It was also the beginning of something else. She wondered if her grandparents had arrived yet.
Hergrandparents.
She still felt partly numbed at the unfamiliar thought.
Today she was going to meet three people who were closely connected to her by blood after believing for eleven years that she was all alone in the world.
But they were strangers.
Would they even like her?
Would they hold it against her that she was the product of a marriage that ought never to have been?
But they were coming here, were they not?
Wouldshelikethem?
How would she even greet them?
“It looks,” Peter said, “as if the visitors have arrived.”
And sure enough, there was a large old carriage standing outside the stable block. Her heart sank.
“Afraid?” he asked, turning his head to look down at her.
“Very.” She drew her cloak more tightly about her.
“Is it not strange,” he said, “how life can plod along placidly for years and then, for no clear reason, can be suddenly filled with one turmoil after another? And it has happened for us both in differing ways—and began for both of us at the same moment, when we arrived together at the fork in a narrow lane in the quiet Somerset countryside one summer afternoon. Such a seemingly innocent encounter! And here we are as a result of it all, and you are facing an ordeal that has nothing really to do with me. May I come in with you?”
“Please do,” she said as he drew the curricle to a halt before the doors into the house and jumped down to assist her.
She thought as she entered the house a few moments later that perhaps she ought to have said no. Perhaps her grandparents would recognize the nameWhitleafas she had during the summer. But it was too late now. Besides, she could not bear to say good-bye to him and then have to go upstairs to the drawing room alone.
The newly arrived visitors were there and expecting her, the butler informed her as he took her cloak and bonnet from her and she fluffed up her curls and brushed her hands over her dress. He turned to lead the way.
She did not take Peter’s arm. If she did, she might cling. This was something she must do herself, even if shehadchosen to have him accompany her for moral support.
Lady Markham, Edith, Mr. Morley, Theodore—they were all in the drawing room, Susanna saw as soon as she had crossed the threshold. So were three strangers, all of whom got to their feet at sight of her. Theodore came striding toward her.
“Susanna,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing it before letting it go, “you must come and meet Colonel and Mrs. Osbourne and the Reverend Clapton, your grandparents.”
The lady was slender almost to the point of thinness, with white, carefully coiffed hair, a lined face, and a sweet mouth. The colonel was broad-chested and tall and very upright in bearing. He was bald and had a thick white mustache, which drooped past the corners of his mouth almost to his chin. He looked very distinguished. He looked like an older version of Susanna’s father. The clergyman was shorter and thinner. He had fine gray hair and eyeglasses and supported himself with a cane.
Hergrandparents,Susanna thought, gazing one at a time at the three strangers.
She dipped into a curtsy.
And then the lady came hurrying toward her, both hands outstretched, and Susanna set her own in them.
“Susanna,” the lady said. “Oh, my dear, I believe I would have known you anywhere. You look just like your mother, though surely you have something of the look of my son too. Oh, my dearest, dearest girl. Iknewyou were not dead. All these years I have said it, and now I know that I was right.”
Her chin wobbled and her eyes filled with tears.
“Please do not cry, ma’am,” Susanna said, hearing a gurgle in her own throat. “Please do not.”
“Grandmama,” the lady said. “Call me Grandmama. Please do.”
“Grandmama,” Susanna said.
