Page 15 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

T he next morning, Ariella goes into town to fetch Marta and let everyone else know that the position has been filled.

Selene remains at the house, waiting for their return.

She is eager to have someone to talk to.

Dorian is perpetually in his study, Ariella is busy running the house, Rookwood is forever in the kitchen and garden and Soren…

Well, she isn’t even sure she’s heard him speak since her arrival at Ebonrose, and he exists like a shadow. She has no idea how he spends his time.

She watches the village from the library windows, and, suddenly curious, locates a map of the area. Lower Thornmere isn’t small. How many tenants does Dorian have?

She’s still pondering the question when Rookwood comes in with a tea tray. He’s not using his cane today, possibly because he needs two hands for the tray. Selene realises too late she probably ought to have assisted him or even taken her tea downstairs.

“Thank you,” she says.

“’Tis no bother, my lady.”

Selene is reluctant to leave the map. “Rookwood,” she begins, before he can make it to the door, “how many people live in Lower Thornmere?”

“Three-hundred-and-sixty-eight,” he responds without a pause. “Hopefully add one more to that number before the month is out.”

“So many?”

He nods.

“And they’re all tenants of Dorian’s?”

He nods again.

“Forgive me,” Selene begins, not wanting to seem rude but struggling with how to phrase her question, “but how is Ebonrose in such a poor state of repair despite this number of tenants?”

He must be mismanaging it indeed for the house to look like this. Perhaps he’s made some bad investments. Maybe that’s why he spends so long in his study, she reasons, trying to work out how to make back the money.

“The rent Dorian charges is minimal,” Rookwood explains. “Just enough to cover the costs of maintaining the village.”

That sounds like Dorian—what little of him she knows—but it’s unheard of for a gentleman to let things fall into such a state. “But… what about the house?”

“There’s only four—five—of us, and we’re already living better than most other folk. What’s he going to spend money on? We don’t host parties—”

The thing is, they will have to host parties at some point.

Dorian may live on the outskirts of society, but for whatever reason, he hasn’t abandoned it entirely.

People may have made excuses for his lack of hospitality in the past, given the death of his father, but by taking a wife, he’s shown he’s ready.

Selene can’t be devoid of company forever. She wants to go to parties and balls and events. It occurs to her that Dorian doesn’t like these things, but that he isn’t foolish. He knows he’ll have to host now that he has a bride. Marrying her means giving up his solitude.

She wonders why he did it.

She thinks back to our tour of the village, how quick he was to help Thomas with the roof, and remembers her words to him back at her parents’ house:

I need your help.

Dorian can’t say no to someone who needs his help. She has married a good man, and for the first time, she feels guilty about it.

Rookwood leaves shortly afterwards. Selene is left alone with her tea. She sips it, tracing the roads on the map with her fingertips, following the paths that wind through Lower Thornmere.

Her gaze drifts from the map back to the window, to the faint outline of the village beyond. Dorian could have rebuilt his fortune if he had demanded more from his tenants. Instead, he let the house crumble around him. He chose to care for them instead.

A strange, restless ache stirs in her chest.

She’s startled by the sound of footsteps. Dorian stands at the threshold of the library, arms folded, watching her.

“You look deep in thought,” he remarks.

She hesitates, then gestures at the map. “I was thinking about the village.”

He steps inside, crossing the room, and glances down at the map. “What about it?”

“That you take better care of it than you do yourself. ”

His brow lifts slightly. “Is that a criticism or a compliment?”

“Both.” She tilts her head, studying him. “You must know that people will expect us to entertain, now.”

His lips quirk in something that isn’t quite amusement. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“I mind,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “but I knew what I was agreeing to when I married you.”

She hadn’t expected such honesty. It unnerves her, how easily he accepts what he does not want. How much of his life has been shaped by duty? By quiet sacrifices?

How much has yours?

Dorian leans down, palms braced against the edge of the desk, close enough that she catches the faint scent of ink and earth. Close enough that the air between them shifts.

She ought to retreat, but she doesn’t.

“You don’t have to make this harder on yourself,” she says softly.

His eyes darken. “Neither do you.”

Something in his voice unsettles her, something unreadable.

She realises then how little distance remains between them. The warmth of him lingers against her skin, a near touch, a promise unspoken. Her breath slows.

