SUMMARY: Sybil receives some surprising, and rather unexpected news. She and Tom try to determine when this happy event could have happened. The problem? There are just too many possibilities! (Set early December 1919, before the Christmas Special).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My first Sybil/Branson "M"-rated fic! I was inspired by MissPixieWay's challenge about the need for more "M" rated stories featuring this lovely couple. Apparently, there is a vicious rumor going around that Baby Branson is a product of the stork! So this story sets out to prove *quite* the opposite. The plot to this story is very simple, and is more or less an excuse to write sexy romance scenes (which I am not ashamed to admit!) The story is rated M for good reason, so please keep that in mind as you proceed to read it (although hopefully, that's exactly why you chose to read it!) Please, please, please, let me know your thoughts. Right now, this story is a one-shot…but that doesn't mean I can't possibly be persuaded otherwise. Thank you for taking the time to read and I really hope you enjoy!

When Did It Happen?

by The Yankee Countess

Sybil stared at the doctor, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Mrs. Branson?"

Sybil gaped at the man, a high-pitched ringing reverberating in her ears as she replayed the doctor's words over and over again.

"Mrs. Branson? Are you alright?"

Something jolted her back to the present. Perhaps it was the concern in his voice. Perhaps it was the fact that nurse who was standing in the corner had reached out to pinch her.

"I…I'm sorry…what?"

The doctor sighed, lifted his eyes skyward, before looking deeply into Sybil's once more and repeating the words…for the fourth time.

"You're with child, Mrs. Branson." He paused, before adding, "Congratulations." He had said it before, only now after the fourth time of having to repeat himself, it didn't sound quite so congratulatory.

There were no words to describe the surprise Sybil felt. Yet something must have registered, for her hand flew to her belly…and she felt a shock, like that of static electricity. She was with child…with child…WITH CHILD!

Oh God…she was going to have a baby! Tom's baby! She and Tom were going to have a baby!

How did this happen?

Sybil's face reddened instantly; silly question. But they had only been married for…how many months? Four? Five? Good Lord, how could she not know this right away? Of course...there had been many things to distract her during that time…

"Mrs. Branson, are you unwell?"

Sybil's eyes snapped up to those of the doctor, who was looking at her with concern. "Would you like the nurse to get you something? Or should we contact your husband—"

"No, no, you don't need to do that," she interrupted, her face only reddening further. "I um…you're absolutely sure?

The doctor nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am, I believe I am…however, if you wish for a second opinion, I could—"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Sybil blushed, before quickly rising from the chair she had been sitting in. "I um…thank you," she muttered, before turning on her heel and exiting the office quickly.

She had come to Dr. Barnes' office that day to complain about fatigue. Several nurses in the hospital wing where she served had fallen ill due to some strange virus, and after the Spanish Flu epidemic, no one wanted to take any chances. Every nurse who wasn't feeling her absolute healthiest, needed to speak with a doctor on staff. Sybil figured that the fatigue was simply caused by the long, grueling hours she was keeping lately. After all, she and other nurses were doubling up on shifts due to the illness. She never thought there was a possibility that she could be…could be…

"With child…" she repeated the words to herself. Amazing. How had she not seen it? The signs were all there! Fatigue, some morning queasiness (although she hadn't gotten sick, at least not yet), and as for the most obvious example…well, Sybil had never been "regular".

She paused where she stood, and looked down at her belly once more. Her hand moved, almost reverently, across it, and she bit her lip to keep her emotions at bay. Amazing. The real question, the one that was beginning to bother her, was…when did it happen?

Their home was only a few yards from the hospital; Tom had purposefully picked the flat for that reason. The Rising was still fresh in the minds of Dublin's residents, as well as the British soldiers that occupied its street corners. And while for the moment things were calm, there was always the threat that they could be the opposite, and if that were the case, Tom wanted to be sure she could make it home as quickly as possible. So within a matter of minutes, Sybil was walking through the door of their flat…surprised to discover her husband was already home, reading the newspaper.

"Sybil!" he beamed, quickly rising from his chair. She hadn't even had the chance to remove her coat before he was standing before her, his hands framing her face, and his head descending to her own, brushing his lips against hers. She didn't complain—she never complained when he kissed her. Oh God, if she had known what she had found out after their first kiss in her family's garage, she would have been kissing him years sooner. He smiled down at her as he lifted his head away, his hands still framing her face, the fingertips running softly across her skin. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," Sybil managed to murmur, her breathing a little heightened by both his kiss and his closeness. "You're home early."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Aye; I finished my article early. Wasn't much else to do, so I came home; I was going to make us dinner…but I thought perhaps we would be too tired."

Sybil's brow furrowed with confusion. "Too tired?"

