When February came and the Duchess still presented discomfort and fatigue, the physician was called to Martis. In truth, she'd known for some time what the illness was, and before Dr. Crandall made his way to the palace, the foreign fluttering had started.

"Izzy," Lecia called.

The young maid was on her way out of the washroom, but stopped at the door. Steam from the hot bath had fogged the windows, and the Duchess stood, wrapped in her dressing gown, beside the tub.

"Could you have Bart write the Duke and inform His Grace that he should return home?" she asked. She should have been more exact, more deliberate, less...uncertain.

"Of course, my lady," the girl said. With a curtsy, Izzy left Lecia to bathe.

Sinking into the water, Lecia watched the level rise and swell over the changing topography of her stomach. There was no comfort in the unfamiliar landscape, nor in the tiny palpitations that echoed her own. It would only be with the words from her husband that Lecia's fears would be banished.

Vaughan made it home in three days.

Bart's letter had been urgent enough that the Duke left in the midst of a meeting, but reassured him that Lecia's condition was not dangerous. However, that did not stop Vaughan from worrying or assuming the very worst. He did not even remove his overcoat when he entered the palace; he followed the direction of the staff and immediately ran to his apartment.

Harry greeted him at the door, but his wife lingered at the window. She stood upright, cloaked in an afghan with arms reticently wrapped around her shoulders, staring out at the stark winter countryside. In the way that he cherished, her healthy mane curled freely down her back. At the familiar sight, Vaughan found a breath that he hadn't known he'd ever lost, but when she finally glanced back at him, her indifferent expression bated his breath once again.

"I came as quickly as I could," he said, rushing forward. His impulse was to pull her into a tight embrace; relieved just to see she was still alive despite having never heard anything even remotely contrary to the fact. However, he settled on just taking one of her frigid hands.

"I knew you would," she said, weakly and avoiding his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

She turned away, lungs trembling.

"It's not—" his voice broke despite his best efforts. He continued, barely a whisper. "It's not consumption, is it?"

Lecia took in a deep breath, and her eyes grew wide with surprise.

"Heavens no," she sighed as if the notion was ridiculous.

Unable to resist any longer, Vaughan pulled his wife into an embrace of relief. The fresh scent of citrus from her hair tangled in his nose as he pressed a cheek atop her head. Her lithe arms became entwined with his own, weaving beneath the coat he still hadn't removed.

"Cariad," he murmured, "please, I must know."

For a moment the Duchess tried to find the words, but her voice could not utter the truth. All efforts died at her lips.

"I—" she choked.

Growing anxious, the Duke pulled her away from his chest. Nervously, he ran his hands up her arms and neck to cup her face. His calloused thumbs scrubbed away the tears that began to fall from her misty eyes. Lecia pressed a cheek into Vaughan's palm as she reached for his other hand. With a gentle hold, she guided him to feel the quivering that had started in her womb.

Though Vaughan could not really sense the tiny movements in his wife's belly, he knew that she had started to grow round there. Furthermore, with one hand resting on her stomach and the other wiping tears, it was quite plain what her meaning was.

He was aghast. Here he'd left her on her own to discover and come to terms with such news. She had to know, of course, that he would not be displeased, but what of her own expectancies? The whole trouble was that he did not know how she thought of him, and if, in fact, she was not in love and did not want to take up her wifely tasks...

"You don't look pleased," she said, shrinking back toward the window.

"What?" he gasped. He'd gotten lost in his thoughts and often his reveries outwardly reflected anger. "Of course not," he assured her, extending his arms to pull her to him once again. When she resisted, he realized how his words had sounded. "I mean that I am," he said. "Pleased, I mean. So long as you are."

At last, a faint smile brightened Lecia's face.

"I should have written to you myself," she breathed, "and sooner."

"Nonsense," he dismissed, wrapping his stout arms around her delicate frame. "My letter was utterly useless."

"No," she objected. "It was honest and I have not been. I do love you," Lecia admitted, "very much. More than I expected I could ever love anyone." At this, Vaughan grinned and placed a chaste kiss on her lips, lingering only a breath away. "I've been childish and cruel while you have been nothing but sincere."

"It was I who was cruel," he whispered. "I thought...I don't know what I thought."

"It doesn't matter," she said.

Eventually Vaughan replaced his traveling clothes with bedclothes, and Lecia curled into his arms to prepare for sleep.

"Admittedly," the Duchess said, "it was quite difficult not to request your return just as soon as I'd arrived here myself. I had some complications trying to sleep on my own after so many months with you."

The Duke snorted a laugh. "At least you had Harry." The dog, hearing his name, perked from the foot of the bed. "I had a terrible adjustment moving from Brahmsboro to Buckingham on my own."

Smiling, Lecia said, "I imagine; though, out of context, I fear no one would agree with you."

"You're probably right," he granted.

After a moment Lecia looked up at Vaughan and asked, "What should we name him?"

"Name whom?" he responded instinctually before renewed excitement tingled in his chest where her hand rested. "How do you know we're to have a son?"

"Of the countless progeny in your family tree, how many Cantingtons have been born girls?" Lecia pointed out. There were only three: Catherine, Sarah, and Blanche.

