I watched my husband's face carefully as he entered the drawing room. His eyebrows lifted slightly when he spotted the elderly woman seated across from me.
"Alaric," I said, rising to my feet, "I'd like you to meet someone very important."
His sharp gaze assessed the situation instantly - my slightly red-rimmed eyes, the elderly woman's aristocratic posture, the family resemblance between us that he surely noticed immediately. Yet his expression remained perfectly composed as he approached.
"Lady Wilma Cromwell," I continued, my voice steadier than I expected, "my maternal grandmother."
To my relief, Alaric's face softened into a genuine smile. He took my grandmother's hand and bowed over it with perfect courtesy.
"Lady Cromwell, what an unexpected pleasure. I see where my wife gets her lovely eyes."
Wilma blushed like a young girl. "Your Grace, the pleasure is mine. I've waited many years to meet the man who captured my granddaughter's heart."
