The November rains had given way to December frosts, but through it all the sky remained grey and dismal. It suited Matthew perfectly. The weather reflected his mood.

He had been forced to flee his own house or else be swallowed by Mother and her stubborn insistence on Christmas cheer. It was strange. They hadn't truly celebrated Christmas since his father's death, but one penned letter from Edith and his mother was determined to make the most of the holidays. This included attending tonight's Christmas Eve meal, staying the night at Downton, and spending the entirety of Christmas Day with them as well.

Perhaps in another time, Matthew would have been perfectly happy to accept the invitation, confidently rude enough to reject it, or worth so little thought to the main family that he and his mother wouldn't have been worth the invitation. But at present, Lady Edith had again reached out her hand to include them, and, despite his hesitations, Matthew couldn't bring himself to refuse her. His blunders had already put too many of his new relationships in jeopardy, both with Edith and others in her family.

Matthew had never claimed to be a gregarious person. He had enough understanding of human nature and social customs to get by. It was an important part of his role as a solicitor after all, but there remained that level of depth he never failed to misjudge. A layer of nuance and social games he never truly understood how to play.

Mother and Father, when he was still alive, were two of the most caring people Matthew knew. Their lives were centered around him and around charity and, above all, around their work. Through their professions as doctor and nurse, they made strives to help everyone they could. Any unfortunate soul in their path, they helped. They saw people for their problems, and honestly and openly did their best to help people solve them. It was a fine charitable mindset, and the innate ability to see others' problems was a boon in law certainly, but not so in friendship.

As a boy, sent off to a boarding school to receive the best education his parents could afford, Matthew had been lonely. The pressure of being the only child they put their all in encouraged him to push further than even his own innate bookishness would have preferred. When his father died, leaving him alone to look after Mother, it became even more imperative to do well.

Years of study and problem solving were his life. What few friends and pleasant acquaintances he made along the way were, more often than not, related to work or school or connections. Even those that were not were almost exclusively male. Perhaps it was this reason, or perhaps it was all of them, that made Matthew so lost when interacting with the Crawley ladies.

Lady Mary was a physical embodiment of that social mystery and feminine nuance that he never understood. She was a storm of ever changing moods, hostile propriety, and momentary glimpses of vulnerability under frigid armor. She was a master at playing the game he didn't know the rules of. An unattainable woman from an insular world that did not want him, and the night of the hunt had only increased the unknowable divide.

Matthew might not have understood Mary, not her values, not her standards, not her methods, but he had thought he understood her problems. Seeing and solving problems was the foundation of his livelihood, and the way Mary went on and on about him and the entail made hers very apparent. But then she had that connection with Pamuk, whatever that connection was, and the proud woman had suddenly developed a whole new layer of barbs and ice. Clearly, Pamuk was another problem, but Lady Mary wouldn't admit it.

Matthew knew it was not his place. Unlike his mother, he did understand the importance of boundaries and letting people handle their issues in their own time. However, with the same breath Mary said she was fine, she lashed out. She hissed and clawed at anyone who came near like a wild animal with a wound until it was healed enough by time and spite for her to pretend it had never hurt to begin with.

All the while, Mary ignored her hurt over Pamuk

and went on about the entail, pretending Matthew was the issue and not whatever had hurt her. Every argument met with new fervor. Every interaction deemed Matthew had some new fault. Every time her family would sigh and mutter that maybe, if Mary was the heir not him, she would be married by now, happy by now. He was constantly to blame for problems not his fault. Constantly left scrambling to play the social game he didn't understand. Constantly scorned by the unknowable Lady Mary. It was infuriating.

Matthew sighed, kicking a grey stone further down the path. The December air had blown him down several of the village back roads. Now his wandering feet were taking the same trail he remembered as the path the second daughter of the house took during her regular rounds. Matthew hadn't gotten the chance to speak to her about accompanying her again on rounds since the hunt. Although, deep down, Matthew wondered if it was really the lack of opportunity or if it was lack of courage. Unlike with Mary, Matthew knew he was at fault with Lady Edith.

Matthew winced in shame when he thought of that day. He had left her. Turned his horse and rode off to join the crowd rather than stay with the woman who brought him there to begin with. He didn't even have to leave her to join the others. They could have gone together. But Matthew didn't think about that because he wasn't thinking about her at all, and she knew it.

"You should know," Edith had said, her usual warm gaze flashing with whiskey fire. "I rarely ask people to stay. I find that most make their own decisions on what they want, and then you let them go if that choice isn't you."

