Love Match by Maggie MacKeever

left, you see.”
    Amused, Elizabeth struck a discord. “Palaverer.”
    Nigel tilted his head to one side. “I must give you a nickname. Justin is so superior that I call him Saint. Magda is Mouse because she ain’t one. Augusta is Gus because it annoys her so. What shall I call you? Liz, Lizzie, Betty, Beth— No, simply Duchess, I think. It suits.”
    So little did the nickname suit her that Elizabeth chuckled. “Because I am not duchess-like, you mean.”
    Nigel returned her smile. “No, Duchess, because you’ve never been given a chance to be anything else. I’ll wager you don’t know what you’d like to be.”
    Other than not married? Elizabeth eyed her all-too-discerning seatmate. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think you just insulted me. That, or you’re bamming me again.”
    Nigel winced as Birdie took a strand of his hair in her strong beak and tugged. “Never shall I bam you, Duchess. My word on it. No, you shan’t snatch me bald, you wretched bird.”
    The duke paused in the doorway, his expression remote. His cool gaze flicked over Augusta, seated behind the teapot, and Magda on the chaise, then rested on Nigel.
    Elizabeth stared at her husband. He looked every inch the haughty aristocrat in his dark blue coat with flat blue buttons, the fawn pantaloons that displayed his muscular thighs. He appeared impossibly patrician, and impossible to please.
    What a muddle she’d made of matters. Accusing him of libertine propensities. Condemning him for his shocking conduct, when in truth he’d done nothing untoward. Or nearly nothing. The man was divorced. Still, there was no denying she’d pulled the wrong sow by the ear. Elizabeth lowered her gaze to the keyboard.
    What an awkward business this was, thought Justin. His wife couldn’t even bring herself to meet his eyes. How the devil could anyone think him capable of such domestic amusements as involved Magda and Gus? Both of whom were watching him, one set of eyes speculative, the other amused.
    Justin walked further into the room. “Hello, Nigel. I take it Lady Ysabelle has recovered?” Adroitly, he sidestepped the parrot, which was fascinated by the tassels on his Hessian boots.
    Nigel swooped up Birdie and deposited her atop a jasper urn. “I threatened her with Daffy’s Elixir. It’s one of Aunt Syb’s little pleasures to pretend to be on her deathbed and then make a remarkable recovery. There is clearly a malicious streak in the family.”
    If so, Nigel had not escaped it. Justin watched the parrot perched atop the urn. Birdie ruffled her feathers at him. “I hope you’ve come to remove that blasted bird.”
    “Not exactly.” Nigel brushed feathers off his jacket, then draped himself against the piano. “You know how it is that Lady Syb threatens to turn up her toes when she gets to feeling bored?”
    Justin knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming. “I am all suspense.” He wished Elizabeth would look at him instead of that damned keyboard.
    Nigel reached over the piano and played an arpeggio. “Aunt Syb dotes on you, Saint. So does Birdie. I would be green with envy if I was the jealous sort. Challenging you for alienation of affections. Pistols at dawn, that sort of thing.”
    “Fortunate for you that you’re not jealous. Since I’m the better shot.”
    There is that,” admitted Nigel, as he picked out a lively upside-down melody. “I told Aunt Syb about your sudden marriage. As well as about Mouse and Gus. Had to tell her, didn’t I? She was bound to find out, and then I’d have a peal rung over me for keeping her in the dark. Aunt Syb has decided that there’s nothing for it but that now she must also come to Bath. Like some knight in armor. Going to set us all to rights.”
    Nigel’s tone was gloomy. Justin raised an ironic brow. “Does Lady Ysabella plan to take up residence with me also?”
    Scowling, Nigel abandoned the pianoforte. “No, she plans to stay with me. And Aunt Syb is deuced particular. She