It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(83)

Marcus’s jaw hardened. All inclinations to break the news in a gentle fashion had vanished at the uncharitable reference to his nephew. Suddenly he took great satisfaction in the prospect of informing his mother that every single one of her grandchildren, including the future heir to the title, would be half American.

“I’m sure you will be pleased to learn that I have heeded your advice and finally chosen a bride,” he said smoothly. “Although I have not yet made a formal proposal to her, I have good reason to believe that she will accept when I do.”

The countess blinked in surprise, her composure faltering.

Livia stared at him with a wondering smile. There was a sudden wicked enjoyment in her eyes that inclined Marcus to think she had guessed at the identity of the unnamed bride. “How lovely,” she said. “Have you finally found someone who will tolerate you, Marcus?”

He grinned back at her. “It would seem so. Though I suspect it would behoove me to hasten the wedding plans before she comes to her senses and flees.”

“Nonsense,” the countess said sharply. “No woman would flee from the prospect of marrying the Earl of Westcliff. You possess the most ancient title in England. On the day you marry, you will bestow on your wife more peerage dignities than any uncrowned head on the face of the earth. Now, tell me whom you have decided on.”

“Miss Lillian Bowman.”

The countess made a disgusted sound. “Enough of this witless humor, Westcliff. Tell me the girl’s name.”

Livia fairly wriggled with delight. Beaming at Marcus, she leaned closer to her mother and said in a loud stage whisper, “I think he’s serious, Mother. It really is Miss Bowman.”

“It cannot be!” The countess looked aghast. One could practically see the capillaries bursting in her cheeks. “I demand that you renounce this piece of insanity, Westcliff, and come to your senses. I will not have that atrocious creature as my daughter-in-law!”

“But you will,” Marcus said inexorably.

“You could have your pick of any girl here or on the continent…girls of acceptable lineage and bearing…”

“Miss Bowman is the one I want.”

“She could never fit into the mold of a Marsden wife.”

“Then the mold will have to be broken.”

The countess laughed harshly, the sound so ugly that Livia clenched the arms of her chair to keep from clapping her hands over her ears. “What madness has possessed you? That Bowman girl is a mongrel! How can you think of burdening your children with a mother who will undermine our traditions, scorn our customs, and make a mockery of basic good manners? How could such a wife serve you? Good God, Westcliff!” Pausing, the enraged woman labored to catch her breath. Glancing from Marcus to Livia, she exploded, “What is the source of this family’s infernal obsession with Americans?”

“What an interesting question, Mother,” Livia said drolly. “For some reason none of your offspring can stand the thought of marrying one of their own kind. Why do you suppose that is, Marcus?”

“I suspect the answer would not be flattering to any of us,” came his sardonic reply.

“You have a responsibility to marry a girl of good blood,” the countess cried, her face twisting. “The only reasons for your existence are to further the family lineage and preserve the title and its resources for your heirs. And you have failed miserably so far.”

“Failed?” Livia interrupted, her eyes flashing. “Marcus has quadrupled the family fortune since Father died, not to mention improving the lives of every servant and tenant on this estate. He has sponsored humanitarian bills in Parliament and created employment for more than a hundred men at the locomotive works, and moreover he has been the kindest brother one could ever—”

“Livia,” Marcus murmured, “there is no need to defend me.”

“Yes, there is! After all you have done for everyone else, why shouldn’t you marry a girl of your own choosing—a spirited and perfectly lovely girl, I might add—without having to endure Mother’s silly speeches about the family lineage?”

The countess trained a vicious gaze on her youngest child. “You are ill-qualified to participate in any discussion of the family lineage, child, in light of the fact that you scarcely qualify as Marsden issue. Or must I remind you that you were the result of a single night’s dalliance with a visiting footman? The late earl had no choice but to accept you in lieu of being labeled a cuckold, but still—”

“Livia,” Marcus interrupted tersely, extending a hand to his sister, who had turned white. The news was far from a surprise to her, but the countess had never dared to voice it openly until now. Rising to her feet, Livia came to him at once, her eyes blazing in her pale face. Marcus curved a protective arm around her back and pulled her close as he murmured in her ear. “It’s best if you leave now. There are things that must be said—and I won’t have you caught in the crossfire.”

“It’s all right,” Livia said with only a slight tremor in her voice. “I don’t mind the things she says …She lost the power to hurt me long ago.”

“But I mind them on your behalf,” he replied gently. “Go find your husband, Livia, and let him comfort you, while I deal with the countess.”

Livia looked up at him then, her face much calmer. “I’ll go find him,” she said. “Though I don’t need comfort.”