Edith has stood, tall, proud, and beautiful, refusing to speak anything but the truth. The truth that he hadn't chosen her, hadn't helped her. Matthew had ignored her to chase something else. What that was, he didn't even know, but he knew it didn't compare to the warmth and kindness she had shown him the last couple months. And he had repaid her with blatant dismissal and horrific discourtesy.

And yet, while Mary went about punishing him for problems he didn't cause, Edith seemed to have completely pushed past the incident. She had spoken her peace and then summarily forgotten the incident. She seemed to think nothing else needed to be said or done, that her voicing her own displeasure once was enough. Matthew disagreed entirely. At absolutely minimum she deserved an apology if not a pound of flesh in compensation, but she always politely, bluntly dismissed him whenever he tried. So now, guilt ridden and desperate to speak, he would be attending her family Christmas by her own generous invitation.

A bang echoed out over the barren fields. Matthew ducked and after a moment more rang out, but he didn't recognize the noise as a gunshot. Poking his head up he saw two people near the edge of a field. One stood in front of a large machine puffing black smoke. Another, dressed up much too finely to be a farm hand, sat on top of the machine. Drawing closer he made out voices and an unmistakable shock of golden red hair.

"God damn it!" Edith cursed as the machine popped and smoked.

"M'lady!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carter."

"No, no, it's fine. I just didn't expect-"

"Ah-ha!" Edith exclaimed in triumph when at last the engine came to life. The abrupt bangs gave way to a steady and strong roar. "There it is!"

"You did it, M'lady!"

"And what exactly is it?" Matthew couldn't help but ask as he drew closer. Edith's face was beaming, coated in grime and sweat though it was. It seemed that not even his presence could take away from her mood at the moment.

"Matthew!" Edith smiled widely. "It's a tractor. It just came in. First at Downton."

"I could be wrong, but haven't I seen other tractors on the estate before?"

"None like Ms. Edith's, Mr. Crawley," Mr. Carter said proudly.

"It's a gasoline tractor, not steam," Edith explained. "They're American made. I had one shipped over to rent out to farmers during the planting season."

"So this is business venture then?" Matthew asked.

"It will be," Mr. Carter resolutely nodded.

"Mr. Carter," Edith said. "If you don't mind, I will walk home with Matthew. I'll return after the holidays to show you have to drive and operate the machine."

"You know how to drive it, m'lady?

"Well, I can drive a car, can't I?"

"You can?" Matthew asked.

"Yes," Edith said, climbing down from the seat of the tractor. "Well, probably, if it's like knowing to ride a bike, I'll be fine."

"Well," Mr. Carter hesitated, "that will work for me, m'lady."

"Good!" Edith nodded as she gathered a basket and came to stand by Matthew. "Then do take care, and send your wife and daughters my regards. I'll be back in the first week of January. Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Lady Edith! And to you, Mr. Crawley."

"Happy Christmas," Matthew echoed, tipping his hat to the man before walking with Edith down the worn trail. Adeptly, Edith stepped between cold puddles and muddy wagon ruts. She was focused entirely on the road, and notably did not pay him any mind.

"So, tractors." Matthew fumbled stupidly, stepping in a mud pit as Edith went around it.

"Tractors."

"I didn't know you had an interest in them."

"We rarely talk about my interests, Cousin Matthew."

"No, we don't," Matthew cringed at the jab. It was true. Their relationship was remarkably one sided wasn't it? "Please, tell me more about them now."

"It's not very interesting,"

"I want to know. Even if it isn't to me, I want to know what interests you."

"You would be one of the first," Edith said, swinging her basket from one arm to another. "If you must know, I have always been fascinated by invention and business. When I was younger, Papa let me use my pin money to make some investments. One stock I chose was in an American manufacturer specializing in agricultural advancement."

"That sounds-"

"Hideously boring?"

"No! Fascinating," Matthew said, reaching out to take the basket from Edith. "I never would have considered doing something like that. But it let you keep abreast of different trends and changes in the industry. How old were you?"

"Sixteen," Edith said, a rose blush pleasantly spreading over her cheeks. "I wasn't thinking nearly so in-depth at the time. I just found it interesting. But I did see the stock uptick when gasoline engine sales began to boom this year in America. Britain might still be reliant on steam, but I think gasoline is more viable long term."

"And your father helped you buy one for the estate?"

"No," Edith said. "I love my father, but he has always had firm ideas about people's places in life. As a woman, he sees my investments as a fun little game. He doesn't try to be patronizing or dismissive, but he believes female sensibilities are meant for other things."

"I would think even the most puritanical would agree that stewardship and financial management of a home, whether that be a house or an estate, is a female sensibility," Matthew argued. "And that's only if your father couldn't see for himself, with three strong daughters, wife, and mother besides, that woman hardly all fall into the same mold."