"Right," Vaughan conceded. "Well I absolutely will not have my son be the Second anything, so that eliminates Fychan, Andras, Oliver, Obediah, Alastaire, Elijah, Henry, Irvine, Laurence, George, Hailey, William, Thomas, Geoffrey, Hugh, and Edgar."

"That's all?" Lecia said drily.

"Nearly forgot Robert and Alfred," he added.

"Well what will you allow?" she asked. None of the Cantington names had appealed to her very much anyway. She honestly wasn't sure what was appealing. Unlike Zora, motherhood had never been something Lecia fantasized about, and without a definitive family name, like Henry, the Duchess was at a loss.

"I wouldn't be opposed to naming a son after my daid, but Barri isn't exactly a Duke's name, but it might do for a younger brother," Vaughan said suggestively.

"Let us deliver this one first, hmm?"

"Of course, your grace," he laughed, pulling her against him.

"What about Eachann?" she proposed.

Vaughan hummed his consideration. "I suppose that's as good a name as any."

"What other Welsh names are in your family besides that one? You're Fychan Eachann Derfael, and your grandfather is Barri, but who else?"

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts on the matter. The Cantington Family Tree had been committed to his memory for fear of his life. His mother's family was a bit more complicated to recall seeing as there was no family name, merely a long list of patronymic conjunctions.

"Eh," he sighed, "daid was Barri ap Dafydd Veddw. He only added the Veddw to differentiate himself from another Barri; that's not even a name, it's the place he was born..."

"I wasn't planning on allowing you to name our son Veddw, and Dafydd does not appeal very much to me either," Lecia admitted.

"Well, then," he flippantly continued, "my nain was Almehda ferch Bleiddudd."

"Come again?" the Duchess said, rising to look directly at her husband. "What does any of that even mean?"

"Her given name was Almehda. Ferch means 'daughter of' and ap means 'son of,' so she was the daughter of Bleiddudd," the Welshman explained.

"Bleiddudd," Lecia tested. "I don't hate it, but I still like the idea of Eachann. Our most obstinate acquaintances could at least call him Ethan. Bleiddudd, I'm afraid, is entirely foreign."

"I agree," Vaughan said. "Though, the Anglicization of Eachann is most often Hector."

"That's a terrible name," she scowled.

"We best just call him Eachann, then," the Duke said.

"My thoughts exactly," Lecia grinned. "I know why your mother didn't name you 'ap Andras,' but how did she choose Eachann Derfael? Are they just family names?"

Vaughan perked up. "I never told you this story?" Lecia shook her head. "I was only given three names at birth, like most. She had her reasons for naming me Fychan, but originally Derfael was my only middle name. It means 'oak prince' and seeing as I was both conceived and born in the woods, it was fitting. Eachann was given to me by my daid. In fact, that's what he called me for most of my life. It means horse lord, you see, and even before I could walk I had a way with the beasts. So, when it finally came time for me to join the Cantington ledgers, I was recorded as Fychan Eachann Derfael, and that's been my name ever since."

The Duchess smiled at the thought of an infantile Vaughan taming a horse as wild as his Beli. With any luck, their son would inherit equestrianism from at least one of his parents; otherwise his namesake might be entirely nostalgic.

"Perhaps we'll let the name Derfael die with you. I think I'd prefer not to give birth in the woods."

"I second that, though I remind you that it was first chosen because of where I was conceived," he said.

"Yes, well," Lecia sighed. "We can consider it again later if we must, but I think we could name this one Eachann Gordon, after my grandfather Danvers."

"As you like," Vaughan grinned, "but for now I'd very much like to sleep."

Obvi this wasn't that long of a chapter, but I'll be posting an Epilogue momentarily. In the mean time, maybe you've noticed that I added the tag for Watty's 2015. I've never done the Watty's before, and I hate to be that person, but I'd really like to try for something this go around. That being said, I think the greatest thing you all could do (beyond already reading and commenting and voting and being wonderful and all that jazz) is just to let me know via comments or PM or whatever you can manage if you have any suggestions that would help the story in the long run. So, any plot details you're iffy about, grammar things I missed because I was lazy, things you'd like to have seen expanded or developed further, NEW TITLE IDEAS (I'll talk more about this after the Epilogue). Really, I'd be so grateful for any suggestions or thoughts you have that might make this story better as a whole, not just for the Watty's. That being said, any extra voting, sharing, shameless plugging, would not go unappreciated.

You've all been magnificent and I really can't believe that I actually made it to the finish line, sort of. I'm not really feeling Lion at the moment, but I do have another story that I've kinda been working on that is pretty similar setting etc. to this one, so keep an eye out! Things might be slow because this school year is my last in undergrad and I'm gonna be hella busy, but I'd be lying if I said having readers didn't inspire me to write, even just out of guilt!

Okay, seriously, Epilogue to follow shortly. Cool.

**Apparently some of y'all didn't pick up what I was putting down in Chapter 23. Lecia and Vaughan did, in fact, do the do way back then. I'm just not super into the sexy-time scene writing thing and I realize that I might have made those allusions a little too vague. My b. That's what I'm talking about, though, it's good for me to know! I'll be sure to do a quick edit of that chapter first so that other people won't also be confused. I'm also going to add additional note at the end of 23 for the time being.