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“Give us one minute, Gerald,” Ambrose said, and the footman nodded obediently before disappearing.

“Helena, I am truly sorry,” he apologized, speaking tenderly as he went to her and put her hands upon her shoulders.

Helena frowned up at him, pushed his hands away and took a step back.

“This was a sign, brother. I told you I did not want to do this today. Send the others home.”

Ambrose’s apologetic expression dissolved into a frown. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Helena, please, not this again,” he pleaded curtly. “It is time. I am sorry, but it is time to find you a husband.”

“She is not denying that,” Barbara stated, stepping up to them. “She is simply saying today is not a good day, and I think perhaps she is right. If Lord Crawley is any indication of what today will bring, why risk it? It was awful from start to finish.”

“It will always be the wrong day for her,” Ambrose insisted, looking at Helena. “Will it not, little sister? There is no good day for this because you do not wish to be married.”

“I never said that!” Helena burst out, her rage breaking through the daze of heated memories. “Ineverstated that I was against marriage, brother, but I want time to make my own choices!”

“You have had three years of time to make your choices,” he boomed back. “You are aging out of the proper…”

“If you finish that sentence you will not be sleeping in our bed tonight, Ambrose,” Barbara warned, her tone as cold as ice.

Tension rose in Helena’s spine as she watched Barbara and Ambrose glower at one another. Barbara had been a spinster once, and happily so, until some unfortunate debts had affected her father. Now, she and Ambrose were united in marriage and madly in love, even if they sometimes argued like fire clashing with ice.

Normally Helena loved watching a good row occur between them, but not today. Not because of her.

“Enough of this,” she sighed, stepping between them. “I will do this. Come, bring Raventhorn in.”

“Absolutely right you will,” Ambrose stated, breaking his glare from Barbara only to turn it on Helena. “And one more thing,” he warned. “You will take this day seriously. If you do not, Helena, my next step will be to make your selection for you.”

Anger swept through Helena as she once again felt her brother’s will being foisted upon her, and she twisted her fingers behind her back in an effort to stay her tongue. If he was going to push her so mightily, it meant she was running out of time.

Many hours later, Helena sank wearily into her bathtub, her mind and body a mess of scattered nerves and constantly pinging thoughts. Ambrose’s threat had rattled her to her bones, and it was all she had heard in her mind for the rest of the day as she desperately did her best to find something intriguing or desirable in her suitors.

Ambrose had been right. Crawley’s visit had been a fluke. The other four had all been filled with the proper politeness and niceties required during such a call. Yet, despite that, none of them appealed to her. Not that some were not handsome. One had been particularly attractive, but she could not recall his name.

A knock at the door paused Helena’s thoughts, and her body tensed at the fear of another impending argument with Ambrose.

“Who is it?” she called.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, it is Agatha,” her handmaid answered softly from the other side.

Helena’s shoulders released their tension as she invited Agatha to enter.

“A rider just delivered this to the rear kitchen door, my lady,” Agatha explained, scurrying over. In her hands lay another small, red envelope.

A tremble passed over Helena and her heart skipped a beat. She sat up once more, quickly dried her hands and held them out for the letter.

“Thank you,” Agatha,” she said quickly. “That will be all.”

Agatha curtsied quickly and left without another word as Helena opened Morgan’s second letter. As before, a riddle was scrawled in artistic penmanship, the bold black letters igniting the deep red of the paper.

Persephone,

You first had two days,

But now you have none.

Knock twice on the gate,