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“Amanda Smith?” The woman in question shook her head. “No, I do not think that works. Terrible ring to it. I shall just remain unwed forever. The whole holy vows thing sounds much more convenient.”

The cockatoo suddenly squawked. “Bile yer head! Bile yer head!”

“Yes, yes, dear,” clucked Amelia, stroking the bird’s crest. “We shall boil our heads forthwith.”

Her sister must’ve seen Olivia’s expression, because she chuckled. “Cockatoos can live to be as old as humans. Hamish belonged to our grandfather, who gifted him to our father.”

“We never knew Grandfather, and we were both babes when The Accident took Father from us, but Hamish has taught us some of their colorful phrases,” Amelia added.

“Alistair, in particular. He might not use the naughty language, but I suspect he thinks in Hamishisms.”

Amelia shook her head. “Mother said he used to speak with a brogue much like Father’s. If he still spoke, she likely would have beaten it out of him as she did us.”

“Mother did not beat us, and I seriously doubt she could even reach Alistair’s shoulders to switch them.”

Ah, and now they’d finally dragged the conversation back to where Olivia wanted it: the Duke.

Alistair.

“I’ve never heard His Grace’s given name before,” She admitted.

“Well, if you are going to marry him, you will have to get used to using it; he winces whenever one of us calls him Your Gra—”

Amanda interrupted her sister. “You are going to marry him, are you not?”

With a sigh, Olivia sank down to the mattress. “I…do not know.”

“He asked you, did he not?” Amelia moved the bird to her lap. “Hiro told Mother, then we overheard her complaining to her maid.”

“About me?”

Amanda had the grace to look abashed. “She has been pushing him to marry, you see, but…”

“But apparently you are nothing more than a newspaper reporter?”

Amelia’s words might’ve been offensive, but her tone was anything but. She looked downright eager to hear about Olivia’s work.

“Actually, I’m a newspaper owner.” Olivia didn’t bother to hide the pride in her tone. “My father started The Daily Movement, and I’ve been struggling to keep it afloat since his death.”

“Condolences on your loss, et cetera,” Amelia blurted excitedly. “You run a newspaper? How delightfully eccentric!”

“No wonder Mother finds her unsuitable,” Amanda murmured from the corner of her mouth, as if Olivia couldn’t hear her. “It sounds a bit as if she is in trade.”

Olivia should’ve been offended but she found the pair a strange breath of fresh air, and she surprised herself by chuckling. “It’s exactly like trade! I work long hours”—sometimes at all hours—“for minimal return. I live in my office, I can barely pay my staff, I’m always ink-stained.” Her gaze dropped to her cracked nails, and she continued quietly, “But it’s a cause in which I believe, and I’m used to working hard.”

“Mother says you will have to give it up if you become a duchess.”

Amelia’s matter-of-fact tone knocked the breath from Olivia’s lungs, and her eyes opened wider at the possibility. “No. Your brother—he wouldn’t ask that. In fact, the only reason I’m considering marrying him is to get the funding I need for the paper!”

“Does he know that?”

“It was his idea!” Olivia all but wailed. “This—this…” She flapped her hands hopelessly, trying to encompass the whole idea of the marriage—or perhaps just the highly decorated pink blush ceiling? “This is supposed to just be a convenient solution to two different problems! I need money, he needs a bride!”

They both sounded a bit desperate, to tell the truth.

The sisters exchanged inscrutable looks.

“Well,” Amanda agreed doubtfully, “as long as you have confirmed that with him…”