Page 33 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Marta goes quiet for a moment. “I wonder, my lady—if you don’t mind my asking—why didn’t you bring her with you?”
Selene can understand her hesitance in asking. Marta likely doesn’t want to be accused of gossiping, but at the same time, she must be wanting to know that her new mistress is a fair employer, and hasn’t previously sacked a maid for some small infraction.
“I wanted to,” Selene admits, “but Cassie was in love with someone at my parents’ house, and I didn’t want to take that from her.”
Marta’s face softens. “That was good of you, miss—my lady, I mean.”
Selene smiles, but she isn’t sure she deserves credit for it. She didn’t notice the first time she took Cassie from Elspeth, after all. The loneliness she’s felt these past few days without her beloved maid are a small penance.
Dorian would never have thought himselfgoodfor letting two people be together. He would have considered himself bad for stopping them.
“You’ve known Lord Nightbloom all your life, yes?” Selene asks, eager to change the topic.
Marta nods, curling a lock of Selene’s hair around her fingers and pinning it in place. “Aye, my lady.”
“What do you think of him?”
If Marta is surprised that Selene would ask such a question about her own husband, she doesn’t show it. “Lord Dorian is a good man, and a good master,” she says. “And generous to a fault. You should see the wages he’s giving me! That’s a fine husband you have, my lady.”
But he isn’t really my husband,she wants to say. She’s glad that Ariella, Rookwood and Soren understand the truth of the arrangement, but she finds herself ill-adapted for falsehoods. She hasn’t had to wear one like this before. It’s heavy in a way she didn’t expect.
The day wears on. Marta fetches her afternoon tea for her and plays with Mistress Stripe. There’s little to clean or mend, so the two women take a turn about the gardens.
Before long, night descends. Marta returns to the village, Selene eats another meal alone, and darkness swamps the house. Roselune Abbey was never this quiet, never this dark. Selene can’t work out if it’s peaceful or sinister. She doesn’t think she enjoys the pitch-black state of the corridors, but the stars, at least, are beautiful.
Not for the first time, she finds herself unable to sleep. Mistress Stripe is dozing softly on the pillow next to hers, but Selene is far from slumber. Something about the night tends to summon the darkness inside you, and Selene’s mind keeps conjuring images of the day Ashvold invaded. The shadows jump around her room like soldiers. Her belly clenches with pain.
She remembers how it bloomed with blood.
Deciding that she cannot toss and turn all night, she gets out of bed, slides into her slippers, and gathers her shawl. She’ll wander down to the kitchens and see if she can find something to drink. Cassie used to make her warm milk when she was struggling to sleep.
She lights a candle and heads downstairs, trying not to jump at shadows. The darkness swirls around her.
A thin thread of light enemates from Dorian’s study. At least she isn’t the only one still awake. She pauses at his door. She has no plans to disturb him, but it’s slightly ajar. Dorian is slumped against his desk, the candle burning beside him.
He’s fast asleep.
She knows it’s forbidden, but she doesn’t want him to jerk in his sleep and knock over the candle. It seems like a good reason to disturb his privacy. Taking care not to look over the papers spread across his desk, she tiptoes into the room and snuffs out the candle, turning to leave.
She pauses before she reaches the threshold, and returns to Dorian’s side. If she was really his wife, she might marvel at the shapes the shadows make as they dance over his cheeks, or admire the splattering of freckles across his nose.
But she isn’t his wife, and it is wrong for her to watch him like this.
She doesn’t think it’s wrong to gently tug his glasses from his nose, however, or drape her shawl around him so he doesn’t get cold. Ariella would surely do thesame thing.
She picks up her candle again and heads towards the door.
“Selene?” Dorian murmurs. “Is that you?”
Selene freezes. “I’m sorry, I know you said not to come into your study, but the door was open and I didn’t want you to tip over your candle—”
“No, no, it’s quite all right.” Dorian sits up, stretching. “It’s not a complete ban, more of a ‘don’t come in without knocking’ or ‘try to limit interruptions whilst I’m working.” He rubs his eyes wearily. “What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.”
“Why are you still up?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