A wolfish grin spread across her husband's handsome features. "Aye…" he murmured, and Sybil gasped as she felt his hands move around her body…and grasp her backside, pulling her closer to him…and his hardening groin. "And I thought, I'm the luckiest man in all of Dublin, if not the world; why not take the most beautiful woman this city has ever seen out on the town, show her off, make the other lads jealous…" his strong hands, which were still holding her tightly against him, began guiding her body towards a nearby table, and without a second thought, had hoisted her up onto its surface, before moving in between her parted legs…and expertly lifting her skirt above her knees. "But only after we're finished here," he grinned.

Sybil's breathing was quickening each second, but she wasn't going to be outdone. Her own fingers were already moving to undo the buttons at the collar of his shirt. "But…what if we're too tired to leave?"

He chuckled as he leaned in to drop a kiss on her neck, while his expert fingers began to undo the buttons on her blouse. "It is a possibility…" he sighed. Sybil gasped as she felt his right hand impatiently slip beneath the fabric of her chemise to squeeze her breast. "But I figure we'll be needing to eat something to build up our strength for later."

"L-L-Later?" she managed to gasp as his fingers pinched her nipple.

"Aye," he groaned, his kisses moving across her neck to her throat and collarbone. "For I'm an insatiable man, milady."

"Indeed," she moaned, easily letting him guide her down upon the table. "But…there is one…small problem to your plan…"

He lifted his head from her neck and looked down at her with wicked, curious eyes. Without warning, her hand sneaked between their bodies and grasped his throbbing erection, and her feet wrapped around the back of his thighs, pulling him closer. "We may be too tired to put our clothes back on."

Branson's groan quickly became a hungered growl. "It's a risk I'm willing to take." He pushed her skirts up to her waist and didn't bother to remove her knickers, simply shoved them aside, while her fingers wasted no time in undoing the buttons at his trousers and freeing his aching cock.

This wasn't the first time they had made love like this. Sybil remembered the day they had moved into the flat. The previous tenants wouldn't be able to move out until the beginning of September, and both she and Tom didn't want to wait that long until they could be married. So they agreed to take a brief honeymoon to the seaside, for the last remaining days of the summer, and spend the first week or two of their marriage in a hotel, if need be. On the day they could move in, she and Tom arrived hours before any of his family would stop by to help.

"What do you think?" he asked, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking rather nervous as she explored the kitchen.

Sybil turned and gave him a look. "What do you mean, 'what do I think'? It's lovely, Tom, you know that! We chose this flat together, and I love it." She went to him then, and put her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly to her. "Almost as much as I love you." She stood up on her tiptoes, offering her lips to him. And he wasted no time, his own were against hers in an instant.

The kiss, like so many of their kisses, started soft and sweet; just a simple pressing of lips…followed by the soft sigh of her mouth…which allowed his tongue to greet hers. Then, as so often, the kiss would deepen, and their hands would move around the other, pressing them closer, drawing them deeper. And soon, those hands which had been pulling the other towards them…would begin to move on their own…touching…stroking…caressing. And like their hands, so too would their lips move; away from the mouth of their beloved—to taste, lick, and nibble the flesh of their beloved, before returning to their beloved's mouth once again. And at this point, their kisses was desperate, as were their fingers. Buttons would be torn into, fabric would be untucked; a belt would smack as it hit the wooden boards on the floor, while other sounds…the sounds of bodies breathing, moaning, and moving would fill the air.

This was how their first kiss in their new home had been. And before Sybil realized what was happening, she felt her body being lifted momentarily off the ground, only to be seated, rather harshly, atop their new kitchen table.

She looked up at him with surprise, and he gave her a bashful, apologetic smile. It had never occurred to her that a kitchen table could be used for such…matters. But a devilish gleam quickly lit her eyes…and Sybil grasped his face and brought his lips to hers in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Tom groaned against her mouth, and wasted no time. Her skirts were hoisted above her waist, his trousers were undone, and with a loud gasp, his body was filling hers.

"Sweet Jesus!" he swore, his face buried in the crook of her neck. They had made love countless times before, and yet each time she managed to steal his breath.

Sybil threw her head back and let out a whimpering moan, her hands gripping his body and her legs wrapping around his own, enfolding him to her. "Amen…" she managed to gasp, causing them both to chuckle, before giving way to labored moans as they began to move…slow and easy at first…before quickening...faster…and faster…and faster…

With a shout, they reached the pinnacle of pleasure, a pleasure that could only be found in the arms and body of their beloved. Now was the time to regain their breath, to ease their pulses back to a normal and steady rhythm.

"I love you…" he groaned against her skin, his forehead slick with sweat as it nuzzled her breasts.

