Page 27 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
They continue their walk down the road, the quiet hum of the village surrounding them. As they approach another corner of the village, Dorian gestures toward a small, well-kept cottage with a neat garden of vegetables and flowers spilling over the edges.
“That’s Greta’s house,” he says. “She’s the village seamstress. She can help with your clothes, if you need anything altered.”
Selene nods, already making a mental note to visit later. Her thoughts drift back to the warmth of the inn, the quiet friendliness of the villagers, and the unexpected sense of belonging she’s starting to feel. For the first time in days, she feels a sense of peace settle over her.
“So, what’s next?” she asks, turning her attention back to Dorian.
“There’s the mill up ahead,” he says, pointing. “And after that, we’ll head down to the old temple. It’s a little worn down, but it’s a beautiful place to see.”
They make their way back to the cart, and Dorian helps her up, his hand steadying on the small of her back. He climbs up quickly before his touch lingers too much, and clicks the horses into action.
But before they get far, an old man steps out of a small cottage by the roadside, leaning heavily on a crooked walking stick. He waves them over.
“Ah, Dorian,” the man calls out, his voice gravelly with years. “Might you give me a hand with my roof? It’s been leaking something fierce.”
Selene is surprised when Dorian pulls the reins of the cart to a halt, and even more when he slides off and makes his way over to the old man. He can’t possibly be thinking of helping to patch the roof himself, can he? Her father would have considered himself generous for arranging to foot the bill.
“You’re still dealing with that, Thomas?” Dorian asks, as he unclips his cufflinks. “Let’s see what I can do.”
Selene is sure she’s misunderstanding the situation, but Dorian has already rolled up his sleeves and discarded his jacket. He places his cufflinks beside her on the seat. One starts to roll away. Selene plucks it up without thinking, and whips out a handkerchief to wrap them safely inside.
The old man nods, relieved, and leads Dorian towards his small cottage. Selene hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether or not to follow, but the curiosity wins out, and she climbs down from the cart.
“Can I offer you something, milady?” the old man’s wife calls from the door. She’s an older woman with graying hair and a smile that immediately puts her at ease.
“Oh, I—thank you,” Selene says, her voice a little uncertain. She’s not sure where to begin. But before she can protest, the woman is already handing her a plate with a small, golden-brown cake.
“Fresh from the oven,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “You must be hungry after your long walk.”
Selene takes the plate with a smile, and she watches as Dorian crouches next to the roof, the old man showing himthe damage. He’s making quick work of it, his hands sure and competent, as though repairing a roof is no different than overseeing a grand banquet or negotiating a trade deal. It’s a curious sight. For a brief moment, she almost forgets the man before her is a nobleman, with responsibilities far beyond the reach of this quiet village.
As she eats the cake, she notices how Dorian’s muscles flex as he lifts the broken slats of wood, smoothing out the imperfections in the roof.
She tries—and fails—not to stare.
The cake, sweet and lightly spiced, tastes even better than it looks. She takes another bite and compliments the chef.
“There’s more where that came from,” the woman assures her. “Have as much as you like. Young Lord Dorian might be here for a while.”
Selene is grateful for the cake, but she hopes it doesn’t take Dorian too long. She has absolutely no idea how to converse with someone who she’s never been formally introduced to before, especially not a commoner. She can’t ask her about balls or parties or courtly gossip. It might be considered rude to ask about her husband’s business.
The weather, she reminds herself. The weather is always safe.
“It’s a lovely day,” she remarks. “The village seems idyllic.”
The woman beams. “Aye, milady. ‘Tis a lovely place to live, if I do say so myself.”
“Have you raised a family here?”
“Six children I’ve had with Thomas—all grown and gone now, of course. My eldest is expecting her first grandchild any day now!”
There’s a lot of children milling around, and Selene realises that these are likely some of the grandchildren she mentioned. She’s not used to seeing so many children in such a small place, but it’s nice to watch them play. She finds shedoesn’t need to make much in the way of conversation after that. She and the old woman watch the children together while Dorian finishes with the roof.
“There,” he says, standing and dusting his hands off on his trousers. “That should hold for now. I’ll send someone to check on it later.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Lord Dorian,” Thomas says, standing at the foot of the ladder.
Dorian forgoes the ladder, sliding to the bottom and leaping off in a motion so slick and swift he looks like a cat. His fine shirt is dirted now, his brow is beaded with sweat, and a dark sooty stain streaks across his cheek.