He does not move away.

Neither does she.

Not until the distant sound of hooves and cart wheels breaks the moment, shattering whatever had begun to form between them.

Dorian straightens first, stepping back as if nothing had passed between them at all. “Ariella must be back.”

Selene swallows, smoothing her skirts. “Yes.”

“Well,” he says, gesturing to the door, “shall we?”

Marta is very excited by her new position.

She and Dorian discuss her wages secretly, away from Selene’s ears.

She wouldn’t know what to offer her, anyway.

Marta has just one request: while typically lady’s maids live in the same house as their mistress, Marta would like to remain in the village overnight unless she’s needed.

Selene has no wish to take anyone from their family, so she readily agrees.

Dorian smiles as she’s taken off on a tour by Ariella. “She has a sweetheart in the village,” he explains. “Jon. Nice chap.”

He disappears shortly after divulging this, and Selene spends the rest of her day with Marta, acclimating her to the house, her gowns, and the demands of the job.

Marta swoons over Selene’s collection, and they have fun discussing every alteration that they could make for various different imagined scenarios, and Marta familirises herself with some of Selene’s favourite hairstyles.

“Feel free to experiment,” Selene tells her. “Cassie—my old maid—often did whatever she liked. I quite enjoyed that about her.”

Marta goes quiet for a moment. “I wonder, my lady—if you don’t mind my asking—why didn’t you bring her with you?”

Selene can understand her hesitance in asking. Marta likely doesn’t want to be accused of gossiping, but at the same time, she must be wanting to know that her new mistress is a fair employer, and hasn’t previously sacked a maid for some small infraction.

“I wanted to,” Selene admits, “but Cassie was in love with someone at my parents’ house, and I didn’t want to take that from her. ”

Marta’s face softens. “That was good of you, miss—my lady, I mean.”

Selene smiles, but she isn’t sure she deserves credit for it. She didn’t notice the first time she took Cassie from Elspeth, after all. The loneliness she’s felt these past few days without her beloved maid are a small penance.

Dorian would never have thought himself good for letting two people be together. He would have considered himself bad for stopping them.

“You’ve known Lord Nightbloom all your life, yes?” Selene asks, eager to change the topic.

Marta nods, curling a lock of Selene’s hair around her fingers and pinning it in place. “Aye, my lady.”

“What do you think of him?”

If Marta is surprised that Selene would ask such a question about her own husband, she doesn’t show it. “Lord Dorian is a good man, and a good master,” she says. “And generous to a fault. You should see the wages he’s giving me! That’s a fine husband you have, my lady.”

But he isn’t really my husband, she wants to say. She’s glad that Ariella, Rookwood and Soren understand the truth of the arrangement, but she finds herself ill-adapted for falsehoods. She hasn’t had to wear one like this before. It’s heavy in a way she didn’t expect.

The day wears on. Marta fetches her afternoon tea for her and plays with Mistress Stripe. There’s little to clean or mend, so the two women take a turn about the gardens.

Before long, night descends. Marta returns to the village, Selene eats another meal alone, and darkness swamps the house.

Roselune Abbey was never this quiet, never this dark.

Selene can’t work out if it’s peaceful or sinister.

She doesn’t think she enjoys the pitch-black state of the corridors, but the stars, at least, are beautiful .

Not for the first time, she finds herself unable to sleep.

Mistress Stripe is dozing softly on the pillow next to hers, but Selene is far from slumber.

Something about the night tends to summon the darkness inside you, and Selene’s mind keeps conjuring images of the day Ashvold invaded.

The shadows jump around her room like soldiers. Her belly clenches with pain.

She remembers how it bloomed with blood.

Deciding that she cannot toss and turn all night, she gets out of bed, slides into her slippers, and gathers her shawl. She’ll wander down to the kitchens and see if she can find something to drink. Cassie used to make her warm milk when she was struggling to sleep.

She lights a candle and heads downstairs, trying not to jump at shadows. The darkness swirls around her.

A thin thread of light enemates from Dorian’s study. At least she isn’t the only one still awake. She pauses at his door. She has no plans to disturb him, but it’s slightly ajar. Dorian is slumped against his desk, the candle burning beside him.

He’s fast asleep.