"And I love you…" she murmured back, her fingers tangling in the sweaty strands of his hair.

How many times had they made love? Early in their marriage, she wanted to keep count. She was determined to keep count during their honeymoon. No reason, really; she was just curious as to how many times they would. It was a naughty idea, one that would make her mother and sisters faint from shock. But Sybil was quickly discovering how much she loved having such ideas…and it was certainly easy to do, with Tom for a husband.

Yet it turned out to be an impossible feat. Because as the honeymoon progressed…Sybil found it difficult to concentrate on counting. If truth be told, she found it very difficult to concentrate on much else…other than how it felt when Tom touched her there…or kissed her here…or licked her—

…Well, she found it difficult to concentrate.

In fact, she had found it difficult to concentrate even before they were married.

They were going to be proper; they were determined to be proper. For some reason, Sybil felt that if they gave way to their desires before they were married, it would be like admitting to her family that they were right; her and Tom's relationship was one founded on scandal and nothing else, and the only reason they were marrying was because she was a "ruined" woman. So with her virginity still intact, Sybil and Tom set sail for Ireland, doing nothing more than holding hands and sharing brief and chaste embraces, with closed-mouthed kisses.

Upon arrival to the land of Tom's childhood, she was embraced by his family as if they had known her all their lives. Even though she tried to insist otherwise, they were determined to give her the best room in the house. Tom stayed with an uncle, who lived four houses down the street. Yet when he wasn't working at the newspaper office, and she wasn't interviewing at a hospital, he would spend as much time by her side as he could…with the ever present shadow of his mother, nearby.

Sybil quickly fell in love with Tom's mother, and the two of them got along very well. Yet…there were times when Sybil wished that she and Tom could have…just a few minutes, by themselves.

Tom seemed to feel this way too. So one day, they chose to "play hooky", calling both the newspaper office and the hospital where she had found work, telling both places that they were ill, and "borrowing" his uncle's car for a quick, private escape, away from hovering family members.

They ended up parking the car near a tall, grassy field, and walking through the grass hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds of nature around them.

"Are you happy you came here?" he asked her, his fingers never loosening their grip on hers.

She grinned at him, her eyes shining. "Absolutely," she affirmed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think it's possible to be happier."

Tom gave her hand a quick tug, and she soon found herself pressed against him. "Oh…I don't know about that," he grinned, rather wickedly. "I can think of a few things that could make you happier."

Sybil blushed deeply, but found her curiosity piqued. "Really?" she flirted back. "Like what?"

This was dangerous; she knew that even before he kissed her. They were both playing with fire. And yet…despite her ignorance on the matter, and her stubborn determination to wait…there was a part of her that desperately wanted to be burned.

The kiss began innocently, but soon they found themselves on the ground, enveloped by the grass, their arms wrapped tightly around one another, and kissing each other breathlessly.

"Oh God, Sybil…" he groaned against her skin, his lips trailing across her face, to her neck.

"Ahhh…" she whimpered, as she felt his lips grasp the lobe of her ear and give it a soft tug. "Tom…"

"I love it when you say my name," he whispered, his tongue now tracing the outline of her ear. "Please say it again."

"Tom," she repeated. "Tom, Tom, Tom…ooohh Tom!"

She gasped when she felt his hand, which had been at her waist, rise up over her ribcage to settle atop left breast.

"God Sybil, you have no idea how long I've wanted you…" he growled, his lips kissing her neck, moving across the skin to her throat. "How many nights I dreamed about you, fantasized about you…about your beautiful body…"

Her eyes fluttered closed and she bit her lip as she felt his fingers gently squeeze her breast. Would he be shocked if she told him she too had such fantasies? That even before she had finally admitted to herself that she loved him, he had filled her dreams too? And that sometimes, she would awake, her body sticky with sweat and her chest rising and falling with each aching pant?

"I wish we were married," he sighed, lifting his head to look into her eyes. "I wish we were married for many, many reasons, all of which have to do with my love for you," he smiled, before dropping a tender kiss to her forehead. "But…I can't deny that one of those reasons is because…I want to make love to you so badly."

She blushed under the intensity of his gaze and the passion in his eyes, but she didn't look away. Instead, her fingers reached up to caress his cheek, just as they had done that night in the garage, when she asked him to wait just a little longer. "I know," she whispered. "Because…it's what I want too."

He gazed at her in amazement, before dropping a sweet, chaste kiss against her lips. "My sweet English girl," he sighed against her mouth. "As tempting as it is and as beautiful as you are in this moment…I made a promise—"

"We both did," she interrupted, her fingers resting against his lips to silence him. "We both made that promise, and I'm glad we're sticking to it…" she gave a rather bashful grin then. "That doesn't mean, however, that we can't wish we weren't."

