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.”

“Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head.

Surprised by the show of affection, Livia chuckled a little and stepped back from him.

“What are you whispering about?” the countess demanded testily.

Marcus ignored her as he walked his sister to the door, and closed it quietly behind her. When he turned to face the countess, his face was grim. “The circumstances of Livia’s birth do not reflect on her character,” he said. “They reflect on yours. I don’t give a damn if you chose to dally with a footman or even if you bore his issue …but I mind very much that you should shame Livia for it. She’s lived beneath the shadow of your wrongdoing for her entire life, and paid dearly for your past indulgences.”

“I will not apologize for my needs,” the countess snapped. “In the absence of your father’s affections, I had to take my pleasures where I found them.”

“And you let Livia take the brunt of the blame.” His mouth twisted. “Though I saw the way she was maltreated and neglected as a child, I could do nothing to protect her at the time. But now I can. There will be no further mention of this subject to her. Ever. Do you understand?”

Despite the quiet timbre of his voice, his volcanic fury must have communicated itself to her, for she did not protest or argue. She only swallowed hard and nodded.

A full minute passed as both of them marshaled their emotions into order. The countess was the first to launch an offensive. “Westcliff,” she said in a controlled manner, “has it occurred to you that your father would have despised that Bowman girl and everything she represents?”