Page 6 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

S elene shuts her bedroom door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tries to catch her breath, her mind reeling. Everything feels surreal, like the remnants of a feverish dream.

Yesterday, she was married to the Duke. Yesterday, a war was breaking out. Yesterday, she was dying.

Her hand moves to her midsection, half expecting it to bloom with blood, to wrench her back to that moment. But it doesn’t come.

You’re not dead, she reminds herself . You’re not hurt. You’re not dying.

But she was. Yesterday, she died. And before that… she was dying long before the Duke killed her. He might not have wielded the pistol that took her life, but he snuffed it out nonetheless, little by little, chink by chink.

Now Dorian Nightbloom is here to rescue her from that fate, and she isn’t sure if she feels relieved or terrified. How in the world does he intend to conjure a licence for a marriage that doesn’t exist?

A thrill of panic rises in her chest. It’s an awful, terrible idea. It’s never going to work. And if it does, she will be cast out of polite society.

Then again, there are other ways to be ruined.

She needs to prepare. If Dorian is serious about spiriting her away, she won’t question his methods—not tonight, at least.

Anything is better than the Duke.

The door opens, and Selene nearly falls through it, suppressing an unladylike squeak as Cassie appears. The maid’s expression shifts to alarm as she takes in Selene’s face, her brows furrowing with worry.

“I have just heard the most outrageous rumour,” Cassie begins.

“Would it happen to be that I’ve secretly been married to Lord Nightbloom for three months?”

“You’ve heard it?”

“I was there when Lord Nightbloom uttered it to my father.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” Cassie manages, barely able to get the words out.

“Would you believe me if I said it was true?”

Cassie shakes her head. “No, because you took me with you to the Fortesque Ball, and there is no chance you managed to sneak away to the Nightbloom estate, get married, and return in that time. It’s impossible, and even if it weren’t, I would have seen you send letters.

I would have heard you talk about him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention Lord Nightbloom.

For weeks, all you’ve spoken about is the Duke—”

Selene cringes at the memory, hating the girl she was and the affection she held for the person she thought he was.

She wants to scream, I didn’t know. How could I have known?

People always seem to blame the woman for a bad marriage. If he beats her, she shouldn’t have made him angry. If he’s cruel to her, she deserved it. If he lied to her, tricked her into a marriage… well, she should have known better, shouldn’t she?

But as stupid as Selene feels, she can’t help but think that deception is worse than naivety. She is not to blame for what the Duke did to her. He is.

The memories surge forward regardless, unbidden and vivid. All the days spent with Cassie, her mother, or her friends, revelling in the Duke’s attentions, giggling over his piercing blue eyes, his dark hair, his fine form. She had sung his praises with the fervour of an opera singer.

He’s so tall and handsome, so generous, so gentlemanly. What an excellent hunter he is, how fine a dancer.

No, he was nothing but a liar, and she was more than a fool.

“My lady? Are you quite all right?”

Here lies another problem with Dorian’s lie. Yes, it saved her from speaking to the Duke herself and from her parents forcing another match. But there are too many holes in his story. Cassie alone could unravel it, and if her parents offer enough money, Cassie might do so without hesitation.

Selene wants to believe Cassie is loyal.

Never once has the girl ever acted outside her best interests, even at Blackthorn House and Nocturne Hall.

But loyalty, Selene knows, can often be swayed by the right amount of coin.

At least, she assumes so—she has never bribed anyone before.

Should she offer Cassie something for her silence ?

She bites her lip, uncertain how to proceed. Cassie probably suspects that Dorian is blackmailing her. The truth is out of the question, but perhaps she can offer some version of it.

Sighing, she takes Cassie’s hands and guides her towards the bed, sitting down beside her. It strikes Selene how long it has been since she last took Cassie’s hands in hers. They are rougher than she remembers, so different from her own.

“Cassie,” Selene begins, her voice low and solemn, mirroring Dorian’s tone from the garden.

“I can’t tell you the full truth, but I don’t want to lie to you, either.

I’ve learned something terrible about the Duke.

I can’t say what it is, but I cannot marry him—for other people’s sake as well as my own.

Lord Nightbloom is helping to keep me safe. ”

Cassie’s brow furrows. “Is he forcing you to—”

“No, no,” Selene interrupts. “If anything, I’m forcing him. I promise, Lord Nightbloom has nothing to do with this except getting me out of it. He wasn’t the one to tell me about the Duke. That, I discovered on my own.”

