it's going to end up in any way well?"

But she could see that nothing she was going to say would change a damn thing. Not with Agnes so used to being beaten down and obedient little girl whose opinion was never truly sought or consulted on anything in her life.

"Will it really be so bad, Mary?" asked Agnes, her eyes round and scared. "Will it really be so unbearable to be his wife?"

"No," lied Mary, defeated. "I'm sure that if you feel you must marry him, you will find your own way of happiness with the arrangement."

Bathroom, Eryholme, October 1914

Mary looked at the drawer full of her unused monthly supplies and tried to quell the wild hope taking over her. She was now a whole week late.

She told herself that it was just a week – nothing, really – but it did not help. She had always been very regular when it came to those things. The only other time she had been late more than a day or two, she had turned out to be pregnant with George.

George. Her sweet, poor baby. She would finally get to see him again and make up for being such a horrible, useless mother to him.

Then she burst out laughing, realising that this time around, the future Earl of Grantham was most probably conceived in Manchester.

Morning room, Eryholme, October 1914

"I forgot to tell you that I have one more souvenir from our trip to Manchester," said Mary casually over her breakfast plate.

"What is it?" asked Matthew, not raising his eyes from his morning paper. "A hat you haven't worn yet?"

Mary stifled giggles which threatened to erupt from her lips. She felt positively giddy.

"Not quite," she said, striving for an indifferent tone. "It's the kind of souvenir which only really appears after nine months."

The Manchester Guardian was slowly lowered to the table as Matthew looked at her guardedly.

"Mary, what are you... Are you saying that...?"

Mary beamed at him, unable to keep her façade any longer.

"Yes, darling. We are going to have a baby. Which we most likely made in Manchester, of all places."

Matthew dropped the newspaper and jumped from his chair, pulling Mary upwards into an enthusiastic embrace.

"I've never been so fond of my hometown before!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Oh, my darling, are you sure? How do you feel? Do you know how happy you just made me?"

"I don't know which question to answer first!" laughed Mary. "Yes, I am sure, and I feel perfectly alright, just a little tired. And I hope you are as happy as I am."

"Then you must be ecstatic, because I feel like I'm going to levitate from happiness," announced Matthew, kissing her passionately. "I've always known it will feel great to learn you are going to make me a father, but I had not predicted how absolutely glorious it would be."

He finally released Mary and reluctantly allowed them to return to their breakfast. He did not pick up his abandoned newspaper though.

"I cannot wait to tell Mother!" he exclaimed happily. Mary felt her smile freeze.

"I would prefer to keep it between us for a little longer," she said carefully, sad to see Matthew's face fall.

"Why?" he asked, in evident confusion. Mary winced, reluctant to bring up unhappy possibilities after his elated reaction to her news.

"It is very early," she said cautiously, waiting for Matthew to realise where the problem was. His widening eyes told her that he did.

"Oh," he said, his fingers playing nervously with his cutlery. "Yes, it is... But, if something happens – not that I think it will! – wouldn't we want to grieve together with people who love us?"

Mary imagined how she would feel if she lost that miraculous little life starting to grow inside her now and shuddered.

"I'm not doing well with sharing my grief with others," she said sharply, but then immediately softened and caressed Matthew's cheek. "Nor do I want to think of grief today. Can we just keep it as our happy little secret for some weeks? I want to enjoy the thought of our baby together before we invite the rest of the world to participate."

Matthew captured her hand and placed a kiss on the palm, his eyes so full of love and happiness Mary wished she could imprint that look on her brain.

"Of course, my darling. There cannot be a more wonderful secret than this."

Eryholme, October 1914

After stopping Matthew from telling Isobel, Mary did feel like a hypocrite, but she had to tell Tom. She ordered a car as soon as Matthew reluctantly left her for the office, late for work for the first time in his marriage.

"Where are we going, milady?" asked Tom politely, helping her into the car.

"Downton, I guess," she said, bursting into a delighted smile as soon as the doors were safely closed and they drove away from any potential prying eyes. "I mostly wanted to speak to you, but I might just as well visit Mama. I'll better avoid Granny today, she's much too observant, and Sybil too, since I'm just too likely to babble everything to her myself!"

Tom looked at her through the mirror.

