Page 40 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
I will admit,she writes, again and again in numerous ways,I was embarrassed when I realised the extent of my feelings for him. He is, as you say, poor and plain, and has little standing at court. But if only you knew how kind and generous he was, how sweet he can be. If you did, it would be very easy to fall for Dorian Nightbloom.
The lies come easily this time.
Soren, as expected, does not fetch as much for the ring as she hoped, but this seldom matters. With the money in hand, she arranges to be taken to see a solicitor in Upper Thornmere, who invests the money on her behalf. He counsels against it, of course, but Selene refuses to be swayed.
She’s worried, of course, that it’s not a sure thing. Perhaps her not marrying the Duke has already sent things in another direction. No way to know, of course. She will just have to wait.
She’s careful to keep a little money back, just in case. She can always try making another investment.
She stops at a temple on her way back and prays to Aurelis for guidance. She prays to the other goddess too, whoever she may be.Help me do something good this time, however small.
“It’s a waste of time to pray to the gods,” Soren informs her.
It’s a waste of time to open your mouth,thinks Selene, biting back a retort. Soren will never learn to like her if she snaps at him.
“Tea, I think,” she says instead. “What’s your preference, Soren? I noticed at dinner the other day you seemed to have a fondness for apple tart.”
Soren glares at her as if her observation about him enjoying apple tart is grounds for murder. She makes sure to pick a tea shop that sells it, and orders a large piece. She pushes it towards him and tries to take it back when he pouts like an angry child before wordlessly snatching it back and devouring the thing like it’s the first food he’s had in months.
He doesn’t say another word to her. She wishes he would. She’s trying to place his accent. It isn’t lilting and warm like the locals of Thornmere. It actually sounds a lot like Dorian’s, but in the way an ice sculpture resembles a wooden carving—all the details and none of the warmth. It’s almost like he’s learned to speak by copying his master… even though Selene knows that Dorian isn’t his master, not really.
He still follows his lead, though. He still does what he’s told. But Selene doesn’t think it’s because he’s paid to.
It’s very curious.
The investment made, they return to Ebonrose and have dinner with Ariella and Rookwood. It’s a lot more fun than the past few lonely dinners she’s been forced to endure, and food is infinitely better with company. Rookwood has prepared roasted pheasant with blackberry sauce.
“A favourite of Dorian’s,” he explains, as Selene digs in.
“We should have saved it for his return,” Soren mutters.
Rookwood shrugs. “It wouldn’t have kept. Besides, I can always make another.”
Selene tucks this information away. “What else does Dorian like?”
“Nature,” Ariella offers. “Horses. Most animals he’s fond of, but horses are a favourite.”
“Books, obviously,” Rookwood adds. “He also prefers coffee over tea, when we can get it—not that he’ll say anything, of course.”
The two of them offer up a few more tidbits, though Soren remains silent.
“What about you two?” Selene asks, for it’s a good way to get to know them.
“Rookwood likes cooking,obviously,” Ariella tells her.
“Ariella likes my cooking too, though she’ll never say anything.”
Ariella kicks him in the wooden leg. He pretends to be in pain. “I tell you all the time, wretched man,” she says. “You’re as bad as my mother.”
“I’m as excellent as your mother, and well you know it.”
Ariella sighs. “Rookwood likes cooking, gardening, card games, and—most of all—testing my patience.”
“Ariella likes insulting me and wearing fine dresses when no one is around.”
“I donot—actually, yes, I do, that’s fair.”
Soren does not offer anything about himself, and Selene doesn’t ask.
