13. A Tour of the Village
T he next morning began with an embarrassing fiasco whereby the entire household forgot that, as a fine lady, Selene would be used to breakfast being brought up to her.
It wasn’t until Soren remarked, “is she going to sleep the entire day?” that Dorian remembered the protocol and dashed upstairs, yelling at the others to put some clothes on.
“Does he expect us to wait on her like we’re servants?” he heard Soren hiss as he fled the kitchen.
The answer, of course, was yes. At least until she got a little more used to things. It was so different from her life before…
He dashed into her room and discovered her in her nightclothes.
She probably wasn’t used to getting dressed by herself, either.
He’d never seen her in a nightgown before.
Naked, yes, nightgown, no. He mumbled something about her not needing to get dressed for breakfast, making a mental note to find her a lady’s maid, some company for her other than Ariella, who was far too familiar with him and likely to embarrass him in all the worse ways.
They didn’t speak much at breakfast. He found his words difficult to come, like he was an awkward schoolboy all over again. He dismissed himself as soon as he could and headed to his study.
It didn’t take long for Ariella to take her on a tour and tell her all the secrets of the house.
He could hear the two of them in the corridor, Ariella explaining the history of Ebonrose and the various relatives whose portraits lined the walls.
Dorian hadn’t sat for a portrait as an adult.
He’d never really seen the need. But he liked the idea of Selene on its walls one day. If she was really his wife…
He shook the thought away. It was too painful to imagine.
In the afternoon, Ariella wafted in with refreshments, barely troubling to knock.
“Careful!” Dorian said, hiding his papers until the door was shut.
Ariella tutted as she handed him a cup of tea. “You can’t hide anything from me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Dorian said, still looking at the door as if he expected Selene to barge right in.
Ariella sighed. “Why don’t you just tell her?”
“You were hard enough to convince,” he reminded her. “And it’s only possible to do so because I have such good knowledge of future events that specifically affect you. Selene’s altered the course of her original timeline—I don’t have any proof to offer her.”
He could tell her about her grandmother dying, of course, but that wasn’t due to happen for several more months, and he was in no mood to upset her any more than she already was. Maybe, just maybe, he’d tell her closer to the time…
“I suppose she is a bit a skittish,” Ariella remarked, seemingly reading something of his thoughts. “Perhaps wait until she’s settled in a little.”
Dorian didn’t reply .
“You should still check in on her,” Ariella said. “I know she doesn’t know you as well as she ought to, but she’s still more familiar with you than the rest of us. It’s only courteous.”
Dorian made some non-committal sound, and returned to his work.
He knew he ought to check on Selene. He knew this would be a lot more bearable for the both of them if they could become friends at the very least, but it was still an awful kind of agony, being in her presence, seeing her warm and alive and entirely empty of the Luna he knew.
She was a living testament to all he had lost.
In the next life, Luna had told him. Those were her final words to him. But Dorian hadn’t rekindled things in her next life. He’d barely even tried.
Did he owe it to Luna to try again?
It was late—far later than he had intended—when he finally finished and found himself outside Selene’s door.
He hesitated. The flickering candlelight beneath the threshold told him she was still awake. He had meant to check on her earlier, to make sure she was comfortable, to see if she needed anything. But the day had run away from him and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her if she’d gone to bed.
Still, it felt wrong to leave it until morning.
He knocked lightly. There was a pause, long enough that he thought she might pretend to be asleep.
Then, soft and uncertain: “C-come in.”
Dorian pushed the door open. Selene sat on the edge of the bed, candlelight catching the loose strands of her hair. There was something rigid in the way she held herself, as if bracing for a fall.
He dismissed the thought and forced himself to focus. “Ah, good, you’re still up,” he said, stepping inside. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I apologise I’ve been so busy today.” He exhaled. “Ariella suggested we go into the village tomorrow. I can show you around and we’ll see if we can find a lady’s maid for you.”
