Page 21 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
No one is coming.
Confused and still a little foggy with sleep, she wraps a shawl around herself and begins to pace. Just as she decides to venture out in search of anyone who might help, a knock sounds at the door, and Dorian appears, slightly out of breath, as if he has rushed to find her.
“Good morning,” he says, looking briefly to the ground before meeting her gaze.
“Good morning,” she replies, clutching her shawl more tightly. She has only ever been in a state of undress around one man before, and while Dorian is legally her husband, that doesn’t make the situation any less awkward. It might even make it more so. He is entitled to see her, but she doesn’t want his gaze.
“I… I wasn’t certain what to do,” she continues. “There was no one…”
A flicker of something crosses his face. “Yes, of course. My apologies. We don’t… we don’t have the staff to bring breakfast up to rooms,” he says, almost sheepishly. “We tend to have breakfast in the drawing room downstairs.”
We?Who else lives here, except for Dorian and his servants? He surely doesn’t mean they all eat together, does he?It wouldn’t be proper for a lord to dine with his servants outside of childhood.
She doesn’t say any of this, of course. Partly because she doesn’t want to be wrong, and partly because she can’t think of a way to phrase her question in a manner that wouldn’t insult him. If Dorian does eat with his servants, it would be rude of her to criticise him.
Still, it’s an unusual arrangement. “I understand. I’ll come down in just a moment,” she says.
He hesitates, glancing at her attire, and a slight blush colours his cheeks. “As you are, if you’d like,” he offers gently. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony here.”
It’s quite customary for breakfast to be eaten in one’s nightgown, but that usually occurs in one’s bedroom. She doesn’t think she has ever been outside of her room in her nightclothes since she was a child.
“What curious customs you have here, Lord Nightbloom,” she remarks.
“If you aren’t comfortable—”
What she is, is hungry and impatient and very keen to eat as soon as possible. She smiles at him and strides toward the door, reminding herself that her nightclothes cover everything a dress would. It makes her feel a little less self-conscious as they stroll toward the dining room.
It is a very pleasant morning, so breakfast for two is laid out on the terrace instead. Strange as it is to be outside in a nightgown, it is actually rather pleasant. A faint, warm breeze ruffles her clothes, turning the world soft.
Dorian pulls back her chair for her and sits down. Mr Rookwood and Mrs Everfrost serve them before retreating into the house, staying within easy distance. Soren is nowhere to be seen, but the two older staff members keep an eye on them from the window.
It is completely customary for staff to wait around as they eat in case they need anything, but there is something in their covert smiles that makes it difficult for her to relax.
“Why do they keep looking at us?” she asks Dorian.
“I think they’re trying to work out why exactly I, er…”
“Married me?”
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Quite.”
“What did you tell them yesterday?”
“A version of the truth. That you were an old school friend of mine and in need of a husband. They wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told them it was a whirlwind romance.”
“I see.”
“I hope that was all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
They lapse into silence again. Mrs Everfrost hurries out with a fresh pot of tea. “This is a strawberry and raspberry tea,” she says. “I hope you find it to your liking.”
Selene confesses she’s never tried fruit tea before but accepts the cup Mrs Everfrost pours. Dorian pushes the honey toward her. “I recall you have a sweet tooth,” he murmurs.
She is shocked that Dorian remembers anything about her from their school days, but perhaps she shouldn’t be. She still remembers he was good at fencing, was quiet, and liked to read.
She remembers that, even though he was good at fencing, he never fought back when the other nobles teased him—when they made unkind remarks about his appearance, his father, or his social standing.
