Page 24 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
More like his sister than his cousin, then. No wonder they don’t usually bother with titles. It isn’t unusual for the occasional servant to be the bastard child of a lord or some member of his family, but it is rarely ever acknowledged.
Selene wonders how she would feel, knowing she had that sort of connection to any of the members of her household staff, and how they would feel towards her. Ariella’s life could have been very different if her grandparents had been allowed to marry.
Has she ever been jealous of Dorian?
Probably not, Selene reasons, as it looks like Ariella has always been treated as a member of the family. But she imagines her own servants would have felt very differently about scrubbing her floors while she sat around in silks.
“What of Soren and Rookwood?” Selene asks. “Are they also relatives?”
Ariella shakes her head. “Soren’s story is his own, and I won’t gossip about it, but he’s been here since he was a child. Rookwood would be happy enough to let you know that he’s been here since he was a teen. He grew up in a localorphanage, abandoned there as a newborn and missing part of his right leg. He found getting work tricky as he grew, but Lord Gideon heard he was good in the kitchen and hired him on the spot. He’s never looked back.”
Selene nods along. “And what of your mother?”
“Oh, she’s still around. She had me quite late in life, with a soldier who went off to war and died when I was young. She takes to widowhood very well. She’s fond of her solitude. She retired almost ten years ago and lives in a small house between here and the village. She comes for dinner every week and lets us know everything we’re doing wrong.”
Despite herself, Selene laughs. “I look forward to meeting her.”
They continue with the rest of the tour, moving through the east wing. The furniture is covered in sheets, and the once-vibrant tapestries now hang in muted colours, their beauty dulled by time. In one of the parlours, the sunlight catches the edges of a tarnished chandelier, and in another room, cracked porcelain figurines sit atop dusty mantels.
However, as they make their way to the back of the house, the atmosphere shifts. The garden stretches out before them, and Selene stops to take in the sight. The flower beds are tangled with overgrown vines, but even through the wildness, the potential is clear. Buds of roses, irises, and lilies stand poised on the cusp of blooming.
She wonders if Dorian would allow her to take charge of it, to transform the neglected beauty into something vibrant again. The thought makes her heart quicken with possibility. She hopes Dorian will see the potential in the garden as she does. After all, it mirrors the house in many ways—old, worn, but full of untapped potential, waiting for someone to bring it to life.
Selene doesn’t see Dorian for the rest of the day. He retreated to his study after their breakfast, the door closing behind him with a finality that lets everyone know he is not to be disturbed. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s a visitor here, unsure of how much she can claim for herself.
With nothing else to occupy her mind, she wanders through the house alone, meandering through quiet corridors. It’s easy to get lost among the dim, carpeted halls and shelves piled high with books and forgotten things. She traces the contours of the furniture, runs her fingers over the edges of portraits and chandeliers, as if she could learn their history from touch alone.
Her curiosity leads her outside into the sprawling gardens. The day is warm, the sunhazy, and she sets off to chart every inch of it. There are stables tucked away behind a grove of trees, and follies scattered throughout the land—delicate, crumbling structures where nature has begun to reclaim what was once carefully constructed. She passes ponds brimming with fish that swirl lazily beneath the surface, their movements gentle and undisturbed by the passing of time. Statues, many chipped or cracked, stand sentry throughout the gardens, their original grandeur hidden beneath the patina of years.
As she wanders, she finds herself drawn to the highest point of the land, a knoll that overlooks the village below. The view is vast, the village clustered beneath the rolling hills, but as her gaze sweeps across the fields, she feels a shiver of nervousness. There’s something daunting about the distance between her and the world she’s left behind, and the thought of venturing further feels too much for the moment.
Instead, she turns back toward the house. Lunch is waiting for her on the terrace, laid out simply but beautifully. There’s a crisp green salad, the lettuce tender and fresh, paired with thinly sliced cured meats and a soft cheese that melts in her mouth. A loaf of warm bread, crusty on the outside and soft within, is served with rich butter that tastes of cream and sunshine. The meal is simple, but there’s no denying its excellence—the flavors perfectly balanced, the portions just enough to satisfy without overwhelming.
“This is most excellent, Rookwood,” she tells him.
Rookwood is pruning the hedges nearby. “I thank you, My Lady.”
She gestures to the hedges. “Are you a gardener, too?”
Rookwood laughs. “I do my best to keep this area tidy,” he tells her. “But I find standing for long periods a bit tricky on this leg.” He knocks below his knee. It gives off a hollow, wooden sound.
“Does it hurt?” she asks him.
He shrugs, as if that’s neither here nor there. “I hear you enjoy a nice garden?” he says, changing the subject.
“I do.”
“Then we’ll have to see about getting someone in to fix a little more of this space.”
Selene smiles. She appreciates the gesture. She should not be unused to kindness—the servants of the Duke’s estate were wonderful towards her, for the most part—but there is something different in the way Rookwood and Ariella speak. They may be utterly perplexed as to her presence here, but they are doing more than their jobs.
For some reason, it makes her want to cry.
She returns to wandering the gardens after lunch, but it doesn’t hold the same lightness as before. She cannot seem to find a parlour that’s in use, so she collects some books from the library and takes them to her room. It’s the only place she feels she can inhabit freely.
Reading is difficult. The words don’t seem to latch in her mind. She has no letters to write, no parties to arrange, no friends to visit. No one will call on her here.
Dorian doesn’t arrive for dinner, either. She is wondering if he might be avoiding her, or perhaps this is to be their life together. He didn’t want a wife, after all.