“That’s… that’s very kind. Thank you. ”
Dorian nodded. This was about all the interaction with her tonight that he thought he could manage. “Very well. Good night.” He turned to leave.
“That’s it?”
He paused. “That’s what?”
“You’re just going to… go back to your own room?”
He turned back to her, frowning. “Yes?”
She hesitated. The candle on the bedside table flickered, its glow making her look even more uncertain than she sounded. “Don’t you want to…”
He tilted his head. “Do what?”
She inhaled sharply, clearly searching for words. “Have your… have us…” A breath. “Don’t you want us to perform our marital duties?”
Dorian stared at her.
She had to be joking. Except she wasn’t.
Was this what she had been bracing for?
Selene watched him carefully, as if trying to read something in his face, and he realised with a sharp, disorienting pang that she genuinely believed he had come here for that. That it was expected. That it would be happening now, because they were married, and that was what marriage meant.
His stomach turned.
He could barely find the breath to speak, but when he did, the words came before he had time to think about them.
“Do you?”
Her brows knitted together. “I’m… I’m not sure I understand.”
Dorian sighed and shook his head. “I have no intention of bedding you against your will.”
He would never do that to any woman. It was an awful thing to do to a person and he’d fight any man who suggested otherwise.
Selene’s gaze flickered away for the briefest moment, before looking up at him again. “It wouldn’t be against my—”
“I’m not sure what you know of the marital act,” he cut in gently, “but it shouldn’t be a chore—something you feel obligated to do. It should be something that both parties really, really enjoy doing. ”
Selene swallowed. Her lips parted, then closed again. This is a very strange conversation to be having with the only woman he’d ever been with, who showed him everything about the act, who made him feel pleasure so extreme his body still burned with the memory of it.
“You sound like you have some experience,” she said at last.
Dorian huffed a laugh, though he suddenly felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. “A story for another night, maybe,” he said. Or never. How could he ever explain to her that she taught him everything he knew about sex?
There was a lot that they had discovered together, too…
He turned back to the door. “Good night, Selene.”
As he shut it behind him, he stood in the hallway for a long moment, the dimly lit corridor stretching before him. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
He had to conquer this. He had to.
*
The next morning, Dorian kept his promise and took Selene on a tour of Lower Thornmere.
He chose a simple open-topped carriage, one he drove himself.
He debated whether or not to call for Fred and have him drive them into the village, but decided against it.
Yes, it might be provincial for Selene, but engaging Fred seemed unnecessary, there was something more personal about experiencing Thornmere this way, and it was a lovely day for a ride.
Selene might as well learn what he and Ebonrose were really like.
Instead of a quick walk and a few polite greetings, he brought her down the winding main road, where houses pressed close together and chimneys sent smoke curling into the pale sky.
He greeted the townsfolk by name as they passed.
They waved and smiled, some calling out to him.
A child tugged his sleeve and he ruffled the boy’s hair.
An older woman handed Selene wildflowers with a wink, others offered her gifts—fresh bread, honey, jam, a beeswax candle.
No money changed hands. Just kindness. He watched Selene take it all in with wide eyes, the initial formality in her expression softening with each encounter .
When she asked if they were wedding gifts, he smiled. “You’ll usually find the people here are quite generous,” he said. “But yes, they do seem unusually so today. They’re obviously excited to meet you.”
At the edge of the village, he pointed out the inn and introduced her to Charles, the innkeeper. Charles greeted them with his usual warmth, teasing Dorian for keeping his marriage quiet. He asked about finding a lady’s maid for Selene, and Charles promised to send someone by the next day.
They went on. Dorian pointed out Greta’s cottage, where Selene could go for clothing alterations, then showed her the mill, then the old temple.
As they returned to the cart, he helped her up, his hand steady at her back.
He let go before it lingered too long, but the warmth of the touch stayed with him as he clicked the horses into motion.
They hadn’t gotten far when a voice called out from the roadside.
