Here Comes the Bride
Edith felt very proud while she watched her eldest daughter walking down the aisle with her father. Proud and happy.
Everything of this picture was perfectly right. At the proper place, so to say.
Although Maria wasn't Anthony's daughter by birth, there was no doubt that he was her father in all meaning of this word. He sang her lullabies, when she was a little girl, taught her to read and to ride her first pony. She had a place in his heart as close as her two siblings and their mother.
As proud as Edith was on this special day, she recognised the gloom of her husband's face knowing that he was close to burst with the pride he felt.
There had been, of course, the typical reluctance to give his daughter away. It had not worked well with Peter, the chosen one, in the beginning, but Maria was a typical Crawley in her stubbornness as well as her mother's daughter. The girl had convinced Anthony step-by-step and tenaciously that now was the right time to marry the man she loved – despite of her young age and despite the war going on.
The war. Edith felt sick, when she thought of it. Peter had to leave again in two weeks' time. Thank god, Edward, Edith's and Anthony's junior, was still too young to be called up. But what, if this war would go on for years? She very well remembered the last war in Europe. So many died.
Now her soon to be son-in-law stood in front of the altar wearing his uniform.
Edith focussed on Maria and Anthony again. They stopped next to Peter and slowly, still a bit reluctantly her husband put his daughter's hand on her fiancée's hand. Anthony kissed Maria's forehead and whispered his blessings to her.
If only my father could see him now, Edith thought. And granny. But the Earl of Grantham had died some years ago and so had done his mother.
Her husband turned away from the altar and took his place next to Edith. Carefully his hand reached for hers. She didn't know how much time still remained for them together, but their years as finally married couple would stay in her memory as the most happy and satisfying time in her life forever.
Edith remembered every single moment of her marriage – from their silly idea to go to Gretna Green, the moment she told him about Maria, the birth of Isabella and finally Edward to this wedding day.
"Maria Evelina Strallan," the vicar said. It weren't common first names for Yorkshire – and for Edith's taste a bit close to Mary - but born and baptised in Switzerland it were her daughter's names.
Only a few people knew that Edith was Maria's natural mother. Beside Anthony and Maria herself, aunt Rosamund did, of course. Soon after her wedding with Anthony Edith had told her mother Cora and her sister. The shock in their faces back then made Edith still smile. It had been close to the expressions when she returned as Lady Strallan from her holidays in Scotland.
From time to time, Edith had been tried to tell her father, but for Robert Crawley was the girl, who as he thought was adopted by Edith and Anthony, as much his granddaughter as little Sybil. He was a serious rival of her father to curry little Maria's favour. There never had been the need to hurt his feelings with the truth.
"Yes," answered Maria the vicar's question. It was a loud and clear yes. Without any doubt or hesitation the young woman stated that she wanted to belong to the young man next to her.
Anthony squeezed Edith's hand slightly, when the vicar finished the ceremony, and they both watched their daughter being kissed by her husband in front of the altar.
"I love you," whispered Anthony. His voice was nearly drown by the reinstating music, but Edith heard it lucidly.
"I love you, too," she replied.