Godwin gave a stiff nod, then led the way up the staircase. Hadrian followed with Miss Fanshawe and Leo, who clutched his toy ship like a talisman. Though he kept close to his guardian’s skirts, the boy gawked at the old shields on the walls as if he’d never seen anything quite so fascinating.

Hadrian took that as a good sign. Leo soon would come to know the colorful history of this house and eventually to appreciate his noble ancestry. Providing, of course, Godwin could be convinced to forget his damned pride and acknowledge his daughter’s son.

Upstairs, they went along a dim corridor, through an arched doorway, and into a drawing room that was decorated in rich shades of green and gold. A crackling blaze in the fireplace made the room decidedly warmer than the rest of the house. At the entry of the newcomers, the two people sitting by the hearth rose to their feet. Hadrian strode ahead of Miss Fanshawe to greet Lord Godwin’s wife, Priscilla.

Always fashionable even in the country, Lady Godwin wore a gown of saffron lutestring, with cream braiding beneath her generous bosom. Her salt-and-pepper hair was elegantly styled to enhance her swanlike neck.

She came forward with a smile and curtsied to him. “Your Grace, we’re delighted you’ve arrived at last. Ellen in particular was sorely disappointed that you missed dinner yesterday evening. She went upstairs for a moment, but should be back down shortly.”

For a second his mind went blank. Why would his much younger second cousin mind his absence? Then he remembered with chagrin the entire purpose of this visit. To assess Lady Ellen’s suitability as a bride.

How had he become so distracted he’d forgotten that?

He gave the countess’s cheek the obligatory peck. “The sleet made the roads impassable, I’m afraid. I was forced to take shelter along the way.”

A young man with wheat-gold hair strolled forward to shake his hand. His tailored blue coat bore the look of Weston, though with that wiry build he undoubtedly required padding in the shoulders. Richard, Viscount Wymark, was heir to the earldom and Godwin’s only son. At twenty, he’d already acquired a reputation in London as a gamester.

“I see you’ve brought visitors to liven up this dull party, Clayton. And just who might they be?”

Wymark flicked only the merest glance at Leo. A smile lifting one corner of his mouth, he fixed his gaze on Miss Fanshawe in a covetous manner that made Hadrian’s blood boil.

Hadrian strove to alleviate the untimely spurt of anger. It was unlike him to allow emotion to cloud his judgment. Better he should get straight to the issue at hand.

“Lady Godwin, Lord Wymark, this is Miss Fanshawe, who was stranded at the same inn as I was. By chance, I discovered she was on her way here to Oak Knoll to bring tidings of grave interest to this household.”

Lord Godwin’s nostrils flared. Though he said nothing, he shot a piercing stare at Leo. Was he searching for a family resemblance?