“And you’re certain this information is trustworthy?”

Selene hesitates only a moment before nodding, a hundred moments racing through her. Cruel comments and crueler actions. Tight grips on her arms. Empty spaces in her room where treasured belongings used to be. Cold rooms, colder beds.

His smile when Ashvold invaded.

“I am,” she says firmly.

Cassie studies her, her expression unreadable. After a pause, she says, “All right. What do you need me to do?”

Relief floods Selene, and for a moment, she wants to embrace her. One doesn’t usually embrace their maids. Selene isn’t sure she cares so much for propriety any more.

“I need you to pack my trunks,” Selene replies, trying to maintain an air of composure, as if running away to marry a man she barely knows is a perfectly reasonable decision. “And… bring Mistress Stripe, please. I’m taking her with me.”

Cassie nods. “And… me?” she asks. “Am I coming with you? Or will you send for me when you’re settled—”

Selene hesitates. The truth is, she hasn’t factored Cassie into her plans at all, nor has she asked Dorian to expect another person.

Traditionally, a lady’s maid always accompanies her mistress when she marries.

They are often the only constant in a new and unfamiliar household.

But this isn’t a traditional marriage—she’s running away. That complicates everything.

She wants to take Cassie with her. Selene isn’t sure how she would have survived her first marriage without her maid’s presence. And though she suspects Dorian is different from the Duke, she doesn’t truly know him yet. She would be friendless in his estate.

It ought to be an easy decision. And perhaps it would be—if Selene hadn’t learned, only a week ago, that Cassie is hopelessly in love with Elspeth, one of the maids at Roselune Abbey.

The revelation had come during the darkest days, when the Duke had virtually imprisoned them in Nocturne Hall, forbidding anyone from leaving. Guards had swarmed the estate—not Ashvold soldiers, not yet—but their questions had gone unanswered, and a sense of dread had settled over them.

One night, both of them had cried themselves to sleep.

“I wish Elspeth were here,” Cassie had whispered in the dark. And then the whole story had come tumbling out.

In all their years together, Cassie had never spoken of love.

It wasn’t proper for a servant to mention such personal matters.

Selene had been struck by the strange realisation that she knew so little about the girl who had been her constant companion since childhood, even though Cassie knew everything about her.

Now, as Selene stands on the precipice of a new life, she realises she hasn’t spared a single thought for Cassie today—or for Elspeth.

But she spares a thought for them now.

Selene isn’t the only one who deserves a second chance.

“No,” she says softly. “You should stay here. With Elspeth.”

Cassie’s cheeks flame. “Elspeth!” she exclaims, practically gasping. “Why would you even bring her up—”

“I’ve noticed that the two of you—”

“How? Who has said something—”

“No one,” Selene assures her. “I just… have a feeling.”

Cassie screws up her face, her expression sceptical. She has every right to doubt Selene’s claim. Selene is hardly the most observant person. She hadn’t had the slightest inkling before that night.

Cassie turns away from Selene and moves to the wardrobe.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Selene teases.

“So’s a broken clock,” Cassie replies, avoiding her gaze, “at least twice a day.”

She confirms nothing, but she doesn’t seem the least bit upset about being told to stay. She pulls out Selene’s trunks and begins to pack, folding dresses with care, murmuring about which ones might fare best for travel and which might suit a future filled with uncertainty.

“Take the gowns you know you’ll wear,” Cassie advises, folding the emerald silk dress with a sigh. “The simpler ones, I mean. Not so many with the beading or embroidery—you’ll likely not have the opportunity to replace them if they’re damaged.”

The gravity of leaving behind the lavish life Selene once took for granted hits her.

She reaches for one of her finer gowns, a sweeping midnight-blue piece adorned with glass beads, then hesitates.

Cassie is right. She has no idea what awaits her.

Dorian’s estate isn’t known for opulence; there will be no courtly balls to attend, no grand occasions.

Instead, she needs gowns she can move in, ones that won’t raise too many eyebrows among Dorian’s modest neighbours.

Cassie holds up a dress Selene has long avoided—a practical, high-collared gown in deep burgundy. “This one is sturdy and warm. And if you’ll be needing to manage a household…?”