Unbeknownst to Edith, Mary and Henry have been in touch with Bertie. It started with a letter Mary sent the morning she and Henry decided to marry.

Dear Bertie,

I am respecting your expressed desire to continue to be addressed without your new title, and hope that our familiarity allows me to do so.

As you already know I can be rather blunt, I will come right to it: I apologize for my behaviour while you visited the Abbey. It was not my place to interfere with your relationship with Edith, nor with her right to tell you in her own way, when she felt the time and place was right. I will not make excuses because if I were to write them out, it would be obvious how shallow and petty I was.

Please believe me when I say that I have no doubt that she would have told you. What you may not realize is why she hadn't. I can assure you, it was not that she was trying to hide something from you. Yes, she has schemed in the past-but I am the only one who has ever been her target, and then deservedly so.

We have never had a close enough bond for her to confide in me, but I have known her all her life and feel I can relate with some confidence my thoughts on the matter. I believe your love and initial proposal surprised her. She has been so unlucky in love that she believes she is not worthy of it. That insecurity added to the truth about Marigold, made her doubt that she would ever have a happy future with anyone, let alone someone as good for her as you.

And then, your inheritance deepened her fears, of losing you, losing yet another true love. Now you could have your choice of lovely ladies who would jump at the chance to become a marchioness. She held back in telling you then because she did not want to hold you back from having a wife who would be more worthy of you, of the grand title you now carry. I hope you see that it was only her selfless love for you that made her hesitate.

With sincere regrets,

Mary Crawley

Bertie's reply came several weeks later, after his return from overseas.

Dear Mary,

I will admit that when I saw the return address on your letter, I nearly tossed it unopened. Good manners and curiosity got the better of me, and I am glad for it.

The words in your letter surprised me, frankly. I have witnessed more self-confidence in Edith than in most women. It is one of the traits that drew me in and made me fall for her. Thus, my first thought was disappointment that she would doubt my love for her.

But then I realized the irony of my own reactions. When the time came to face her past and faults, I let her down. I did exactly as you said she feared. I do not believe she intended a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I am saddened that because of you and I, it came to fruition.

I accept your apology, because I believe you to be sincere. I also offer congratulations to you and Henry on your nuptials, and wish you the happiest future together.

Sincerely,

Bertie Pelham

Henry was the one who sent the next letter immediately thereafter. He knew that Bertie loved Edith and that the feeling was mutual. And Henry was still in the newly-married-happy stage that he wished the same for everyone. He admitted to Mary that he wanted to see what kind of reaction he could get from Bertie. There were some thoughts he felt were better coming from him. Mary smiled and warned him against being too manipulative. Henry kissed her and said she could have the next round.

Dear Bertie,

Mary told me about her initial letter to you, and showed me your return letter to her. Thank you for your good wishes. Marriage is truly more magical than I ever anticipated.

Since our return, I have gotten to know Edith a little more. She is a dear soul, as evidenced by the fact that she has forgiven Mary for her dreadful act before your trip to Tangiers. Yes, Mary told me about it before we married, and yes, I was horrified. But I believe the Crawley sisters have both learned a lesson about the dangers of concealment.

In any case, I think I agree with Mary about Edith-you know all of her strengths and appealing characteristics, but there is a sadness to her as well. It is almost as if she is resigned to a certain unhappiness. Tom thinks it stems from having been in Mary's shadow her whole life. I do not know about that, but especially now that she is my sister, I want her to be happy in her own right. I hope that one day someone will love her for the woman she is. It is a shame, really, because I believe you and she loved each other that way.

I hope we will be able to stay in touch. I will be in London every now and again, so perhaps we can connect there.

Sincerely,

Henry Talbot

Bertie's response confirmed Henry's suspicions.

Dear Henry,

I am not sure how to respond to your letter, but will try my best. Of course I loved Edith for the woman she is. If truth be told, I still love her and think of her constantly. If she is moping around Downton with a sad face, then I must be her mirror at Brancaster.

I will admit that the thought of her finding someone else makes me depressed and insanely jealous. But I must learn to live with it; I doubt she would agree to meet with me even for coffee. She may have forgiven her sister, but I fear I have hurt her too much for her ever to forgive me.

Under such circumstances, I do not think it wise for us to remain in regular contact. It would only remind me of Edith and what I gave up.

Respectfully,

Bertie Pelham

Henry handed the letter to Mary, declaring, "Your turn, dear. We know the players, now you must find a way for them to get back in the game."