29. Farewells and Formalities
T he next morning, after breakfast, the guests departed one by one, their carriages rolling down the long drive as the hired servants began the daunting task of cleaning up.
Dorian and Selene stood in the foyer, offering polite farewells, the grand doors opening and closing with every new departure.
“Now, I don’t mean to dismiss your efforts,” Dorian murmured, “but we didn’t find out a single thing.”
Selene watched as Lord and Lady Quillringer stepped into their carriage, then turned to him with a knowing smile. “No, but we’ve shown everyone what wonderful, charming hosts we are,” she countered. “Which means, when we invite them back one by one, they’ll be far more inclined to accept.”
Meaning that they could interrogate them one by one, on their own turf, or even in small groups. Selene would know exactly who to invite, who to pair together, who would loosen lips or ruffle feathers.
Dorian grinned. “You are so clever.”
“Why, thank you, darling husband, I am.”
The address rippled through him, hot and tender. “No one’s here right now,” he murmured. “You don’t—you don’t have to call me that.”
Selene tilted her head. “Do you not like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I want you to call me that every day for the rest of our lives.
She hesitated, then slowly extended her fingers toward his, brushing against his hand—
“Lord Nightbloom. A word.”
Lady Duskbriar stood in the foyer. She stepped towards the parlour without even waiting for a reply.
Dorian stiffened. His fingers twitched, but he pulled away, stepping toward the parlour. As he disappeared through the door, he cast one last, uncertain glance back at Selene. He couldn’t imagine what Lady Duskbriar had to speak to him about, but he doubted it was good.
Dorian stepped into the parlour, the door closing softly behind him. Lady Duskbriar stood by the window with her hands clasped before her. She turned to face him, her composure as unwavering as ever.
“Lord Nightbloom,” she greeted him, her voice calm but sharp, like the edge of a well-polished blade. “A splendid evening. Quite the impressive affair.”
Dorian nodded, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “It was all Selene,” he said. “She’s a marvel.”
Lady Duskbriar’s gaze softened as she considered his words. She gave a small nod, but for a moment, neither spoke. The silence hung between them like a thick fog, one that Dorian wasn’t quite sure how to navigate.
Eventually, Lady Duskbriar exhaled. “I won’t pretend to understand quite what made my daughter give up everything to run off with you—and perhaps I won’t ever—but it is clear she is happy here. Despite everything, I do care about her, you know.”
Dorian’s chest tightened. He doubted that. Never, in any lifetime, had he ever seen her come to Selene’s aid. Never once had Selene sought it.
But then, not every family was like his.
After a long pause, Lady Duskbriar continued, her gaze steady. “My daughter loves you,” she said. “I won’t stand in the way of that. I will try to accept that. Take care of her, Lord Nightbloom.”
The finality in her words left no room for argument. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Lady Duskbriar extended her hand, her bejewelled fingers long and elegant.
Dorian took her hand and kissed it, his lips brushing gently against her skin. A slight prickle drifted over him—likely just a result of her dizzying amount of perfume.
“I will,” he said. “I promise.”
They both stepped out of the parlour and returned to the foyer. The Duskbriars departed seconds later.
Dorian couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Selene loves me? It was possible Lady Duskbriar was just repeating what Selene had told her at the last society event, but maybe, just maybe…
Selene turned towards him. “You look pleased with yourself,” she observed.
“Your mother said some nice things.”
Selene stared at him. “ My mother?”
Before she could ask more, Duke Drakefell arrived. For once, he wasn’t glowering. He looked almost… pleasant. It sent a prickle of unease up Dorian’s spine.
“Lord and Lady Nightbloom,” he said smoothly. “Last night was a delight. I would not be averse to more like it.”
Dorian eyed him warily, as if trying to decipher some hidden message within the words. “I… thank you?”
The Duke extended a hand. Dorian hesitated before shaking it, still cautious. The Duke seized it so hard Dorian swore his fingers almost cracked.
Dorian squeezed back, just as hard .
The Duke left.
Selene watched his retreating figure. “Did Soren put something in the wine?”
“Hardly,” Dorian muttered, flexing his fingers with a wince. “He nearly broke my fingers.”
Selene frowned. “Is your hand bleeding?”
