Page 18 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

T he next morning, Dorian finds her at breakfast, and promptly announces he’s going away for a few days. Selene tries to contain her disappointment. They are not doing well at making time for each other so far.

“How long will you be away?” she asks him.

“Three or four days, a week at most, hopefully less.”

“I see.”

“I’ll be leaving Soren behind, should you need anything.”

“What?” says Soren, emerging from behind a pillar.

Dorian gives him a curt look, and he scowls and runs off. Selene can’t imagine what protection Soren will offer her that she won’t get from one of the other servants, but she decides not to pry.

Dorian leaves shortly after. She’s left alone with the newspaper and not much else.

She doesn’t often read the paper—the Duke would, and he’d tell her what he thought she ought to know—but she thumbs through it now, remembering headlines and snippets of news.

Weddings are announced that she remembers attending.

One of them will have a baby by the end of the year.

Obituaries for people long dead. Opportunities for investments, reports on what’s going on in Ashvold…

She reads the entire thing cover to cover.

Nothing has changed but her.

She ponders again over the newspaper, tracing the date that should never have been printed twice—and wasn’t, and yet is.

She knows about things that haven’t happened yet.

Mostly courtly affairs, true, and nothing of real value, but perhaps there is some good she can do with that knowledge if she thinks hard enough.

If Dorian went back in time, what would he do with that knowledge?

He’d ensure the villagers were well prepared for storms. He’d know the best time for harvests. He’d stop accidents from occuring, mistakes from being made.

But Dorian would have taken notice of these things the first time. Selene can’t think of anything that needs to be avoided apart from Ashvold’s invasion, and she’s done all she can there.

At least, she hopes she has.

She thumbs through every story in the paper, hoping for a spark of recognition , and, finally, she finds something. Calls for investors on a merchant ship called the Dawnspire. Selene remembers the name because it’s a pretty one.

She remembers it sinking.

She doubts that there’s anything she can do to prevent that. Anyone with the power to affect such a change is never going to listen to her. She does remember that a few of the Duke’s friends invested and lost some princely sums.

She recalls that one was very smug. He’d taken his chances with a small vessel, The Estella, which made a hefty profit due to the sinking of the other ship.

It’s a good investment, if someone needs to make money.

The ship’s departure isn’t far off. She’ll need to act quickly if she’s to invest in it. Dorian hasn’t given her an allowance yet, but that doesn’t matter. She brought her jewellery with her. She can sell something.

Thinking quickly for what feels like the first time in her life, Selene marches back to her bedroom and selects a piece to pawn.

It takes her a little longer than she’d like to admit to select the piece she’s least fond of, even though she hopes to buy it back.

Eventually, she settles on a simple sapphire ring, and marches down to the kitchens.

Rookwood is already peeling potatoes for dinner, and Soren is assisting him. Ariella is nowhere to be seen.

“Rookwood, I was wondering if you could pawn a piece of jewellery for me,” Selene says swiftly, before her courage can wane.

Rookwood places down his knife, frowning. “Dorian will give you whatever you need if you just wait for his return—”

Selene bites her lip. She has no doubt that—somehow—Dorian will find the money, but he’s already done so much for her, and time is of the essence.

“This is time-sensitive,” she insists. “Please?”

Rookwood looks uncomfortable, but Soren shrugs. “Let her sell off her useless baubles if she wants, Rook. I’ll do it.”

Selene is reluctant to hand it over, now. She doubts that Soren will get a fair price for it, but she also doesn’t want to show her mistrust. “A-all right,” she says, disliking the waver in her voice .

Soren snatches it up without much care and storms out of the kitchen.

“Have I done something to offend him?” Selene asks.

Rookwood goes back to peeling his potatoes. “He’s used to things being a certain way,” is all he says. “He’ll warm up to you eventually, my lady.”

Selene hopes so. She isn’t used to being openly disliked. At the same time, she thinks she’d prefer someone be upfront about it than dislike her in the way the Duke had.

It is an awful thing, realising how someone you cared for secretly despises you, or was at least indifferent. But he must have hated her to do what he did.

She makes her excuses and returns to her room.

It’s a gloomy day, and there’s little to do, so she finally writes back to her friends.

She isn’t sure what to tell them about the Duke—she doesn’t even want to think about him—so she avoids him altogether.

