Lady Haviland, who still wore her own outer garments, was older than expected but there was nothing fragile about her. Her posture was rigid with anger as she turned a piercing perusal upon Madeline, her aura of disapproval unmistakable.
She did not rise or speak a word of greeting. Instead, with no effort at courtesy or even good manners, Lady Haviland demanded icily, “What is this I hear about my grandson marrying you yesterday, Miss Ellis?”
Taken aback by the noblewoman’s fierceness, Madeline inhaled a steadying breath and moved into the room. Evidently her ladyship had a spine of steel and a hauteur to match, but as Rayne’s elderly relation she deserved respect.
Before Madeline could even offer a polite introduction, however, Lady Haviland gave a shudder of revulsion. “My friend, Lady Perry, who lives very near here, wrote to warn me of your nuptials, but I could not credit such an outrage, despite the reliability of the source. Yet Bramsley says it is true.”
Madeline hesitated to reply while debating her approach. Usually with her crotchety former employer, humor served best to deflect wrath. But Lady Haviland was clearly in no mood to be diverted with humor.
“Yes, it is true,” Madeline said evenly. “I regret that you had to learn of our marriage secondhand, Lady Haviland. I suspected you might not be pleased.”
“Pleased? Indeed I am not! It is beyond appalling that Haviland would marry a penniless nobody without even informing me.”
“Perhaps that is why he waited to tell you—because he anticipated your response.”
“The lapse is unforgivable,” the lady declared savagely. “I was attending a house party near Brighton, but I came here posthaste the moment I heard. At my age, and with the poor condition of my heart, such grueling travel could very likely mean my death. And now I find my worst fears realized.”
Madeline was willing to make allowances for the dowager’s rudeness. It was only natural that she would be shocked, even horrified. And if she held her grandson in affection, she would want what was best for him. Certainly she would want to protect the family name and title. But Rayne had chosen a bride who contrasted starkly with the debutantes his grandmother had expected him to wed.
“Such a marriage is not to be borne,” the dowager insisted, her tone adamant. “You are nothing more than a lowbred servant.”
Madeline felt herself stiffen. “I beg to differ. I am a gentleman’s daughter.”
Lady Haviland sent her a scathing look. “Your father was a common soldier.”
“My father was an officer who served on the Duke of Wellington’s staff.”
“Pah, that is hardly a qualification to become a Countess of Haviland—the offspring of Army riffraff.”
At the spurious denigration, Madeline’s fingers curled reflexively into fists. She could have pointed out the sacrifices her heroic father had made for his country—living away from his family for years, coming home for brief furloughs before packing his gear and striding off to war again, facing perils that the Lady Havilands of the world could only imagine, giving his very life for his noble cause. But she suspected a defense of her father would do nothing to change the dowager’s low opinion of her.
“Your bloodlines are unsavory in other respects,” her ladyship continued in that same derisive tone. “Your mother was French.” She said the word as if it were dirty.
Having reached her limit of forbearance, Madeline responded with sugary sweetness. “Yes, my mother was French, Lady Haviland. But she could claim aristocratic ancestors on both sides of her family dating back before the Norman Conquest, when your ancestors were likely peasants tilling the fields.”
“Impertinent girl! You will keep a civil tongue in your head!”
Her tongue had been known to land her in trouble, Madeline reflected, but she struggled to bite it now in the face of the dowager’s fury. She did not want to alienate Rayne’s grandmother entirely.
Instead, she forced a pleasant smile. “Clearly you consider me unworthy to assume your title, Lady Haviland, but I was not born into penury or service, and your grandson deemed my bloodlines adequate enough for his purposes.”
The dowager subjected her to another searing inspection. “It is not only your bloodlines at issue. Look at you. You are practically dressed in rags.”
She wore a serviceable day gown that admittedly had seen better days, but Madeline remained silent, knowing she would lose any argument about her wardrobe.
“Even worse, you are a mere country rustic. Do you have any notion of the expectations of Haviland’s rank? The decorum required of his position in society?”
With effort, Madeline kept her reply calm. “Haviland himself does not seem bothered by my lack of decorum. If he has no objections, my lady, how can you?”
Rayne’s grandmother stood abruptly. “Obviously there is no point in continuing this discussion since you are set on thwarting me. But you should know that without my support, you will be utterly shunned in society.”
“That is severe punishment indeed,” Madeline murmured.
The dowager’s expression turned livid. “It is beyond me, what arts you used to ensnare a gentleman so far above your station, but you have obviously blinded Haviland to what he owes his family name. Have you no shame, girl?”
“I am hardly a girl anymore.”
“True. You are nothing but a spinster fortune hunter. Well, I have news for you, Miss Ellis. You will never see a penny of my fortune. My grandson was to inherit my vast holdings, but I intend to withhold every cent until he comes to his senses.”