Love Match Read Online Free Page A

cage. Head tilted to one side, Birdie was studying her through one and then the other gold-rimmed eye. “What you mean is that my bride is too green to know chalk from cheese,” he said softly. “That bird is incapable of liking anyone.”
    Elizabeth glanced up at him. “She is so pretty. May we keep her, Your Grace? Maman does not approve of birds. She says they are dirty and make too much noise. I have always longed to know a bird.”
    Nigel beamed. “And here’s your opportunity. I am heaven-sent.” Then his eyes widened and his smile faded. “Mouse!”
    This pronouncement caused a remarkable reaction. The footman blanched, the duke swore under his breath, and Thornaby so far forgot himself as to clutch his master’s sleeve.
    Nigel strode swiftly toward the front door. “I’d love to stay, truly I would, but Aunt Syb awaits! Anything you’ll need for Birdie’s comfort may be found in that chest, Saint. I shan’t forget I’m in your debt.”
    What a fuss to make over a wee mouse! Not that Elizabeth had ever met a mouse, or any other rodent, due to Maman’s fiercely held dislike. But shouldn’t people be jumping about and flapping things, instead of standing as if transformed to stone? She winced at she raised from her crouch. And then she stood shock still herself.
    No rodent occupied the staircase, but a voluptuous female some thirty years of age, a stunning creature with a porcelain complexion, short curly black hair, and heavy-lidded emerald eyes. Her Empire gown of floss-trimmed gauze left not an inch of her lush person to the imagination. Her hands were clasped to her bosom. Around her slender neck hung a cameo. Pale green slippers adorned her dainty feet.
    Dramatically the woman paused, as if savoring the moment. Then she flung open her arms. “Eh bien, mySaint! Your Magda has come home.”
     

Chapter 3
     
    “Obedience is the indispensable virtue in a good wife.” —Lady Ratchett
     
    “A pattern-card of propriety, am I?” muttered Elizabeth, as she paced the bedroom floor. “A paragon of all the virtues? Well brought-up young woman, quiet demeanor, lack of artifice, and an utter bore?” She kicked at a tapestry footstool that had been so ill-advised as to place itself in her pathway.
    The room was hung with puckered green satin that matched the damask draperies, and furnished somewhat overwhelmingly with a tallboy and writing desk, dressing table with an oval glass, upholstered chairs with overstuffed seats, satinwood-veneered wardrobe, and a great mahogany bed with delicately carved posts. Candles blazed on the mantelpiece, and a fire burned in the hearth. This was the duchess’s bedchamber, which connected with the duke’s by way of his lordship’s dressing room. Currently, the dressing room door was closed.
    Elizabeth tossed her reticule on the carpet. She might well have stomped on it had not her abigail entered the room, followed by servants carrying hot water in cans and a large hip bath.
    Apparently St. Clair had decided that his duchess was to bathe. That, or the entire household already knew of the countless times she’d caused the carriage to pause along the road. Elizabeth felt half-sick with mortification. Her abigail snatched up the discarded reticule and removed it from harm’s way.
    The servants departed, leaving Elizabeth alone with her servant, who helped her out of the carriage dress and petticoat, unhooked her corset. She sighed with relief. “Thank you, Daphne. Perhaps you might find me something to eat.”
    The abigail curtsied. “Yes, Your Grace.”
    The door closed behind her. Elizabeth untied her garters, stripped off her knitted silk stockings, pulled off her chemise, rebelliously set aside her wedding ring, and stepped naked into the tub. Maman would not approve of such immodesty, but Maman wasn’t there.
    Elizabeth sank up to her chin in the blissfully warm water. She might have been grateful to her husband for his thoughtfulness—if it was his