Page 14 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

T he letters arrive in earnest the next day.

Soren brings them to the breakfast table after Dorian departs, slamming them down on a silver platter in front of her.

Selene tries not to think anything of it; he is just not used to waiting on anyone.

His relationship with Dorian is very different from master and servant.

The boy is young and doesn’t yet know how to behave.

She tries not to think about how Dorian always races through each meal time, like sustenance is an inconvenience and he’s glad to be done with it. She hopes it isn’t her who keeps him from lingering. There’s no need for him to eat with her if he doesn’t want to.

Perhaps she should let him know that, but he’s barely around long enough for her to speak to .

At least this morning, she has her letters, although, for the first time, she’s dreading the contents. Selene lived for letters before. She lived for the news of her friends’ lives, for court gossip, for idle talk of balls and parties.

She doubts that any of the letters in front of her will contain such things.

She reads them anyway.

The first is from Cecily Ashdown. The two have been friends since finishing school. She doesn’t know Dorian, but she knows of him.

My Dearest Selene,

What on Haverland’s great green fields has possessed you to elope with Dorian Nightbloom?

You cannot mean the very same Nightbloom who practically vanished from society, with no fortune, and hardly a trace of a respectable family left!

And to choose him over the Duke! I don’t understand.

You had every opportunity for the most secure, illustrious future—everything you’ve ever wanted.

Surely, there must be a reason? Something to explain this choice?

I trust you deeply, Selene, but this news baffles me. Write to me as soon as you can and tell me everything. I want to understand .

Yours in shock,

Cecily

The second is from Isabel Grenville.

Dear Selene,

I nearly dropped my tea reading the announcement.

Selene Nightbloom, really? Why on earth would you not return to Duke Drakefell’s proposal, when everyone knows how steadfast he’s been in his devotion?

The idea of you with Dorian Nightbloom—well, frankly, it seems a jest in poor taste! Whatever possessed you?

I know you’d never do anything rash, and yet I can scarcely believe this news. Have you lost your senses? Or is there something about the Duke that I don’t know?

Forever bewildered,

Isabel

Ophelia Fairmont’s came next.

Dearest Selene,

I do not know whether to be furious or laugh myself silly!

Dorian Nightbloom of all people! No dowry, no fortune—and that reputation!

Oh, and let’s not forget, he’s hardly the Duke.

Selene, how could you be so impractical?

We all know that love is rarely in these matters, but surely there was some advantage to be gained?

Yet here you are, throwing it all to the wind! Are you certain you know what you’re doing? I demand a full explanation. I hope there is some reasonable explanation for this shocking turn of events.

Your forever loyal (and forever perplexed) friend,

Ophelia

Selene reads through half a dozen more before setting them aside.

She knew her friends would be confused, but she didn’t expect…

this. Not a single one asked after her, inquired about details of her married life, made any inquiry about her wellbeing at all.

Isabel was the one to ask if there was a reason that the Duke was no longer a good option, but Selene imagines her question is more to do with the desire for courtly gossip.

Then again, how would she react if the positions were reversed? A week ago, if any of them had run off with Dorian Nightbloom out of the blue, she would surely have the same questions. She likes to think she would have been more empathetic, but would she?

If she believed they were in love, she might have been.

Or perhaps she would have been envious.

She finds herself once more sorting through her feelings for the Duke.

Had she really loved him once? Perhaps she had loved the person she thought he was, but that wasn’t the same.

Her heartbreak had been a slow thing, a death by poison.

Had he even really broken her heart, or had she not even had one left by the end of it?

She hugs her arms, feeling cold. Her gaze falls to another letter. She recognises the handwriting, but she can’t believe it’s there.

Her grandmother.

Selene never thought she’d read her letters again. It still seems preposterous that she’s alive. She’s almost afraid to read it, like it will be the end of her dream.

With a slow, careful breath, Selene unfolds the letter. The ink is darker than she remembers, the strokes of her grandmother’s pen as elegant and precise as ever.

My dear Selene,

Well. I must say, I did not expect to read your name in the newspapers in such a fashion, and certainly not attached to a scandal of your own making.

But what a delightful thing it is to be surprised!

The Duskbriars are long overdue for a bit of upheaval.

I cannot say I know much about your new husband, but if he has managed to unseat the Duke as your preferred suitor, I suspect he must be far more interesting than society gives him credit for.

I never much cared for the Duke anyway .

I can imagine your friends are having quite a fit.

And your mother—oh, I do hope she did not faint too dramatically.

If she did, I trust you stepped over her and continued on your way.

As for myself, I shall be keeping an ear to the ground for news.

