As she walked toward the house, the young footman darted ahead of her. Startled, she said, “James, it isn’t necessary to come inside with me.”

“I’m to announce you, miss, that’s all. Her Grace would insist upon it.”

Natalie held her tongue. The British aristocracy had many archaic rules, but now was not the time to make a fuss over protocol. For all she knew her grandfather was a stickler, and she didn’t wish to commit a faux pas. Not when she desperately needed to persuade him to give her and Leo shelter.

When the servant knocked, the curtain twitched at the front window and she glimpsed a pale feminine face framed by a mass of dark hair. The door was opened a moment later by a mobcapped older woman with careworn features.

“Miss Fanshawe to see Sir Basil Fanshawe,” the footman intoned.

The maidservant looked past him to pin Natalie with an inquisitive stare. “So, ye’re the one from America! Come in, come in! The master’s been waitin’ on pins and needles ever since yer note arrived.”

The footman returned to the carriage, while Natalie stepped into a foyer barely large enough to hold a single chair, a framed print of a landscape, and a narrow staircase. She removed her bonnet and cloak, which the servant hung on a wall hook. Just then, an adolescent girl in rose muslin rushed out of a nearby doorway. Her bright hazel eyes and upswept curly black hair identified her as the one who’d been peeking out the window.

“I’ll take her to Grandpapa, Mrs. Beasley.” She linked arms with Natalie and towed her down a cramped passageway. “Hullo, I’m your cousin Doris. I’m sixteen, and Grandpapa says I’m now the lady of the house. Oh, I adore your gown, that gold silk is so very stylish. Do you know, my brother has the very same green eyes as you?”

Amused by the disconnected chatter, Natalie had not a moment to get a word in edgewise before they entered a small parlor, where two men awaited them. “She’s here!” Doris announced. “Our long-lost cousin Natalie!”

An elderly man with a full head of white hair stood by the unlit hearth. Tall and distinguished, Sir Basil looked dapper in a slate-gray coat and dark trousers. A smile lit his lined features as he walked forward with the aid of a silver-topped cane. “My dear child! What a delightful surprise to receive your note! Why, I never thought to meet you in person.”

Natalie found herself enfolded in a bear hug tinged with the scent of pipe tobacco. After a brief hesitation, she hugged him back, moved by the sentimental emotion that flooded her bosom. Growing up, she’d only had her father, and an occasional letter from these distant relations in England. Her grandfather had not quite seemed real to her until this moment.

Drawing back, he looked her up and down, his green eyes misty. “Ah, a true Fanshawe, you’ve the look of your papa. Now, here’s your cousin Giles.”