Page 36 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Selene lets her hand rest there, just for a moment. “Goodnight, Dorian,” she says at last, drawing her hand back.
His fingers twitch as if he might reach for her, but he simply nods. “Goodnight, Selene.”
She rises first, leaving him at the table. As she ascends the stairs, she presses her fingertips into her palm, holding onto the ghost of his warmth.
The next morning, Selene breakfasts alone as she’s come to expect. She has no memory of Dorian heading to his bedroom. She didn’t hear him come up. He works far too hard, and she far too little. It has never bothered her before.
With Marta for company, she heads into town. The streets smell of fresh bread and tilled earth, and the sound of merchants calling their wares fills the air. She stops at a fabric shop, running her fingers over bolts of linen and cotton before settling on a length of soft cornflower-blue fabric. Simple, unassuming—something she can wear comfortably without fuss.
At Greta’s, she lays the fabric on the counter, explaining her request. She wants something similar to what the village girls wear, but with a few embellishments expected for a ladyof her station. Greta measures her with care, clicking her tongue over old gowns that need altering.
Afterward, Selene picks up fresh pastries and a small wheel of cheese, thinking of lunch with Dorian. If he has the time. If he remembers to eat at all.
She’s most surprised, when they head back to the village, to find someone already in the parlour.
Ariella runs forward to greet her. “My mother is here for a visit,” she explains. “I can make excuses if you don’t want to—”
But Selene finds herself eager to meet any of Dorian’s relatives, even more so when she realises that Dorian is in the parlour too. She hands her coat and hat to Marta and heads into the room.
Elizabeth Everfrost is a woman in her early sixties with dark red hair streaked with grey. She’s well-dressed for a former housekeeper, looking more like a lady of leisure with a fashionable hat in deep emerald and matching jacket. She surveys Selene with the air of someone weighing goods at market and her sharp eyes seem to pierce right through any pretence.
“So, you’re the new wife, are you?” she says, not unkindly, glancing at Dorian. “Far too pretty for him.”
Dorian’s ears redden. “Yes, thank you so much, Aunt Elizabeth, for pointing that out.”
Selene blinks, startled by both the bluntness of the woman’s remark and Dorian’s dry response.
“How on Haverland’s great green fields did he convince you to marry him?”
“Oh, um, well—” Selene has no idea whether or not Dorian wants to be honest with her, or if it’s even safe to. Three people already seems too many. They cannot afford to become the subject of gossip, to have anyone peer too closely at their hasty marriage. “Dorian has many finequalities—” Selene begins, determined to counter whatever assumptions Aunt Elizabeth is making.
“Oh yes? What are they?”
Selene opens her mouth to reply but falls short. It’s not that she hasn’t noticed his good qualities, it’s just that she’s so on the spot, and she’s deeply aware that it’s hard togushabout someone who feels like a stranger. And she’s definitely expected to gush. When she was first enamoured with the Duke, she could wax lyrical about his qualities. Handsome, charming, generous, a great hunter, a fine dancer. Deep singing voice.
“That’s what I thought,” says Aunt Elizabeth.
Selene regathers herself, taking a moment to collect a cup of tea. “I was merely considering which of his virtues to highlight first,” she says, a touch archly. “You see, I am spoiled for choice.”
Aunt Elizabeth snorts. “Oh, a diplomat. You’ll do well enough.” She turns to her nephew. “What do you have to say for yourself? This poor girl can’t even name a single thing she likes about you.”
Dorian meets Selene’s gaze across the table, only for a moment. He quickly drops it. “It’s early days yet,” he says smoothly. “She’ll find something eventually.”
Selene is not sure if that was meant to be reassuring or vaguely threatening. Aunt Elizabeth only hums in response and reaches for a scone.
Ariella, clearly sensing the need for a diversion, rises. “Shall I bring up something more substantial for luncheon, or will you be taking your leave soon, Mama?” The offer sounds more threatening than welcoming.
Selene remembers her purchases from earlier. “Actually, I brought something for lunch, if Dorian has the time to join us.”
Aunt Elizabeth’s gaze sharpens. “You have to remind him to eat, do you? That does sound about right.”
Dorian sighs, but there’s a faint quirk to his lips. “I do occasionally remember on my own, Aunt.”
“Hmm. And yet I recall the time I found you half-fainting in the library because you’d forgotten for two days straight.”
Selene raises an eyebrow, amused despite herself. “Two days?”
Dorian sighs again, this time with more put-upon patience. “I was very focused.”
