Page 28 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Selene has never seen a gentleman so messy before. She has no idea how to react.
She certainly doesn’t know why she wants to reach across and brush the soot from his face.
One of the neighbours comes by to take the ladder. He smiles at Dorian as he takes it under his arm. “Lord Nightbloom,” he says.
For the first time since they arrived in the village, Dorian doesn’t smile back. At least, not immediately. There’s a slight hesitation before one arrives. “Alfred,” he says curtly.
Alfred doesn’t notice the hesitation, or if he does, it doesn’t bother him. He stores the ladder in an outbuilding and comes back for the rest of the tools.
Dorian climbs back onto the cart. Selene wants to ask him what that interaction meant, but it isn’t her place. She is probably reading too much into it.
“Where are my cufflinks?” Dorian asks, patting down his jacket.
“Oh!” says Selene, retrieving them from her handkerchief. “Here. I didn’t want them to get lost.”
Dorian fiddles with the cufflinks, struggling to get them back on by himself. Selene reaches across to aid him.
“Here,” she says. “Let me.”
Dorian says nothing at all as her fingertips brush against his wrist. His skin is flush from the exercise, his pulse beating rapidly. She focuses on the small, intricate task before her, slipping the cufflink through the buttonhole.
Dorian stills beneath her touch. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t speak. The silence between them shifts.
Selene swallows. It’s nothing. Just a practical thing. Just a simple fastening of fabric and metal.
Yet when her palm glides against his as she moves to the other cuff, she feels the way his fingers flex, as if resisting the urge to catch hers.
Her breath catches, but she does not falter. She slides the second cufflink into place, pressing it flush against the fabric.
“There,” she murmurs.
Her hands linger a fraction too long before she withdraws them, settling them neatly in her lap.
Dorian flexes his fingers once, then exhales, turning his gaze forward. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet.
Selene nods. The cart lurches forward.
Her heart beats as rapidly as the wheels turn.
The letters arrive in earnest the next day. Soren brings them to the breakfast table after Dorian departs, slamming them down on a silver platter in front of her. Selene tries not to think anything of it; he is just not used to waiting on anyone. His relationship with Dorian is very different from master and servant. The boy is young and doesn’t yet know how to behave.
She tries not to think about how Dorian always races through each meal time, like sustenance is an inconvenience and he’s glad to be done with it. She hopes it isn’t her who keeps him from lingering. There’s no need for him to eat with her if he doesn’t want to.
Perhaps she should let him know that, but he’s barely around long enough for her to speak to.
At least this morning, she has her letters, although, for the first time, she’s dreading the contents. Selene lived for letters before. She lived for the news of her friends’ lives, for court gossip, for idle talk of balls and parties.
She doubts that any of the letters in front of her will contain such things.
She reads them anyway.
The first is from Cecily Ashdown. The two have been friends since finishing school. She doesn’t know Dorian, but she knowsofhim.
My Dearest Selene,
What on Haverland’s great green fields has possessed you to elope with Dorian Nightbloom? You cannot mean the very same Nightbloom who practically vanished from society, with no fortune, and hardly a trace of a respectable family left! And to choose him over the Duke! I don’t understand. You had every opportunity for the most secure, illustrious future—everything you’ve ever wanted. Surely, there must be a reason? Something to explain this choice?
I trust you deeply, Selene, but this news baffles me. Write to me as soon as you can and tell me everything. I want to understand.