He chuckled then, before kissing her fingers. And then…that devilish light she had seen many times before, lit up his eyes. "I did boast earlier, didn't I? About making you 'happier'?"

Sybil felt her heartbeat quicken at his words. "You did…"

His grin only grew wider. "What if I could do that…without breaking our promise?"

Sybil didn't understand what he meant exactly, but her skin was tingling with excitement, and every nerve ending of her body was on fire! "What…what do you mean?" she asked in a rather breathless voice.

He didn't answer her. He only proceeded to show her what he meant. "Trust me, sweetheart…" was all he said, before kissing her mouth, slowly, agonizingly…while his fingers ran over the curves of her body, taking extra time to caress her waist, hips, thighs, and breasts. She moaned against his mouth, her body rising off the ground as he touched her. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin; she wanted him to free her from the confines of the layers of fabric that imprisoned her.

"No sweetheart," he whispered, when her fingers attempted to undo the buttons he seemed to be ignoring. "That must wait until our wedding night."

It was both the most frustrating and romantic thing he had said to her. She gave a rather unladylike sigh, to which he chuckled, before kissing her collarbone…while his fingers began to run down the length of her leg…to the hem of her skirt.

"Oh!" Sybil gasped, as his lips kissed down from her collarbone…over the fabric of her blouse, to settle against her breast. He moaned as he kissed the mound, which was straining against the fabric. The nipple, though confined through several layers, was making itself known, and seemed to be reaching for him even before his lips wrapped around it. "TOM!" she practically shrieked, her hands immediately tangling in his hair as his teeth gently tugged. Meanwhile, his fingers were snaking up her stocking-covered thigh, caressing the skin, rising higher and higher.

"Sybil…" he groaned, her heat radiating his fingers even before he reached the apex of her thighs. "My God…I haven't even touched you, and yet I can feel how damp you are."

She whimpered, her body aching and on fire for whatever he was offering. Her desire for him had been pooling long before they had even reached this point. And even though she had never been with a man until Tom, and any knowledge about human sexuality other than the names and places of anatomy was quite limited…her body seemed to understand what he wanted…and so she parted her legs, and allowed his fingers entrance.

She had to bite his shoulder to keep her screams from filling the air, and even then she was sure she could still be heard in the next county. His wonderful, long, loving fingers moved inside her knickers, and parted the lips of her sex, before gently, reverently exploring the sweet depths of her womanhood.

Sybil clung to him and gasped, moaned, sighed, and screamed, as his fingers stretched, explored, pumped, and played with her body, making her hotter and wetter with each caress. Then, just when she thought it couldn't be more exquisite or excruciating, his thumb brushed the nub of her clitoris, and she fell to pieces, there, in a grassy field somewhere outside Dublin.

She lay there, panting for what felt like hours. And he murmured sweet, loving words into her ear, words in both Gaelic and English, words of gratitude for letting him do that, and for allowing him to see her at her most vulnerable and beautiful.

She cried then, and he had a brief moment of panic. "Oh God, did I hurt you? Oh Sybil, I'm so sorry, I thought—" but she silenced his worries with a deep kiss, reassuring him that her tears were not born from pain, but from amazement that someone like her, should be so blessed to have a man like him love her.

They had a few other "close calls" after that day in the field, but nothing as close as that. Finally, their wedding day came, and even though Sybil was upset that her parents would not be present, she welcomed her sisters with open arms, and patiently allowed them to pass on "mother's advice" about "a woman's duty to her husband", even though the conversation brought more awkward pauses and red faces from her sisters than from herself. Indeed, it took everything Sybil had not to burst out laughing.

Tom looked handsome, of course, in his elegant suit. She couldn't stop beaming at him as she walked down the aisle, and she felt her face flush brighter with each step as he stared at her in utter wonder. Just when she didn't think it was possible, Tom Branson always found a way of making her feel even more beautiful than before.

The wedding and reception went by in a blur. She wanted to savor it, truly, and she knew that deep down, she had. She knew that on any other day she would remember everything in great detail…but on that day, there was only one thing she was thinking about, and that was the moment when the two of them would finally be alone, as husband and wife.

Was it her imagination? Or had she felt the evidence of Tom's desire for her, when they danced during the wedding breakfast?

"Please don't think ill of me for saying this," he whispered into her ear. "But I wish all these people would go away…and leave us to ourselves."

She giggled and purposefully pressed her body against his, causing him to groan in sweet agony. "And what would you do, Mr. Branson?"

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, a knowing light dancing across their blue-green depths. "I would truly make you Mrs. Branson, Mrs. Branson."

