Word Count 435
He watched her the entire evening as she politely greeted each of his grandfather’s many guests. Delia’s origins were fairly modest but that made no difference whatsoever to Scott. Dressed in a stunning gown of lilac colored silk, she was as poised, witty and elegant as any Boston debutant could ever hope to be. Delia was currently conversing with one of his grandfather’s most valued and wealthy business partners, and the elderly man was quite obviously enchanted by her. Scott caught her eye and gave her a smile. Her nod back was just the slightest lift of her chin accompanied by quick wink, never skipping a beat when someone she didn’t know joined her and her companion.
This trip to Boston was part honeymoon and partly so that Harlan Garrett could meet his new granddaughter-in-law. He’d originally planned to travel to Lancer for the wedding but had begged off at the last minute, claiming illness. Scott had been suspicious of the excuse but a discreet word with the head housekeeper as well with his grandfather’s doctor had confirmed the veracity of the story.
“A pretty little thing,” a voice murmured near Scott. “And she carries herself well… for a schoolteacher from Connecticut.” The blond looked at his grandfather sharply.
“She is my wife, Grandfather, and the future mother of my children. You would do well to remember that.” There. Let him chew on that for awhile.
“And what of her family?” Harlan inquired, his meaning clear to his grandson.
“Gone. There is nothing there for you to judge her by,” Scott said simply, causing the older man to raise one bushy white eyebrow.
“A business is strengthened by the ties it makes,” Harlan reminded him.
“But this is not a business merger, it’s a marriage. I am your grandson, not a commodity,” Scott replied, voice respectful but firm. Implacable. “Something else that you would do well to remember.” He had married as his heart dictated. In this, there would be no compromise. Not when it came to his personal happiness.
Watching his grandfather’s brow crinkle in sullen dissatisfaction, he felt a sense of achievement when there was no response. Feeling as if he had won this round, Scott excused himself and went to join his wife who stood at the center of a group of laughing, chattering guests.
“Quite right, my boy.” Scott never saw the rueful smile that quirked the corners of Harlan’s mouth or the love and pride in the old man’s eyes as he watched his grandson slip his arm around his wife’s waist and kiss her temple. All Scott saw was Delia. “Quite right.”
To The Sweater
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