“Ah, Dorian,” came the gravelly greeting. “Might you give me a hand with my roof? It’s been leaking something fierce, and I’ve no one else to help.”
Dorian reined in the horse without hesitation, the cart slowing to a gentle stop. “You’re still dealing with that, Thomas?” Dorian asked, already unfastening his cufflinks. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s see what I can do.”
He placed the cufflinks beside Selene on the seat. He had helped Thomas fix his roof at least a dozen times, in a dozen loops. He had become quite skillful at it, even if it felt like the bloody thing was permanently broken now.
He had tried not to, once, simply exhausted by the monotony of the task. Thomas had attempted it by himself and broke his leg. He never fully recovered.
Dorian wasn’t about to let that happen again. He handed off his jacket and followed Thomas towards the cottage, scurrying up the ladder.
It didn’t take long to patch the roof. Dorian might as well have been clockwork by now .
“You’ve a deft hand!” Thomas remarked. “Anyone would think you’ve been patching roofs for years!”
Thomas had said the exact thing for several lifetimes.
If only you knew…
Thomas’s voice went low. “That’s a very pretty wife you have, my lord, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Dorian nearly nailed his thumb. That, however, was very new. “That she is,” he remarked, not looking back. “Is she all right down there?”
“The missus has given her some cake.”
“Excellent.”
“I knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself a good wife,” Thomas went on. “Someone was sure to see what a fine, upstanding young man you were before long. My congratulations, my lord. Your father would be very happy.”
Dorian had no idea whether or not that was true, given the unusual circumstances surrounding his marriage. “That’s… that’s very kind of you, Thomas. Thank you.”
He slid cleanly from the roof, landing on the ground with the swiftness of a cat. He hoped Selene was watching. Or, at least, he did until he realised how filthy he was. His shirt was streaked with soot, his hands dirtied with sweat and dust.
Thomas offered him a grateful nod. “I’m much obliged to you, Lord Dorian.”
Dorian wiped his hands on his trousers. “That should hold for now. I’ll send someone to check on it later.”
Before Thomas could answer, another voice joined them.
“Lord Nightbloom.”
Dorian turned, already knowing who it was.
Luisa’s—Lu’s—husband. Alfred. Possibly the only man in the village that Dorian despised.
He beat his wife. His children were terrified of him.
Dorian had spent many cycles trying to get him to stop, and many lifetimes quietly rejoicing in his accidental death before the year was up.
“Alfred,” he responded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that certainly didn’t quite reach his eyes .
Alfred didn’t notice the hesitation. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care. Either way, the moment passed. He took the ladder and disappeared.
Dorian climbed back onto the cart, brushing soot from his sleeves. “Where are my cufflinks?” he asked, patting down his jacket. He was sure he’d left them here—
“Oh!” Selene retrieved them, her handkerchief neatly folded around them. “Here. I didn’t want them to get lost.”
Dorian took them from her, but his hands were still clumsy from the work, fingers fumbling over the small, intricate task.
Before he could voice his frustration, Selene shifted closer.
“Here,” she murmured. “Let me.”
Her fingers brushed his wrist, cool against the lingering heat of exertion.
Dorian stilled as she threaded the cufflink through the buttonhole, as if worried the slightest moment might startle her away.
She’s not your Selene, a voice reminded him.
Please don’t stop, said another.
It was nothing—just a simple fastening of fabric and metal. But then her palm glided against his as she reached for the other cuff, and his fingers flexed, instinctively resisting the urge to catch hers.
Selene inhaled, the sound barely audible. If she noticed his hesitation, she didn’t mention it.
She fastened the second cufflink, pressing it flush against the fabric.
“There,” she murmured.
Dorian looked at her, holding her gaze. Her hands lingered just a fraction too long.
Then she withdrew them, settling them neatly in her lap.
Dorian flexed his fingers once, then exhaled, shifting his gaze forward. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Selene nodded.
The cart lurched forward.
Dorian did not look at her again, but he could still feel the ghost of her touch.