She sticks to the story that Dorian concocted, about reconnecting with him at his father’s funeral, and a secret friendship that blossomed into something more.

I will admit, she writes, again and again in numerous ways, I was embarrassed when I realised the extent of my feelings for him.

He is, as you say, poor and plain, and has little standing at court.

But if only you knew how kind and generous he was, how sweet he can be.

If you did, it would be very easy to fall for Dorian Nightbloom.

The lies come easily this time.

Soren, as expected, does not fetch as much for the ring as she hoped, but this seldom matters. With the money in hand, she arranges to be taken to see a solicitor in Upper Thornmere, who invests the money on her behalf. He counsels against it, of course, but Selene refuses to be swayed.

She’s worried, of course, that it’s not a sure thing. Perhaps her not marrying the Duke has already sent things in another direction. No way to know, of course. She will just have to wait.

She’s careful to keep a little money back, just in case. She can always try making another investment.

She stops at a temple on her way back and prays to Aurelis for guidance. She prays to the other goddess too, whoever she may be. Help me do something good this time, however small.

“It’s a waste of time to pray to the gods,” Soren informs her.

It’s a waste of time to open your mouth, thinks Selene, biting back a retort. Soren will never learn to like her if she snaps at him.

“Tea, I think,” she says instead. “What’s your preference, Soren? I noticed at dinner the other day you seemed to have a fondness for apple tart.”

Soren glares at her as if her observation about him enjoying apple tart is grounds for murder.

She makes sure to pick a tea shop that sells it, and orders a large piece.

She pushes it towards him and tries to take it back when he pouts like an angry child before wordlessly snatching it back and devouring the thing like it’s the first food he’s had in months.

He doesn’t say another word to her. She wishes he would.

She’s trying to place his accent. It isn’t lilting and warm like the locals of Thornmere.

It actually sounds a lot like Dorian’s, but in the way an ice sculpture resembles a wooden carving—all the details and none of the warmth.

It’s almost like he’s learned to speak by copying his master…

even though Selene knows that Dorian isn’t his master, not really .

He still follows his lead, though. He still does what he’s told. But Selene doesn’t think it’s because he’s paid to.

It’s very curious.

The investment made, they return to Ebonrose and have dinner with Ariella and Rookwood. It’s a lot more fun than the past few lonely dinners she’s been forced to endure, and food is infinitely better with company. Rookwood has prepared roasted pheasant with blackberry sauce.

“A favourite of Dorian’s,” he explains, as Selene digs in.

“We should have saved it for his return,” Soren mutters.

Rookwood shrugs. “It wouldn’t have kept. Besides, I can always make another.”

Selene tucks this information away. “What else does Dorian like?”

“Nature,” Ariella offers. “Horses. Most animals he’s fond of, but horses are a favourite.”

“Books, obviously,” Rookwood adds. “He also prefers coffee over tea, when we can get it—not that he’ll say anything, of course.”

The two of them offer up a few more tidbits, though Soren remains silent.

“What about you two?” Selene asks, for it’s a good way to get to know them.

“Rookwood likes cooking, obviously, ” Ariella tells her.

“Ariella likes my cooking too, though she’ll never say anything.”

Ariella kicks him in the wooden leg. He pretends to be in pain. “I tell you all the time, wretched man,” she says. “You’re as bad as my mother.”

“I’m as excellent as your mother, and well you know it.”

Ariella sighs. “Rookwood likes cooking, gardening, card games, and—most of all—testing my patience.”

“Ariella likes insulting me and wearing fine dresses when no one is around. ”

“I do not— actually, yes, I do, that’s fair.”

Soren does not offer anything about himself, and Selene doesn’t ask.

“And you, my lady?” Ariella asks. “What are some things you like?”

Selene stands baffled for a moment. She knows that there are lots of things she likes, but she can’t remember the last time anyone asked. For years—and certainly in the last year that no one remembers but her—she’s been a fountain of other people’s wants and needs and desires.

“You don’t like that,” the Duke would tell her constantly. “You prefer this. This is what you need. That doesn’t suit you. This does.”

Her mind pales at the memories.

Ariella and Rookwood are staring at her. She’s been quiet for far too long.

“Well, Rookwood’s cooking, obviously,” she says.

“Obviously,” they both agree.