Page 47 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Just a fall. Nothing more.
At least, that’s what she tells herself.
“Do we need to call a physician?” Dorian asks Ariella.
“It is asprained ankle,” she insists. “Honestly. Rookwood deals with worse than this on the daily, and you never fuss over him.”
Dorian mutters something under his breath, handing over the water and cloth. Ariella has already removed Selene’s boot, but the stocking requires her to hike up Selene’s skirt. Dorian’s face goes as red as beetroot, and he turns away.
“It isskin,Dorian!” Ariella sighs exasperatedly. “You are not a monk.”
Ariella dabs at Selene’s ankle with the cool cloth, her touch brisk, careful. The swelling has already begun, though thankfully, the skin isn’t badly discoloured.
Dorian, still turned away, clears his throat. “Should we elevate it?”
“Yes, that would help, but let’s get her back up to her room first.”
Selene starts to protest—this is an awful lot of fuss for a simple sprain—but before she can, Dorian moves to scoop her up again.
Ariella swats at his arm before he can even reach her. “Absolutely not.”
He frowns. “She shouldn’t walk on it.”
“And she won’t. She’s got me.” Ariella levels him with a look. “The poor girl’s dignity is still intact; let’s not go embarrassing her further.”
Dorian hesitates. He casts a glance at Selene, as if seeking permission, but she pointedly does not meet his gaze.
“Fine,” he relents.
Ariella clicks her tongue and loops Selene’s arm over her shoulder. “Come on, then. We’ll take it slow.”
It’s an effort, but Selene makes it up the stairs with Ariella’s steadying hand. Once in her room, she sinks into the chair by the window, sighing as she settles in.
Dorian doesn’t follow them up, but Marta appears shortly after with a tray of tea and biscuits. “He sent this up,” she says, setting it down on the side table. “Said you ought to have something warm.”
Selene blinks at the tray, then at Marta. “I think he’s overreacting.”
Marta hums noncommittally and hands her a teacup. “Better to be fussed over than forgotten.”
Selene doesn’t quite know how to answer that, so shesimply takes a sip.
As if sensing her mood, Mistress Stripe hops up onto her lap, curling into a tight ball against her skirts. Selene strokes the soft fur absentmindedly, listening to the gentle purrs.
Perhaps the fuss isn’t so bad, after all.
Ariella elevates her leg and leaves her to it. Marta hovers at Selene’s elbow, waiting to be told what to do. “Did his lordship really carry you from the orchard?” she asks.
Selene feels flushed. “He did.”
“He’s a very caring husband.”
He is,thinks Selene,but he isn’t mine.“You’ve a sweetheart, don’t you, Marta?” she asks, eager to change the subject.
Marta smiles. “I do, my lady. Jon.”
Selene points to the seat opposite her. “Come. Sit. Tell me about him.”
Marta is only too happy to oblige.
