Mary gingerly ate her breakfast, picking at poached eggs and nibbling on toast topped with strawberry jam. Across the table, Edith picked at her own plate, and Sybil was serving herself. Papa sat at the head of the table pouring over the letters that had arrived in the post that morning. He hadn't looked up at them all for a good couple of minutes, and he seemed rather troubled.

"Who's that from, Papa?" Mary asked. "You seem very absorbed."

"Your Aunt Rosamund," Papa said distractedly.

"Anything of note?" Edith asked.

"Nothing to trouble you with."

"Poor Aunt Rosamund," Sybil sighed, going to sit at Edith's side as usual. She never sat with Mary. "All alone in that big house. I feel so sorry for her."

"I don't," Mary snorted. "All alone with plenty of money and a house in Eton square? I can't imagine anything better."

Papa suddenly crumpled the paper in his hands, and turned to look angrily at her. "Really Mary," he rumbled. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that. There will come a day when someone thinks you mean what you say."

Mary was taken aback by his sudden gruffness. Usually Papa was not near as stern in his rebukes, at least not to her. She played it off all the same as he stood to leave. "It can't come soon enough for me," she replied, continuing to eat her breakfast.

What she said was true, no matter what Papa wanted to believe. To be forced to marry whatever humdrum lord her family wanted versus to live alone and do as she pleased? What choice could be easier? The only thing better would be if she managed to bag a prize match who had some wit and charm, a match of her choosing. A difficult prospect for some, Mary cast a glance at Edith, but for her... She just needed to set her sights on a quarry, and Mary already had one in mind.

"Carson, I'll be in the library," Papa said. "Will you let me know when Her Ladyship is down?"

"Certainly, my lord," Carson nodded.

"Sybil, darling, this one's for you. And Edith, one is for you, dear, from Napier." Papa said, turning to give an envelope to each young woman. Mary instantly looked up from her plate, and watched her middle sister open hers with a knife.

"Thank you," Edith murmured, gently tugging the letter out and unfolding it.

"Thank you, Papa," Sybil bounced, ripping open hers as Papa left the room. Both Edith and Sybil were instantly consumed by their letters, ignoring their breakfast and Mary in favor of reading.

"I'm jealous," Mary said lightly. "Everyone seems to have such interesting news today. Do tell."

"It's nothing," Sybil said, folding her letter quickly. "Just... Something I'm passionate about has another chance."

"My, my, politics again? Don't let Papa hear you," Mary tutted before turning her eyes back to Edith, and the letter marked with a familiar name. She used to be the one receiving his letters. In a better world, she still would be. A bubble of rage and jealousy set her teeth on edge, but Mary did her best to turn it to a smile. "A letter from Napier, Edith? You know, I was planning to write to him myself."

"Why?" Sybil asked worriedly. Edith didn't bother to respond or even look at Mary.

"To thank him, obviously. He has done so much to try and save our reputations."

"I thought you blamed him for it," Edith stated dryly, still not deeming her worth a glance.

"He had his part to play," Mary dismissed. "That doesn't mean his current efforts can't be rewarded. And I'm sure, with a bit of proper guidance, he could do more. We did get along quite splendidly when we wrote before."

"I don't think-" Sybil began.

"If you want to thank him or anything else, you won't need to send a letter," Edith said coolly as she put down her message to stare directly at Mary.

"Oh? Why not?" Mary replied, staring directly back. Her voice filled with frost and challenge.

"Because you can tell him in person."

"I thought I'd write to Edith to settle your promised church visit," Mother said, following Matthew down the stairs.

"If you want."

"Well, you can't ignore her offer. You were the one who asked. Besides, I think it would be quite pleasant. Perhaps the two of you-"

"Edith made it quite clear that BOTH of us would be involved, not just me."

"But surely-"

"Mother," Matthew paused at the foot of the stairs and turned to her. "Don't think I don't know what you're about, but I'm telling you, it's all in your head."

"I don't believe so. She's a lovely girl," Mother protested.

"She is," Matthew agreed. "And we haven't spoken in a month."

"Of course you have. We have had dinners, she regularly comes to have tea with me, and you spoke to her on her birthday just last week."

"Small talk is hardly speaking with her, Mother," Matthew denied, reaching to grab his hat from the hook. "We have hardly been on pleasant terms since I told them all about the entail."

"Why?" Mother demanded stubbornly. "Edith isn't the type of young woman to care about such a thing. There has to be another reason."

