A/N: Short and sweet epilogue.

But that's only because I decided I think I shall write a second story to the series. What do you think? Would you read it if I did? Let me know.

Enjoy!

Kate xx

Stomp, stomp, stomp – came the familiar thud from down the hallway.

Mrs. Patmore sighed and let her ladle land with a hard thud on the counter, the liquid flying off in all directions.

"Not again – that naughty little imp," she mumbled angrily, wiping her hands on her apron and making her way down the hallway. She turned the corner muttering profanities to herself and was suddenly bombarded by a body hurdling its way down the hallway.

"Oh!" she yelped, stumbling. "Sir Richard!" she gasped, grabbing the hurried boy by the shoulders.

The boy stopped and looked down guiltily, recognizing that he had been caught.

"Sir Richard Crawley, what on earth do you think you are doing, boy?" she huffed.

The child hesitated, Mrs. Patmore always frightened him just a tad – maybe more than he'd like to admit, "I was playing out by the garden," he confessed.

Mrs. Patmore surveyed his muddy boots and mussed hair and she accepted his answer as truth, "Well what would your mother say if she saw you like this? The dinner gong will ring in just fifteen minutes and I suspect they've been looking for you," she started.

Richard looked down in defeat, "I suppose they have," he whimpered, linking his small chubby fingers together.

Mrs. Patmore sighed and shook her head, "Well," she smiled placing a hand on his shoulder, "Why don't you go and clean yourself up in the kitchen before you go upstairs, we wouldn't want her ladyship to see you like this, now would we," she chuckled.

She had a soft spot in her heart for the little Crawley boy – the whole house did, really. He was rambunctious and certainly mischievous for a boy of only five years old, but he was as charming as a button and never meant anyone any real harm.

Richie smiled hesitantly at her sudden warmth, "Alright," he grinned, rushing off into the kitchen.

…

"Where is your son?" Cora snapped irritably, standing in the doorway of her husband's dressing room.

Robert smiled affectionately at her, "And why is he always my son when he's done something wrong?"

Bates avoided eye contact with both his lordship and ladyship – he found it rather uncomfortable when Cora presented herself while he was dressing Robert – which wasn't at all uncommon for her to do. He found out quite early on in working for the Crawley's that Lord and Lady Grantham did not have a traditional English marriage in any kind of sense. But then again he supposed that it was heartening to know that after more than three decades of marriage a couple could still have as much affection for one another as they did early on in their marriage. In fact, they probably had one of the strongest, sweetest marriages he had ever come across and he hoped that he and Anna – his wife of almost six years – would have a relationship that withheld the test of time as well as theirs had.

"Because you're the one who teaches him those naughty habits," Cora said crossly, a grin playing at the corner of her lips.

"I see," Robert smirked, "And what sort of naughty habits do I teach our son?"

Cora fidgeted, she knew she was being unfair, Robert was an exquisite father. "Never mind Robert, that's not the point," she waved him away with her hand, "The point is that I haven't seen him since tea this afternoon and I'm beginning to worry, the girls are coming for dinner and he needs to be ready."

"Well Cora, darling, I wouldn't worry, he knows when dinner is," he turned towards the mirror and adjusted his cuffs, "boys will be boys, my love."

Carson smirked.

Cora crossed her arms over her chest, "Well you're no help at all," she huffed, turning and exiting through the door.

Upon leaving her bedroom to retreat back downstairs to greet the guests, she heard a voice from below, echoing up to her door – "Well aren't you getting to be quite the handsome young fellow," it cooed.

Mary. The voice was Mary's. And she must be with Richie, Cora thought. Cora rushed down the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs to observe the scene below.

Mary, her eldest daughter, was crouched down on her haunches; eye level with Richie, her swollen stomach perched on top of her knees. She looked as glowing as ever. Behind her stood Matthew.

"Mary!" Cora exclaimed.

Hearing the voice of his mother, Richie looked up and quickly hurried out of sight. He knew he was in trouble and he knew he was not properly dressed for dinner.

Richie, always moving a bit too quickly, stumbled through the doors of the library and right into the frock of his grandmother.

"Oof."

He looked up at her, wide eyed and apologetic.

"Oh Richie, do slow down a bit, would you? You're grandmamma isn't as sturdy as she used to be," she grumbled, ruffling the boy's dark head.

"I'm sorry," he frowned.

"Oh wipe that grimace off your face, it doesn't suit you, I much prefer it when you smile."

A huge grin spread across his face and he hugged his grandmother as tight as he could muster.

"That's much better," she laughed, hugging him back.

A/N: I know it's an abrupt end but I'll make up for it in my next story. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading.