Love Match by Maggie MacKeever Page A

doesn’t like parrots at the breakfast table, ma chère.”
    Elizabeth pulled out a chair. “A pity. I do.”
    Augusta looked at the duchess and her parrot, and bit down on her lip. When the pain let up, she said, “Magda exaggerates. Truly, I don’t mind.”
    Justin could remain no longer at the table, lest he do something he would later regret, such as tumble his bride back among the china and throw up her skirts. He pushed back his chair. Magda’s bright eyes twinkled knowingly, “You are leaving us, Saint ?”
    The duke recalled that he disliked his former wife’s sense of humor. “You will excuse me. I have business to attend.”
    “Mon Dieu!” Magda looked astonished. “What can be so important as to interrupt your honeymoon?”
    “It is quite all right, Magda.” Elizabeth dumped a great deal of sugar into her teacup. “No one can expect St. Clair to dangle after his wife like a lovesick swain. Certainly I do not.”
    Nor would she expect her husband to empty the sugar bowl over her head. “How magnanimous. Tell me, would you like a party, Elizabeth?” the duke inquired.
    She raised startled eyes to his. “No,” she said.
    Justin bared his teeth. “Then a party you shall have. Gus will arrange the business with Mrs. Papplewick. But remember, cousin, that there will be no bloody cards!” He stalked out of the room. That had not been well done of him. In the hallway outside, he paused.
    “Don’t disturb yourself,”soothed Magda. “Saint was installed by his guardians with a strong sense of propriety at an early age.”
    “That hardly explains why he married you!” said Augusta, around a mouthful of oatmeal. “However, it is true that Justin is a man of many responsibilities.”
    “You should know, chérie, since you are one of them. As I was saying, it would not occur to Saint that a honeymoon might interfere with his routine.”
    Elizabeth inquired, “Did it interfere with yours?”
    “Magda didn’t have a honeymoon,” volunteered Augusta. “They eloped to Gretna Green.”
    “Damnation!” said the duchess.
    “Biscuit!” Birdie croaked.
    “Assez! We shall go shopping,” interjected Magda. “I saw the prettiest hat one can imagine, and would like to visit it again. Also, I require to taste a cheese. Never fear, Elizabeth. We shall not allow you to become bored.”
    “You will find us better company than Saint, at any rate,” Gus added. “The older he gets, the more ill-tempered he becomes.”
    The duke recalled the old adage that eavesdroppers heard no good of themselves. It was, in this case, true. His cousin made him sound like an ancient crabbed geezer teetering on the brink of the grave. He called for his hat and gloves, and left the house.
    The air was chill, the sky overcast. The gray day perfectly suited Justin’s mood. A brisk ride in the hills did little to improve his frame of mind, nor an encounter at the White Hart Inn in Stall Street with his man of business, who had brought an armful of papers for him to peruse and sign. Papers that could well have waited, had it occurred to Justin that meeting withhis man of business in anyway slighted his bride.
    Elizabeth had given not the least indication that she desired his company. Rather the opposite. The duke wondered if he was indeed a coxcomb, instead of the worldly gentleman he had believed himself. A man of the world was hardly likely to be yearning after his own wife. Or to contemplate throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to some dark cave.
    He could not kiss her, or converse with her, or toss her on the breakfast table. What did she want of him? And how the deuce had he managed to marry the one damsel in the kingdom who showed no inclination of falling at his feet?
    Elizabeth sprawled at his feet was an intriguing vision. Justin sighed and took himself off, not to take the waters—among the various ailments the waters were said to cure was, alas, not unsatisfied desires of the flesh—but to visit