She shivered at his words, but it wasn't because of any cool night breeze. She felt her toes curl with excitement, and she began wishing the very same thing. How strange, she thought, with a nibble to her bottom lip. They had exchanged vows in a church, they had signed a marriage license, and yet in the eyes of both the Law and the Church, they would not truly be husband and wife until they physically consummated their relationship. Well, far be it from them to break the law!

A few more hours of dancing, eating, listening to speeches spoken by loved ones, they finally found themselves alone, in the tiny room above the inn where they had celebrated. "Forgive me, milady," Tom grinned, scooping her up into his arms and gallantly carrying her across the threshold into their room.

Sybil laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Not at all. While I am a suffragette, there are some traditions I'm willing to accept."

"Good," he answered, before kicking the door closed behind him. "Although you do realize that now that I have you in arms…I don't think I'll ever let you go again…" his lips were already running across the skin of her neck and jaw, and Sybil was moaning as her head fell back across his shoulder.

"But Tom…" she moaned, as his mouth moved to kiss hers. "You'll…have…to…let me…go…" she managed to say in between kisses. He lifted his head in question, and she gave him her most innocent…and devilish smile. "How else am to I get out of this dress?"

His groan became a growl, and Sybil's own moan became a giggle, as she felt the two of them fall backwards upon the bed. She had thought she would be nervous on her wedding night. She had always imagined herself to being a clumsy, nervous wreck, as she awaited Tom's touch and…what would follow. However, those thoughts had been before he ever touched her…or held her…or kissed her deeper than the surface of her lips. They certainly had been before their encounter in that grassy field! Now, she found herself excited, thrilled, and impatient. A part of her wickedly thought about just pulling the hem of her gown up…not even having to fully undress herself.

But the hungry look he was giving her pushed that thought away. No…she wanted to feel his hands, his lips, his entire body against her skin. "Hurry Tom, please…"

"Oh no, milady, I'm afraid not…" he murmured, his lips dropping a gentle kiss against her cheek, as his hands moved around her back, and began undoing the laces of her gown. "I've dreamed of this moment for longer than I can remember; there's no way I'm going to rush it."

She was like clay in his hands, eager to be molded. She sighed and allowed him to have his way, to undress her slowly, agonizingly, to moan with each kiss as he pulled at the laces and unsnapped the buttons that held her dress in place. "Stand for me, sweetheart," he murmured, helping her to her feet. Thankfully she could rest her hands on his shoulders; her legs had turned to jelly.

He remained seated on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked with hers, as he gently tugged the gown down from her shoulders…down her arms…freeing them from the sleeves, and then down further and further…until the elegant white gown pooled at her feet. He then took her hands, and helped her step out of the silken puddle, before rising from the bed to stand before her as he shrugged off his jacket.

Sybil reached for him then, and began loosening his tie. He smiled, and nodded his head, knowing that it was his turn now to be patient as she helped undress him. She leaned up and kissed the tip of his chin, the base of his throat, her tongue darting out to lick a bit of the sheen from his skin. He groaned and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her lips as her fingers released him from his waist coat, and then from his shirt.

Her hands paused for a moment, as they reached the waist of his trousers. She looked down and blushed, seeing a rather prominent bulge. She hadn't touched him…not there. And yet, she was surprised with how much she wanted to now, and had been wanting to in the past. Perhaps even before their private moment in the field?

"Tom…" she whispered, her eyes lifting to his and her fingers hovering over his belt. "May I?"

"God yes, please…" he groaned, his own hands coming to grip her shoulders for his own balance.

She grinned at this, and licked her bottom lip as her gaze returned to his waist…and she carefully unhooked his belt, letting it fall to the floor, before undoing the buttons on his trousers.

And then, much to the surprise of them both, but most certainly to Tom, she pushed her hand inside, and cupped the hard length of his cock.

"GOD ALMIGHTY!" he all but roared, taken completely off guard by her bold gesture.

Sybil gasped as well, not quite prepared for what she would feel. Lord, were men always this…large? Or was that just Tom?

She ran her fingers down his length and he gasped in pleasure, his own hands gripping her shoulders harder to keep his knees from buckling. "Sweet Jesus, Sybil, I'll spend if you're not careful."

She lifted her eyes then, and felt a triumphant smile spread across her face. It was the perfect payback for how he had reduced her to a quivering mass in that field so many weeks ago.

He caught her smile, and gave a hungry growl, before catching her in his arms and drawing her down upon the bed. They weren't naked yet, although this had been least amount of clothing they had ever worn in one another's presence. She still had her chemise, slip, knickers, and stockings, and he still wore an undershirt, and his trousers weren't completely off…

But they were desperate for one another. His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her passionately, as his hands ran over her body, squeezing her hip, her thigh, rising to settle against a panting breast, his thumb brushing over the hardening nipple. Sybil gasped and tried her best to push his trousers down just as he pushed the fabric of her chemise down, allowing his mouth to finally feast upon the flesh of her breast. "Oh Tom!" she moaned, her head falling back against the pillow, her hair tumbling free in a brown cascade of silk, as his tongue swirled around the puckered skin of her nipple, before drawing it deep into his mouth and suckling her until his cheeks hollowed.

"God, Sybil, you're more delicious than I imagined," he groaned, moving to her other breast and giving it the same treatment, while his hands moved beneath the fabric of her slip.

"Tom…I…I don't want to wait any longer, please…" she begged, lifting his face away from her breasts, her eyes wide and passion-filled and pleading.

"No…" he agreed. "Neither do I." With the gracefulness of a dancer, he removed his shirt and Sybil stared with wide, hungry eyes, at the muscular planes of his chest. She couldn't help it, she had to touch him and thread her fingers in the soft hair that matted at its center. He helped her sit up, and with a few quick tugs, her chemise was completely off, her breasts completely free for his eyes…and lips…to feast upon. But he didn't stop to kiss her or touch her further until she was completely naked, and soon her slip, her stockings, and finally her knickers, joined the gown on the floor…and she lay before him, her soft and beautiful creamy skin, glowing in the lamplight of the room.

"You too," she urged, tugging a little further on his trousers, which seemed to be stuck on his hips. No doubt something was blockading them.

He hissed between his teeth, as he pulled the trousers passed said "blockade", and Sybil found herself gaping at the image of his swollen manhood, free at last for her to see…and stroke.

"There…" he whispered, taking her hand and joining her on the bed. "Like Adam and Eve, no barriers to hide behind."

She lifted her eyes to his and felt her heart swell with happiness. "No barriers, not even social divides."

He grinned and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply and passionately, as their arms entwined around one another, locking them in a cocoon of limbs and skin. They explored one another with fingers, touching each other in every place possible, nearly bringing each other to glorious climax, but stopping just short—that moment was to be reserved for later. They soon followed those caresses with lips and tongue. Sybil never knew a man could do that! And as shocking a thought as it was, Sybil grinned quite proudly as Tom groaned the Almighty's name once again, when her own mouth boldly traveled to where her hand had been earlier. It was extremely difficult not to fully give in to pleasure then.

But somehow, they were able. Their bodies were slick, their chests were panting, and Sybil knew Tom was feeling the same ache she was. She parted her legs and opened her body to him, welcoming him to her, enfolding him like the petals of a flower. Tom lowered himself, his brow creased with concentration, the muscles on his arms tense with exertion, as he slowly, carefully, moved his body into hers.

"Christ, Sybil!" he swore, gasping as her body squeezed him and clutched him tightly. "Oh God…" he groaned, looking down at her, his body rigid from the intense pleasure, but his eyes lit with concern. "Oh sweetheart…forgive me…"

Why was he asking her that? Was it because she was supposed to feel pain? She had heard about that long before her sisters attempted to repeat their mother's words to her, that the "first time" for a woman could be quite "unpleasant". But the ache of not feeling him inside her was far worse than any "invading" pain her body was "supposed" to feel, according to all those stories women passed down through the generations. Yes, it was a strange feeling, to suddenly be "filled" in a place where she had never felt anything like that before. And yet…she found that she loved it. She had never realized how empty she had been until this moment, with her beloved Branson.

"More…" she whimpered, attempting to lift her hips off the bed. "Please…I…I want more…"

He looked down at her with astonishment, as if he had been expecting to hear her say the opposite. But that look was quickly replaced with a happy smile of relief, before he murmured, "Aye, milady," and then proceeded to gently move his body with hers.

It had been wonderful, that first time. She knew she was lucky, because not every woman had such experiences, and she would thank God every day and night for blessing her with the love of Tom Branson, because she knew that the reason it had been so wonderful, was because of his love, and hers for him.

Afterwards, they both lay in a heap of tangled limbs and panting chests, smiling and tickling one another, before kissing each other and falling prey to sleep. And just as it had been on their wedding night so many months ago, now they lay almost like that, atop their kitchen table, her legs still wrapped around his body, and his head resting against her chest, as they caught their breath. "My sweet, sweet English girl…" he murmured against her skin, kissing the flesh just over her heart, while one of his hands made lazy circles over her belly.

Her belly.

Sybil sat up so suddenly, Tom nearly rolled off onto the floor. "What is it?" he asked, straightening himself and looking at her with concern. "What's wrong, what happened?"

