July 1914

A baby.
A surprise.
A beautiful surprise.
A wonderful surprise.

And possibly a new solution to their problem. A possibility that…
Well, the odds were one in two.

But a big surprise anyway.

Still… there were old. Too old for that anyway, he believed. And yet…

He thought that Cora… well, he did NOT want to think about... those… things. He was a man, and there were just some subjects he wasn't comfortable with.

His child wasn't born yet, and he already had grey hair, for God's sake! How old will they be by the time they'll have to find a spouse for their youngest? Will then people mistake them for his grandparents?

Lord Grantham looked at his wife, and found she was radiant. Probably the most beautiful woman on earth, he thought.

And they were going to become parents once more. And who knows, this time… possibly… a son? An heir? Well, he did already think that back then – all these years ago – about Sybil, he did not want to set his hopes too high. And now nearly twenty years later he wouldn't trade any of his three daughters for an unknown and faceless son.

Anyway, even if it meant one more daughter to marry off, this baby would be a great happiness.

"We can consider ourselves lucky that our child won't have a niece or nephew older than himself…" he told his wife in a chuckle.

And then, Cora suddenly remembered the "Turkish incident".

Yes darling, very lucky, indeed.