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As Rocky trotted off with the be-floored carrot clutched between a thumb and forefinger, Olivia turned back to Amelia. “Where did Alistair go?”

“He did not tell you?” Amelia looked almost pitying. “He went to Scotland.”

“Scotland?” parroted Olivia, eyes wide.

“Effinghell is in Scotland, but we rarely visit,” Amanda explained. “Alistair prefers London—he says he can get more work done here for the greater good, whatever that means—and Mother insisted she raised us to be English ladies.”

“So he went to his estate.” For how long? Had her shameful actions last night chased him away indefinitely?

Amanda was shaking her head. “I do not think so, no. He was just there a few weeks ago, remember?”

When Olivia’s brows drew in with confusion, Amelia tsked.

“She was not here then, Amanda.” Amelia carefully replaced her fork—she had delicate, refined manners when she wasn’t flinging root vegetables about—and schooled her expression as one about to tell a story. “Almost a month ago, Alistair—and Mother—received an urgent telegram that Uncle Ian—he is Mother’s brother—had been shot.”

“Shot?” Olivia gasped, forgetting her own woes for a moment. Who needed a parrot, or cockatoo, with her repeating everything back? “How?”

“Alistair did not explain,” Amanda admitted with a shrug, “and Mother was too distraught.”

“Like now,” Amelia agreed. “She took to her bed last night and has complained of a headache ever since.”

And just like that, Olivia’s woes returned.

“Do not remind her of The Embarrassment,” Amanda hissed. “This dinner was supposed to be a distraction.”

“I am not reminding her!” her sister hissed right back, rolling her eyes and leaning forward. “You are reminding her. I am merely explaining why Mother is not joining us.”

“As if she could not guess that on her own,” Amanda huffed. “She likely knows Mother nearly had apoplexy at the fact Hiro interrupted dinner and escorted everyone out the front door. Can you imagine how embarrassed she must be?”

Were they talking about Olivia or their mother? Olivia cleared her throat and sat forward to catch their eyes. “I am well aware how incredibly foolish I was last night, and I can completely understand if your mother never wants to see me again.”

Or their brother.

But both sister’s expressions melted into identical smiles of comfort.

“Do not worry, dear,” Amanda began, as her sister finished, “Mother is not wroth at you, she holds Alistair responsible.”

Alistair, who wasn’t there. Ah, well, that might be a partial explanation. Olivia forced a smile. “Did he go back to Scotland to check on your uncle?”

“Yes, indeed!” Amelia happily picked up her fork once more to attack her carrots. “Uncle Ian is recovering nicely and invited Alistair back to Peasgoode—that is where he lives, with the Duke of Peasgoode, you know—for the wedding.”

“Uncle Ian’s wedding?” Olivia asked in confusion.

But Amanda waved a knife at her. “Do not be silly! Uncle Ian will never marry, not formally. It is the Duke’s cousin or somebody. He will become the next Duke, and the marriage is terribly romantic. I assume.”

Olivia raised a brow. “I thought you don’t want to marry?”

“I do not,” sniffed Amanda, returning to her chicken. “I will be taking holy vows. Have you accepted Buddha into your life?”

“Oh, you are practicing Buddhism this week?” her sister asked, as Olivia said, “I don’t think Buddha is a savior, as such.”

Amanda answered her sister with a matter-of-fact, “Not practicing. I am really quite good at it.”

“You are eating chicken,” Amelia pointed out baldly. “I thought Buddhists did not eat meat.”

“Buddhists do not allow killing animals,” her sister corrected, brandishing a piece of meat on her fork. “I did not kill this chicken.”

“You are a shite Buddhist.”