"Babble what?"

"I'm pregnant, Tom!" beamed Mary. "I'm going to see George again soon!"

His eyes widened as he grinned at her in response.

"Congratulations, Mary! It's wonderful!"

"It truly is, isn't it?" she sobered. "Oh Tom, I am so sorry you have to wait so long. I have no idea how I would have coped in your place."

Tom hesitated for a moment before answering her.

"You would have managed if you had to," he said confidently. "But I am glad, very glad, that things are working out for you and Matthew. I don't know how I would have coped with watching you two pining for each other for years again!"

Mary reached and hit him on the shoulder, which was the most deserved and appropriate response she could think of in her current mood.

She still felt as if she was floating.

Master bedroom, Eryholme, November 1914

"The nightmares are getting worse, aren't they?" asked Matthew quietly.

Mary bit her lips, trying fruitlessly to stop the tears from flowing. She nodded reluctantly. There was hardly a point in trying to lie to Matthew when her screams and trashing were waking him up at least few times a week.

She wanted to yell in frustration. Getting pregnant was supposed to make her happy! And it did, it so much did – she felt like she was walking on air during the day – but it also triggered her mind to re-enact losing Matthew straight after their long awaited baby was born. Oh, but her mind was creative with that! It was not enough to bring back the memories of Papa telling her about Matthew's accident, oh no – now her nightmares had the added flavour of all her fears for Matthew during the war. Most nights she was there, in France or Belgium or wherever the blasted war was going on and got to witness Matthew dying in different gruesome ways, leaving her again with a baby in her arms, alone and grieving. No wonder she woke up screaming.

She was just so deeply sorry that Matthew had to suffer for it.

Matthew's arms tightened around her and she sunk gratefully into his embrace.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised reassuringly. "I'm going to be right here with you and our baby. I am not going to leave you alone."

Mary listened to his promises and tried very hard not to remember why they were impossible to keep.

Downton Cottage Hospital, December 1914

Matthew pointed out that it might be prudent to find a doctor for her at Darlington – it was so much closer to their home than Downton – but Mary was adamant that she would remain with Clarkson. Clarkson had been the one who had noticed something had been wrong with Sybil. When it came to labour, Clarkson was the only one Mary felt safe with. She would not be risking taking any other doctor for such things. If they were in London, she would go to Doctor Ryder, who made it possible for her to get pregnant, but in Yorkshire it would be Clarkson and that was the end of it.

Which left the issue of how to see him discreetly enough to avoid arousing her mother-in-law's suspicions.

Matthew of course wanted to tell his mother straight away, but Mary balked at it. Things were still too early, too uncertain. She wanted to keep her pregnancy secret until she felt surer of the outcome. Matthew, very reluctantly, agreed. Mary had a feeling that there were not many things he would refuse her now.

So far she was feeling the same as during her previous experience – awfully tired and occasionally nauseous, but she had not been sick then or now. Although tiredness might have been the result of the nightmares, which did not want to abate. Mary wondered grimly if she was cursed to deal with them until the war finally ended. She was not looking forward to being regularly woken up in mind shattering terror for the next four years.

Especially when Matthew was not there to calm her down anymore.

She forced herself to shake off such thoughts and walked out of the hospital into the waiting arms of the man she loved. He hugged her, looking at her expectantly.

"And? What has Clarkson said?" Matthew asked eagerly. Mary smiled at his exuberance.

"Everything is perfectly alright," she answered happily. "He says that the nausea should abate soon and confirms that the baby should be here in June. The most important thing is that at this stage I should be over the biggest risk of a miscarriage."

Matthew's arms tightened around her, both of them reminded of Cora and Robert's loss. He rallied quickly though. He apparently could not think gloomy thoughts in face of such happy news.

"Does it mean I am finally allowed to tell Mother?" he asked with anticipation. Mary glared at him playfully.

"No," she chided, feeling giddy herself, "It would hardly be fair towards the others. We will tell them all at once at Christmas. This way nobody will be the first to know or hurt that they weren't."

She laughed at Matthew's crestfallen face.

"Oh, come on! Christmas is just a week away!"

"I know," said Matthew slightly petulantly. "But I really want to tell Mother. I half think she knows anyway. I am trying to be discreet, but she keeps asking why I am in such a good mood every time she sees me."