Dorian glanced down, noticing the thin scratch across his skin. “Snagged it on one of his rings. Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch.”
Dorian washed the scratch quickly and tried to put it out of his mind. There was plenty to be getting on with after the last of the guests departed. He assisted the staff with taking down the decorations, rolling up the banners and dispersing the flowers. He sent many home with the hired servants.
“Have a bouquet sent to my lady’s chambers,” he asked Marta.
Marta smiled, and diligently complied.
He made his way down to the kitchens and complimented Rookwood on the feast he’d managed to provide the night before.
“Wasn’t all me,” Rookwood assured him. “I had a lot of help—”
“You deserve the credit and you’re taking it,” Ariella snapped.
“And you, my radiant cousin?” Dorian asked. “Did you have a good time? I thought I saw you amongst the dancers towards the end.”
“It was magnificent, ” she sighed.
“You were,” added Rookwood.
Ariella blushed.
“Are you all right?” she asked, when the crimson had disappeared from his cheeks. “You’re looking a little pale. ”
Dorian ran a hand down his face. “Tired,” he admitted. He felt a little sluggish—like he’d been running, or drinking heavily. Neither of which were true.
“Get some food in you,” Ariella advised.
Dorian didn’t feel hungry, but he picked at a plate nonetheless. Ariella hovered around him as Rookwood cleared the plates. “About Selene—” she started.
Dorian groaned.
“I saw the two of you last night, dearest. I see you together every day. I really think, if you haven’t already… that perhaps you should make your feelings known.”
Admittedly, Dorian had never been more tempted to tell Selene than he was right now, but he didn’t want to give Ariella the satisfaction of believing it was her idea. “I’ll think about it,” was all he said.
Ariella sighed, drying glasses. “Sometimes, Dorian, I don’t think you want the happy ending. I think you’re too afraid of things actually working out.”
Of course he was afraid of that. This time, more than ever, he had so much to lose.
And so much to gain, too.
Who wouldn’t be terrified?
Dorian glanced behind her at Rookwood stacking the plates. “I could say the exact same thing about you.”
“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean.”
Dorian rolled his eyes, but he was too tired to argue. He didn’t have the stomach for any more food, either. He cleared the plate and headed upstairs to his room, sitting down at his desk. There were a few pieces of correspondence to get through.
A headache had started. His hand ached, the scratch where the Duke had gripped him stubborn and deep.
He flexed his fingers again, telling himself it was nothing, willing himself not to dwell on it.
His mind wandered back to Selene. She had been radiant last night, and when they had danced, when she had laughed, when she had crawled into bed with him—he had wanted her so much it ached.
More than that. He wanted them to be real. Real again, and free in a way they never had been before.
Could they be? Could he risk it all again?
Could he live with himself if he didn’t?
He turned the thought over in his mind as he sank into his chair. He had felt it, hadn’t he? The way she lingered near him. The way his name sounded different on her lips.
The way she had crawled into his bed last night…
He reached for the nearest stack of documents, anything to distract himself, but his head pounded, making it difficult to focus. The words blurred together, shifting on the page. He shut his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temple.
It wasn’t just his head. His skin was too warm, his collar stiff and suffocating. He swallowed against the dry burn in his throat, ignoring the sluggish way his limbs responded. He just needed rest. Perhaps he ought to see if Ariella had something for the headache.
But he put it off.
Instead, he reached for the glass on his desk, letting the cool rim press against his palm. He needed to think. To plan. To decide—
A knock at the door.
He didn’t have the energy to answer.
The door opened anyway. He turned his head towards it with some difficulty.
“You look awful,” Selene remarked, her face pinched with concern.
He tried to sit straighter, to school his expression into something that wouldn’t worry her, but the moment he moved, his stomach churned. A wave of dizziness swelled behind his eyes.
She was saying something else—her voice urgent, edged with something raw. But the words drifted through him like mist, barely clinging to meaning.
He tried to focus. To respond .
“Sorry,” he managed, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. “I feel… I don’t feel so well…”
The floor tilted beneath him. The world spun. He fell from the chair with a dull, heavy thud.
Somewhere, he heard Selene gasp—felt her reach for him. But the darkness rushed up faster, and he was falling.