It is earlier than normal when they make their way back to their humble little cottage, hand in hand in the twilight of the early evening. The family had taken a cold dinner and there had been no need to change them into or out of dinner wear. Lady Mary insisted that Anna go home and rest and with a few words to her father, Bates was dismissed as well, with Thomas's glower not even slightly brightening at the prospect of being useful as a stand in valet.

Now, they lay entwined in bed together, not in the afterglow of lovemaking but instead in the heady rushes of their greatest dreams finally coming true. Her head cranes onto his shoulder as she lies on her back, and he is twisted at the middle, fingers gently tracing the slight firmness under the skin of her belly that he swears wasn't there a few days ago. He'd teased her about the extra large slice of pie that she'd had at dinner the other night and she'd only smiled in return. Now he knows.

It is quiet for now, but the both imagine the welcome breaking of the silence in a few short months. She hears the soft snuffling of their child at her breast and he hears the gentle crooning of her voice as she sings a lullaby.

His finger circles her navel and she giggles as his hand hitches her gown up a little more and traces the bottom of her breast. "I should have known when I noticed these were different," he muses, and she laughs. It is wonderful to hear her soft giggle in the darkness after both of them holding back so many secrets for so long. They are nearly free of worry now, and around Christmas, she tells him, they will be completely absolved.

A Christmas miracle indeed.

He sighs and pulls her closer as their breaths even and sync with the others rhythm. She turns onto her side and melds her slight form into his.

"What are you hoping for?" she asks softly as her hand plays with the open buttons of his pyjama top.

"I don't care," he replies, and he doesn't. "So long as both of you are happy and healthy." She can practically hear him smiling in the dark and she knows it is a mixture of male pride and gratitude. "I suppose I should thank Lady Mary for her generosity and kindness." His fingers splay across her back and trace whorls through the worn fabric.

She nods and thinks of the brief and all too improper hug between them after the doctor left the house that morning. "She has been as close to a friend as she can be to me," she agrees. A thought occurs to her and she knows it has crossed his mind as well, by the way his eager kisses this evening had turned to careful caresses. "The doctor says we should wait a few weeks before we..." She trails off at his understanding nod.

"Of course," he replies so matter of factly. "When will we tell the others?"

She has a suspicion that Mister Branson knows, by the concern in his eyes that night when he took her hand and helped her up onto the train, giving her fingers a little squeeze with his own, but he's said nothing. So it is their secret, of course, along with Lady Mary.

"My dresses will hide it for a little while," she says after a moment of thought. "A few weeks more maybe. I'll be four months along then. It will be enough time to start to plan." And to dream.

He stretches his long legs restlessly and she reaches down and soothes his bad knee with a gentle touch without even thinking about it. "I'll write the agent in the morning and see if he's had any inquiries on the house," he rumbles. "The sooner it sells, the better, even if we have to take a little less."

She nods in agreement and closes her eyes, the excitement and worry of the past few days catching up with her finally. His shirt is soft and familiar against her cheek. "John?" she says just before she feels the pull of sleep.

"Hmm?"

"You're going to be a wonderful father."

His chest hitches and she hears the shuddering breath he draws in. He kisses the top of her head and hugs her tight to him. "Thank you, my love," he replies in a half broken whisper. "For everything."

The two, now three, of them drift off to sleep, warm and finally safe and dreaming of a future long fought and long wanted.