"Then try to think about something sad when you visit with her," scoffed Mary, more amused than angry if she were honest with herself. Matthew was practically vibrating with excitement every time her pregnancy came up, so she was not surprised that Isobel noticed something. She could hardly be angry at her husband when he was being so endearing though. "Like the fact that we will be spending Christmas with Edith again."

"I do not mind Edith," countered Matthew evenly. "But I can focus on the fact that we might be spending part of it with Sir Richard. Or has he decided to give me a present by keeping away in London?"

Mary sighed.

"You are half lucky," she said grimly. "They are staying in London for Christmas, but they will come here for the Servants' Ball. I think Aunt Rosamund wants to show Rupert off."

"He is a cute little chap," admitted Matthew charitably. "Pity about his father."

Mary sighed again. She was very happy for her aunt, truly. If only she could have married anybody else!

Dining Room, Downton Abbey, Christmas 1914

Edith tried to show proper Christmas cheer and was aware she was failing miserably.

First of all, her husband wasn't sharing it with her. He had already missed their first wedding anniversary due to travelling abroad – some kind of very important diplomatic effort, apparently – and while he was supposed to be back for Christmas, his train got delayed and he would not join her until Boxing Day. She knew she should be happy that he wasn't at least at the frontlines, despite being back in the army, but she freely admitted she was mostly feeling wretchedly unhappy and sorry for herself.

It wasn't just Anthony's absences. Edith was very well aware that they had been married for a year and yet she didn't get pregnant. She was starting to really worry about what it could mean. The spectre of Maud, childless after twenty years of marriage, was constantly haunting her.

At least Mary also had nothing to show for her fifteen months of marriage. At least...

"Everyone, Mary and I have an announcement!" said Matthew cheerfully and Edith froze. No, not today of all days, not when she was already feeling so low!

"I'm pregnant!" chirped Mary and Edith dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from crying among the happy chaos which was erupting all around her.

Drawing room, Downton Abbey, Christmas 1914

This was undoubtedly Mary's night and she was enjoying it to the fullest.

She couldn't help but contrast the truly merry gathering around her with a much more sombre one in her memory. Then they had had little enough causes for joy or celebration. Matthew had been absent, shivering already somewhere in France, with Isobel's brave and determinedly cheerful face acting as both a reminder of his absence and an accusation to Mary. Mama and Papa sad as well, just days after the expected due date of their miracle baby who hadn't been fated to be born. Edith, moping about Strallan. Sybil, lost among it all. And Mary, so very, utterly miserable.

What a contrast indeed!

She put her hand on her barely rounding belly, her engagement and wedding rings sparkling in the light and looked at Matthew laughing with Isobel as she was teasing him over keeping their secret very poorly.

"I just knew when he couldn't stop smiling whatever topic we were discussing!"

"And no wonder! There cannot be more wonderful news than this," commented Cora with a delighted smile of her own, the news of an expected first grandchild immediately lifting both her and Robert's spirits. Cora in fact squealed when Mary and Matthew made their announcement and continued an excited baby related chatter throughout the evening with whoever she was speaking to at any given moment.

"So the baby should be here in June?" asked Sybil, practically bouncing in excitement of her own. "I cannot believe I am going to be a proper aunt!"

Mary smiled at her feeling so much at the prospect of witnessing Sybil as one that she barely could contain it.

"And you will be the very best one, darling," she said feelingly. "Your nephew will be the luckiest little boy in the world."

"It can be a niece, you know," pointed out Edith, because of course she did. Mary rolled her eyes.

"Whether nephew or niece, the baby will have at least one wonderful aunt," she said curtly. "And I just have a feeling that it's going to be a boy."

"Well, it would be handy if it was, especially with..." started Robert, but stopped at the combination of Mary's, Matthew's and his own wife's glares.

Matthew came over to Mary and embraced her waist loosely with one arm.

"Whether the baby is going to turn out to be a boy or girl, it will be bringing us all unimaginable joy," he said firmly. "And I have to say that I cannot wait."

Mary leaned into him as he kissed the crown of her head and allowed herself to enjoy the moment when everything was alright with her world and she just felt so incredibly happy and loved.