Edith, holding court for her sisters, Isobel and the Dowager Countess, is talking about the honeymoon -- a month in various locations in Italy -- and that she's looking forward to working on the house after that. Still as disapproving as Lord Grantham, if not as openly so, the Dowager Countess suggests Edith go to bed so as not to look tired the next day. "Tired means [a bride]'s anxious or been up to no good." Edith says she won't sleep a wink and Sybil asks if she means that night or the next, for which the Dowager Countess admonishes her: "Vulgarity is no substitute for wit." Sybil retorts that she started it and not to get all playground, but she's right!
Molesley finds O'Brien and pretty much begs her not to kill him, but the jury's out until he tells her he heard the news from Thomas. Clueless as ever, he goes on that he's sure it was an honest mistake, but while O'Brien disabuses him of that notion -- on both counts -- she absolves him of blame. Molesley moves to escape, but she isn't quite done: "And when you see [Thomas], you can tell him that I may make some 'honest mistakes' myself in the future." Molesley doesn't look like he understands her, but I'd wager he gives Thomas a wide berth for a while. Or at least starting after dinner, as it's that time and when everyone sits, O'Brien gives Thomas an absolutely chilling look, not that he's particularly intimidated by it. Alfred suggests that Daisy pull up a chair and join them, but Carson acidly tells him that Daisy eats with Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen and that's that. Alfred asks Daisy if she's up for a game of something later, but Mrs. Patmore declines on her behalf and Anna claims she's busy as well. Molesley then pipes up that he'll play, and Alfred doesn't even hesitate: "We'll see how we feel." I mean, poor guy, but Molesley doesn't make it easy.
If I thought this would come as a shock, I'd suggest you sit down, but you know her as well as I do so surely you won't be surprised to learn that Mary read Matthew's letter. She explains that she felt destroying a man's last words without reading them was wrong, and while I don't necessarily doubt her, it's hard to take her completely at face value when she has so much invested in the letter changing Matthew's mind. Of course, I'm not just talking about the money, but about getting him to shut up about FEELINGS, so whatever Mary's reasons, I'm on her side. (Again, I don't expect anyone to faint over that revelation.) Mary asks Matthew if he wants to know what the letter said; hilariously, when he says no, she takes it as a yes and tells him that for a start, Lavinia wrote to her father the day she died -- remember she took a sudden turn and went down very quickly -- and that it was after she'd talked with Matthew about calling off the wedding and he'd refused. Matthew can't believe A) she wrote, given that they didn't find a letter or B) that she would have said those things, but Mary produces the father's letter and quotes, "She loved and admired you for this sacrifice of your own happiness, and she commended you to my care." The letter goes on to say that this prompted the father to add Matthew to his list of heirs and while he expects one of the other two to outlive him, should the money come to Matthew, "know it is with my full knowledge of what transpired." It finishes in this vein and Matthew looks like he's being prodded with the fireplace poker the whole time; when Mary's finished, he wheels around and asks if perhaps she wrote it. He then withdraws that accusation, but thinks that someone forged it and as many times as I've said that he needs to get over himself, I will admit that the letter is awfully suspicious, given how it is precisely what Matthew would need to hear in order to keep the money. Then again, Lavinia's father must have met Matthew and if he were going to leave him an estate of this magnitude, it must have been small enough bother to write a "Just In Case the Boy Loses His Damn Fool Mind" letter to make sure it doesn't end up paying for some Manchester city expansion. But, jokes aside, we know Matthew saw Lavinia's father on his deathbed; it's not the sort of thing he might have mentioned?