Sybil's hand had instantly fallen to her stomach, and she looked up at her husband, the rush of everything that had happened before her welcome return home, coming back to her. "I…" she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "I went to see Dr. Barnes this afternoon."

His concern deepened. "Are you ill?" He knew about the nurses on her wing that had gotten sick.

Sybil shook her head, but his concern still didn't leave. "No, no, it's not that, but…well, I did go to him because the hospital ordered anyone who wasn't feeling at their complete healthiest—"

"Not at their complete healthiest?" he interrupted, his face paling at her words.

"Tom, stop! It's nothing—well, alright, it's not nothing, but it's nothing like what you're thinking—"

"Forgive me, sweetheart, but I'm so confused right now, that all I can think about is that something had bothered you, enough to the point that you felt it wise to see a doctor—"

"I'm pregnant."

A silence filled the room.

She looked up at him, expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he only stared at her, his face paling and his eyes widening as the weight of her words settled over him.

"I'm pregnant," she repeated, needing to fill that silence. "As in, 'with child', to quote Dr. Barnes." She bit her lip and looked up at him again, praying that he would say something, anything really! "Please, Tom, don't just stand there, tell me what you're thinking—"

Her words were cut off by the passionate press of his lips to hers, and Sybil moaned anew as she quickly surrendered to his kiss. The kiss told her everything she needed to know; everything that words would fail to describe.

"I love you," he managed to say when he finally lifted his mouth to catch a breath. "I love you so much."

She thought she would cry from the love and happiness she felt. Surely it wasn't right? To feel this happy? To be this happy? She wasn't so naïve as to believe it would always be like this, but at the same time, she was so grateful to have this man by her side.

A gleeful laugh escaped her lips, when he stood up and swept her up into his arms, before carrying her to their bedroom and proceeding to help her undress fully, before tumbling atop the covers once more, both of them fully naked.

They made love again, another countless moment on a long-lost list. Afterwards, Sybil lay curled in the crook of his arm, her head nestled on his shoulder, her own arm draped across his chest, while his strong, warm hands ran up and down her back. "When do you suppose it happened?"

Sybil nibbled on her bottom lip, blushing as she recalled asking herself that very same question. "Well, Dr. Barnes said I'm two months along…so that must mean sometime in late September? Or possibly the first week of October?"

"Hmmm…" he murmured, pensively. "Well…that would make sense."

Sybil lifted her head, and propped herself up on her elbow. "Oh really?"

He grinned and nodded. "Well, that was the time when we had that huge storm, and we lost the electricity."

Sybil's blush deepened. "Yes…I remember how we wondered about what to do 'to pass the time'."

He had built them a fire in their tiny fireplace, to both provide light and warmth for the cold, autumn night. And because they had both been caught in the downpour on their way home, their clothes were soaked, so they stripped out of them, and sat before the fire with nothing but the quilt from their bed to cover their bodies. It didn't take long for that quilt to be spread upon the floor, and for the two of them to be lying atop it, making love while the orange flames kissed the hearth, just as their own lips kissed one another.

"Or," he quickly added. "It could have been the morning after, remember?"

Sybil's blush from before was nothing compared to that particular memory!

"Now, if I recall, you had lost an earring…and it had fallen under the bed?" His grin was so wicked. "And I was just coming out of the loo, and happened to find you there, on the floor…on your hands and knees—"

"Convenient that you were only wearing a towel," she added, trying to sound haughty.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I had just come from the bath," he defended. "And don't pretend to be so innocent; are you really telling me that you had no idea I was standing there…and your lovely, pert rump just happened to lift itself, oh so invitingly?"

She lifted herself up and gave his chest a swat, which only caused him to laugh. "Alright, what about that night when we found ourselves locked out of the flat?"

It was Tom's turn to fall silent.

Sybil lifted a quizzical brow in triumph, a cat-like smile spreading across her face. "I'm certain you haven't forgotten…that?"

"No indeed," he managed to choke.

It had been a very long day for the both of them, and Sybil came home from her shift at the hospital, only to find Tom sitting outside their flat, looking extremely put out. He explained that he had somehow locked the keys inside the flat (and at the time they only had one pair). Mrs. Murray, their one and only neighbor who lived below them and who kept a spare key in case, was naturally away, visiting a daughter in Cork. Tom had gone to the pub across the street to telephone the landlord, who said he would stop by to let them in…in two hours.