"You would think," Edith sighed before shaking her head. "Regardless, I used some of the money I'd saved and invested to buy the tractor. Without my father's help."

"That must have been extremely expensive."

"If my family asks, you will say it was "surprisingly affordable".

Matthew chuckled. "Was it?"

"It was surprising, but I wouldn't call it affordable."

"What made you take the risk?" Matthew asked, reaching a hand out to steady Edith as they moved from mud to stone. He didn't remove his arm once they were righted. "Can you make a profit renting it out?"

"Perhaps. There is profit in it, I'm sure, but... that isn't quite my main goal. Mr. Carter will house the machine at his farm and keep it operational for those who want to rent it. In turn, he gets to use it freely."

"A generous deal," Matthew nodded.

"I hope so," Edith breathed. "You see, Mr. Carter isn't well, and he only has three young daughters to help him. He can't keep doing what he is doing without some help. The same is true of many others who are getting too old or who have lost someone or who just need the extra help. This way, the land can produce the best crop, and everyone can be better for it."

"With your investment."

"Yes."

"You saw a problem, and you fixed it."

"I'm trying to."

"You have a habit of trying to fix other people's problems. Even when you get nothing out of it in return."

"I wouldn't say nothing. No one truly gets nothing out of offering kindness. And most try to reciprocate when it's your turn to need something."

"Yes, most, but not all," Matthew said frustratedly. He pulled them both to a gentle stop. "Edith, I must apologize for my horrendous behavior the day of the hunt."

"You had interests elsewhere," Edith dismissed, trying to walk on but Matthew stood his ground.

"I left you. I came with you and I left you to peruse the crowd, and I am ashamed of that. You needed better. You deserved better. It was a blessing that Mr. Napier managed to do what I couldn't, be a gentleman."

"You just wanted to be with Mary," Edith protested, as if that was at all an excuse.

"I ignored you too. I didn't listen to you, and I dismissed your feelings. You have been nothing but kind to me and my mother, and I repaid you by acting like a brute. It was unforgivable."

"You-" Edith floundered, seeming not to know how to accept an apology. "You didn't mean- I would hardly call it unforgivable. I've already forgiven you. I did that night."

"I know," Matthew said, dragging one hand down his face. "You forgive too easily. I've showed you ten times the discourtesy I do your sister, and she hasn't stopped punishing me for it."

"I'm not Mary."

"No, you're yourself. An entirely too kind, business minded woman who puts other people's problems on herself," Matthew replied. They walked on in silence for a while before he spoke again. "You must tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

"Must we do this?" Edith asked, soft but frustrated. "You don't owe me anything for my kindness or your mistakes. I don't want our relationship to be one of debt."

"But what about friendship? What can I do as a friend in need to make it up to you?"

Edith was silent. Continuing on for a few thoughtful paces before stopping. "Sybil could use a friend. For the season. Patrick was there for me and Mary, but with him gone..."

"And you? Could you use a friend in London?"

"I think I would like a friend," Edith smiled gently before a small smirk took its place. "You will too. With all the parties and balls and races, you will be quite worn out."

"Wonderful," Matthew groaned. More opportunities for him to show off his understanding of aristocratic social customs. "You will help me with that, I hope?"

"Of course, what are friends for?" Edith teased, that warm smile once again returning to her face. "But first, friends must attend Christmas celebrations."

"So I've been told. Mother has already made the arrangements so we can come up to the house tonight."

"Splendid. You will enjoy your first Christmas at Downton Abbey, Matthew."

"I'm sure I will, Edith. I'm sure I will."

That night was a cacophony of color and song and candlelight. Matthew had never seen a tree more grand, a feast more decadent, or a house so alive with Christmas spirit. The whole house, from Robert, lord of the house, to the lowest servant seemed to buzz with good tidings and cheer.

Mother was having a better Christmas than he had seen since his father died. Lady Grantham and the Dowager offered them welcome with grace. Sybil bounced around the Saloon, speaking to everyone she could including a long discussion with Mother about the state of the hospital. Even Mary had a kind word for them today. And to one corner of all the Christmas cheer stood Edith.

Edith was dressed in forest green, her hair shimmering in the light of the tree. She watched the gathered crowd with poise and grace, handing out carefully packaged gifts to all. Before, he would have wondered if the gifts were from the whole family, but now he suspected they were only from her own heart. Matthew couldn't help but think she was beautiful as he came to stand beside her.

"Happy Christmas, Edith," Matthew murmured.

"Happy Christmas, Matthew. I am glad you came to Downton Abbey."

"So am I. So am I."