Page 90 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Elizabeth notices something amiss on one of her visits. She barely has to lay eyes on Dorian at all. She’s like a hound, sensing the stiffness in the air instead of a scent. “Did you have a quarrel?” she asks when the two of them are alone.
Selene stares down into her teacup. “Something like that.”
“Is he sorry?”
“Why do you assume he’s the one in the wrong?”
“It has been my experience that men often are.”
Selene bites her lip. “He isn’t wrong about this.”
“Then you are in the wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Selene admits. “He… I found out something about him that reminded me of someone else. It upset me. I feel what I feel, even if I know he was right to do what he did.”
“You are being very vague, dear.”
“I’m sorry. I just… I can’t really explain it any better than that without…”Without potentially endangering you. Without endangeringhim.
Because no matter how Dorian’s actions may have upset her, Selene doesn’t want him hurt.
He’s a good man,she reminds herself.Whatever else he may be—whatever he feels for me—he is that.
Elizabeth watches her for a long moment, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup. Then, with the sharp intuition Selene has come to expect from her, she says, “You are afraid.”
Selene stiffens. “I—”
“Not of him,” Elizabeth clarifies, studying her with a knowing gaze. “No, I don’t think you fear him at all. But something has unsettled you.”
Selene exhales slowly, setting her cup down with more care than necessary. “I don’t know what to do with how I feel.”
Elizabeth hums, considering. “And do you know what you feel?”
Selene hesitates.
Because that is the question, isn’t it? It isn’t just anger, or hurt, or even the lingering sting of betrayal—if it can even be called that. It’s something deeper, tangled with things she doesn’t fully understand, things she doesn’t have words for yet.
Elizabeth reaches out, gently covering Selene’s hand with her own. “You don’t have to decide anything today, dear. Just because you feel something doesn’t mean you must act on it. Let it settle. Let yourself settle.”
Selene exhales, tension leaking from her shoulders. “You make it sound so easy.”
Elizabeth smiles, wry and warm. “It rarely is.” She squeezes Selene’s hand. “But you will know, in time, what to do with what you feel.”
Selene nods, though she isn’t sure she believes it. She lifts her cup again, staring into the dregs of her tea as if the answer might be hidden there.
She only wishes she knew what she was hoping to find.
Dorian hands her an invitation the next morning over breakfast. It’s on crisp parchment, bearing the elaborate seal of Lord Dashridge.
Selene reads it twice before setting it aside, watching Dorian as he studies the contents with far more interest than she expects for something so ordinary.He is quiet for a moment, weighing something in his mind. Then, without looking up, he says, “We should attend.”
Selene tilts her head. “You hate balls.”
“I dislike frivolity,” he corrects, finally lifting his gaze. “This one has purpose.”
She waits. He doesn’t immediately elaborate, which means she has to drag it out of him.
“Which is?” she prompts.