He grumbled about having one of the worst days at the paper, and how all he wanted to do was sit in the comfort of his flat, and ignore the outside world. Sybil wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his shoulder, turning to offer him gentle, soothing kisses against his cheek…which slowly began to spread to his jaw…and then to his neck…and ear…

Before he realized what she was doing, he found himself pushed back against the wall, and she was kneeling before him, her small, clever fingers undoing the buttons on his trousers, and he had barely uttered her name, when he felt her warm, delectable lips, enfold his throbbing, hard flesh. The pleasure was nearly too much, and when he felt himself approach the brink, he pushed her back, and soon the tables were turned; she was now pushed against the wall, hoisted up, with her legs wrapped around his waist, while his hands pushed her skirt and knickers aside, and his body was pumping furiously into hers.

The landlord found the two of them settled on the floor outside their flat, their clothes righted, but their looks of annoyance now replaced with looks of pure bliss.

"Yes, it could have been then…" he murmured, his hand running down to her belly and gently caressing the supple flesh. "Or…perhaps it was that night, when I came home late, and found you on the sofa?"

It didn't matter how dark it had gotten; Sybil was sure he could see her glowing, crimson-colored cheeks.

"You were asleep, if I recall…"

She nodded her head. "Yes…and you woke me up."

Tom had a very…unique…way of doing that. If he ever awoke before her, or arrived home and found her sleeping, he always enjoyed awaking "his English princess" with a kiss. Normally it was a loving peck on the lips, or sometimes a sweet brush to her forehead. But sometimes…once in a while…it was a very, very different sort of kiss. One that always resulted in her moaning…and mewing…and gasping…before ultimately awaking her with a scream. And that was exactly what happened on that particular night; she awoke shouting his name, her body trembling with ecstasy, only to look down and find him between her thighs, grinning rather roguishly up at her.

"And remind me again…how many times was it?" he asked while stretching his arms over his head, and looking rather pleased with himself.

Sybil grabbed her pillow and gave him a good wallop, to which he only grabbed her about the waist, threatening to tickle her, but instead, pulled her across him until she was sitting astride his body. "Yes…" he whispered, running his fingers along her thighs and hips. "I think it was that night, when it happened."

The ache was returning, and Sybil could feel her body tingling with need, as she felt the tip of his cock rub against the damp lips of her sex. "Why is that?" she asked, rather breathlessly.

He smiled wolfishly at her. "Just a feeling I have," he explained, before moving his hands up her hips to her breasts. "I can't believe it took us nearly an entire month of our marriage before we discovered this…"

She knew he was talking about the present position they were in. Indeed, it had become a favorite. Tom had told her once it was because he could lie back and gaze up at her beauty, while having the pleasure to cup her breasts, play with her nipples, or move his fingers down and rub the sensitive nub between her legs. He also loved how she could set the pace, driving him mad with need and pleasure, but be completely at her mercy. "What took us so long?" he asked, his hands moving back to her hips, and guiding her to where he desperately needed her most.

"I don't know," she gasped, as she felt her body stretch once again to welcome him inside. "But…I'm starting to think you're right; I don't recall us getting much sleep that night."

"Only an idiot would do something as foolish as 'sleep' when he has a woman like you in his bed beside him."

She smiled at his words, and lowered her face to kiss him, holding him close and moaning against his mouth. They would never truly know exactly when they conceived their son or daughter, but what they did know was that this child, as unexpected as it was, would be born into a family grounded in love.

"Are you happy?" she found herself asking him. Normally he was the one asking that question, but this time the tables were turned. They had never really talked about having a family, and if truth be told, Sybil had never really given a great deal of thought to it. She had been so focused on her work as a nurse over the last few years, and then on Tom, when she finally realized and admitted that yes, she did indeed love him. Those two things had been the main focus of her life, but now…now there would be a new part to it. And even though it frightened her, at the same time…she knew she wanted this baby; she wanted to have children with Tom Branson. "Are you? About the baby, I mean?"

He smiled up at her, and ran his fingers along her cheek. "The only news sweeter than this was when you told me you were ready to travel, and I was your ticket," he repeated those words she had said to him at the beginning of the year. Good God, how much had happened; here they were, nearing the end of 1919, a year that started with a botched elopement, only to end with the two of them happily married, and now expecting their first child.

"I love you, Tom Branson," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with happy, loving tears.

His hands framed her face, and his eyes held hers as he passionately declared, once again, "And I love you, Lady Sybil Crawley."

She gave his chest a light swat, before smiling down at him and kissing him deeply. "That's Mrs. Sybil Branson to you, sir, and don't you forget it!" Her kiss momentarily robbed them each of breath, and when she finally lifted her head for air, she purposefully pressed her body fully atop his. "Now, dear husband, will you please make love to your wife?"

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, gently rolling her onto her back and beginning to do just as she commanded, before obediently replying, "Yes, milady."

What did you think? Please leave a comment and let me know! THANKS FOR READING!