I expect a proper letter soon, my dear. None of this silence—I’ve been patient enough.

Tell me what on earth you are up to, and whether you are at least having a bit of fun in the process.

With great affection,

Granny

Selene breathes out, realising only then how tightly she had been gripping the edges of the paper. She reads it again, and then a third time, allowing the words to settle in her chest like warmth on a winter morning.

No lectures. No scolding. Not even a whisper of disappointment—just curiosity, wry amusement, and an almost impossible thing: approval.

A small, incredulous smile touches her lips. She had not expected to smile today.

Her fingers hover over the letter, tracing the signature. Granny.

Selene realises—far too late now, of course—that her grandmother would likely have protected her from the Duke if only Selene could have got to her. She would not have had the same level of protection that her marriage to Dorian offers, but she’d have more freedom, more opportunity.

Of course, the Duke likely would have found her, and she doesn’t relish that thought.

It’s too late now, either way. Selene has to make peace with the path she’s chosen. She just really, really hopes that she gets to see her grandmother again. There’s no avoiding her death forever, but they have a little bit more time together.

A knock on the door rouses her from her thoughts. Ariella appears. “You’ve got a visitor from the village,” she says. “A Marta Napesmith inquiring about your job as lady’s maid.”

“Oh!” Selene stands abruptly. She isn’t yet dressed for company—which is, of course, the reason she needs a maid in the first place. Ariella helps her into a dress and fashions her hair into a simple bun. There isn’t time to do anything more.

“Where is she now?” Selene asks.

“I’ve shown her into the morning room,” Ariella replies. “She seems eager enough, though a bit nervous.”

Selene nods and straightens her shoulders. “Best not to keep her waiting, then.”

The morning room has been tidied since yesterday, its long-neglected furnishings dusted and the windows opened to let in the crisp morning air.

Seated stiffly on the edge of a chair is a girl in her late teens, her dark brown hair plaited and woven into a lovely bun.

She’s dressed simply but neatly, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

At Selene’s entrance, she stands quickly, smoothing her apron.

“My lady,” she says, dipping into a small curtsy. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” Selene replies, gesturing for her to sit. “You’re from the village? ”

“Yes, my lady,” Marta says. “Born and raised in Lower Thornmere. My mother is a laundress, and my father was the village blacksmith before he passed.”

Selene takes a seat opposite her, studying her carefully. She seems steady, practical. Not timid, but not overbold. “And you’ve worked as a lady’s maid before?”

“Not as a personal maid, my lady, no. But I’ve worked in service since I was twelve.

Mostly as a housemaid at the mayor’s residence.

” She hesitates, then adds, “I learn quickly, and I’m good with a needle.

I can style hair, mend clothes, and keep a household in order. I’d be grateful for the opportunity.”

A practical answer. No embellishments, no false humility.

Selene finds that she likes her, but she has been wrong before about who to trust, and she doesn’t want to take the first person who offers.

She quizzes Marta instead, asking her about her past experience, how she’d handle certain situations that Cassie had handled with ease, and finally asks her if she did her own hair.

Marta offers to demonstrate, if that isn’t too bold.

“Do you like cats?” Selene asks, as Marta pins her hair in place.

“Cats, my lady?”

“Yes, I have one.”

“I love cats!” Marta exclaims, dropping a pin in her excitement.

The interview lasts almost an hour. By the time they’re done, another two women have arrived. Selene interviews four throughout the day, and is still reviewing her choices by dinner time.

Sally has experience as a lady’s maid, but she admits her sewing is not the best. Delia is highly skilled at embroidery, but she’s a little shy.

Poppy has excellent references, but she isn’t sure about travelling with Selene if she ever returns to town.

Marta doesn’t have experience as a lady’s maid, but Selene is very taken with her hair styling.

Dorian finds her still reviewing her options when he ventures out of his room for dinner.

“I hear you’ve been interviewing lady’s maids today,” he says.

Selene nearly jumps out of her skin. She’d quite forgotten that mealtimes didn’t have to be a solitary affair. “Ah—yes!” she says, dropping her papers.

“Have you decided who you’re going to employ?”

“I’m still deciding,” she says, and talks him through the women she’s met and their various skills and drawbacks. “Do you know any of them?”

“I know them all,” he says.

“And?”

“They are all lovely young women who will serve you well.”

Selene pouts. “Well, that was absolutely no help at all.”

Dorian snorts at her displeasure, not unkindly. She likes the way his dimples crinkle when he does that. “You want my advice?”

“Yes, please.”

“Marta,” he says.

Selene is happy to have his backing. “She’s who I was leaning towards, too.”

Dorian’s smile deepens. “I’m glad to hear it.”