"Because-" Matthew began only to stop. What was he to say? Because she had reacted in a way he didn't expect? Because Mary had told him things that made him question Edith? Because Edith had told him things that should make him want to question Mary?

Matthew couldn't say he believed Mary, not fully. He believed that she thought so, but whether her word was the truth was another question entirely. The woman he knew Edith to be would never be so petty and spiteful as Mary portrayed. She wouldn't act so harshly without reason, but the reason Mary gave was equally unclear.

Of course, Matthew had heard of the last heir and the rumors surrounding his death and the two sisters. He had even heard there had apparently been some incident with Edith, but Robert had mentioned the gossip before. He said that Edith hadn't loved Patrick, and wouldn't he know? Or would Mary, as her sister, better understand the depths of her heart? Matthew didn't know.

The only real solution was to speak to Edith himself, but every time she dismissed him with small talk and pleasantries before slipping away. He could follow her, demand answers, but he didn't think he had the right. He was ashamed of how he spoke to her that night. Without thinking he had acted, and even a month later he still didn't know the truth. How could he honestly speak to her when he still questioned her character? When he still denied the words she spoke so passionately?

It didn't help that Matthew and Mary had grown closer over the last month. Their conversations were spirited yet civil, invigorating in a way that only Mary could be. It was hard to think of anything Edith said that night when Mary was on his arm. But was this new relationship with Mary worth the cost of Edith's friendship? Mother certainly did not think so.

"Because what?" Mother asked.

"Nothing," Matthew denied. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

"I'm afraid that it's you who are. I just don't want you to look up one day and find you have treed the wrong creature. Mary is a bearcat after all."

"It won't happen, Mother. With either of them. I'm not hunting a wife, no matter what you say," Matthew promised, although his mother did not look half convinced.

"Ma'am," Molesley suddenly said, coming up to where they stood in the hall.

"Yes, Molesley?"

"I was wondering if I might take some time this afternoon to help in the village hall."

"Why?" Matthew asked. "What is happening?"

"It's the flower show, sir, next Saturday. I'll give my father a hand with his stall if I may."

"Of course," Mother said. "You must go."

"And so, I'm afraid, must I," Matthew said, kissing his mother's cheek as Molesley moved to open the door for him.

"Alright, my dear. Just... think about it. Please."

"I will, for you, but don't dwell. I hardly think either would have me, even if I did."

Thankfully, the next day mother was too busy observing the preparations for the flower show to push the issue other than a quick mention that Edith had passed along an invitation for dinner on Friday. Something about a party with the neighboring lords and ladies of the country. In the past, Matthew would dread such a thing. Now, he found himself looking forward to it. In no small part due to the woman walking in the distance.

"Hello!" Matthew called, climbing off his bicycle to walk beside the beautiful lady. She was dressed impeccably as always, her dark hair pulled up under her hat to show off her long, white neck. Her face was picturesque as ever, but pinched in thought and concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, hello," Mary gasped, turning to him in surprise as he came to walk beside her. "I'm about to send a telegram."

"Oh?"

"Papa's sister is always nagging him to send supplies to London, and then we cable her so her butler can be at King's Cross to meet them. It's idiotic, really."

"Is this Lady Rosamund Painswick?"

"You have done your homework," Mary said, cutting him a glance.

"She wrote to welcome me into the family," Matthew explained. "Which I thought pretty generous, given the circumstances."

"It's easy to be generous when you have nothing to lose," Mary retorted sharply, continuing to walk down the village road. "So, have you spoken to Edith recently?"

"Not particularly. But my Mother's trying to set something up with her."

"Goodness. Sounds like she has big plans for you."

"She's in for an equally big disappointment," Matthew sighed. "It's just a tour of the local churches though, nothing grand."

"So no future Lady Grantham title for Edith? She will be disappointed."

Mathew hesitated for a moment, confused by Mary's snide statement. "I doubt that. She- she seems to rather dislike me at the moment. Certainly doesn't desire my company enough to want me as a husband."

"I suppose not," Mary chimed airily. "Not as long as she has Evelyn Napier in sight."

"Napier?"

"Don't you know?" Mary asked. "Her suitor." The way she said the word suitor seemed as if it was difficult for her to force off her tongue. Although that might have just been how he heard it. For some reason, the word didn't ring right in Matthew's ear either.

"Suitor?"

"Yes, she has her eyes set on him, poor dear. Well, we shall see how it all turns out soon."

"We will?"

"Yes," Mary paused, before turning to him with a knowing smile. "Weren't you told? He is coming to Downton."