Over a dessert that consisted of minuscule servings of rice pudding, she answered their many queries about Hadrian and his mother. Not wanting to fib too much, she strove to make them sound extremely elegant and toplofty, far out of the league of a provincial American. But her relatives only seemed to find those qualities natural and admirable in those of a ducal rank.

“I do wish you’d stop calling yourself rustic,” Doris said earnestly. “You’re as charming and lovely a lady as I’ve ever seen.”

“The duke would be fortunate to win your hand,” Giles avowed, looking half in love with her himself.

“I have no dowry,” Natalie said bluntly, in an attempt to bring them back down to earth. “He’ll wed a wealthy heiress, just as his father did in marrying the present duchess.”

“Clayton is one of the richest men in England, so he can afford to follow his heart,” Sir Basil said. His lips curved in a reminiscing smile. “Speaking of the present duchess, did you know that I courted her a long time ago, when she was plain Miss Millicent Jones? Alas, her papa was holding out for a fancier title than a mere baronet.”

“Actually, she did mention it—” Natalie stopped short upon seeing a shrewd interest light up her grandfather’s face.

“Did she, now?” He snapped his fingers. “By Jove, that puts me in a mind to call on Millie and renew our acquaintance. And there’s no time like the present. Yes, I do believe I shall accompany you back to Clayton House!”

Her plans in shambles, Natalie returned to the ducal mansion with Sir Basil. Her father had always said that his sire was a quixotic man, prone to impulsiveness and romanticism, and now she could see that side of him. He seemed a bit of a schemer, as well. Once he’d settled on the idea of visiting his old flame, there had been no dissuading him.

“Her Grace may be out,” she warned as they stood in the entrance hall, waiting for the footman to return. “Or perhaps she won’t want visitors.”

“Bah. I might be twenty years her senior, but Millie always did have a soft spot for me.” Sir Basil looked confident and dashing for an elderly man, his cane more a fashion statement than a necessity, as he craned his neck to view the splendor of the vast room. “Look at this place! Imagine yourself mistress of it all!”

She’d be a mistress, all right, if ever she succcumbed to temptation. Then an even more unsettling thought struck her. “Grandpapa, promise you won’t mortify me by hinting to her of a match with the duke.”

“My dear girl, I wasn’t born yesterday,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Such matters require finesse. You may be certain I shan’t ruin your chances.”

His words didn’t exactly reassure her. She fervently prayed that the duchess would be unavailable, but her hopes were dashed a few minutes later, when the footman came back to say that Her Grace would receive them. As they mounted the stairs, Natalie was half tempted to escape to the nursery. But she needed to be present in case it became necessary to avert disaster.