ISBN: 9780373828074

Richmond, Virginia September 1894 Over a dozen clocks chimed, bonged, pinged or warbled the hour of four o'clock in Mr. Alfred Hepplewhite's store, without fuss simply named Clocks & W… Plus…

Richmond, Virginia September 1894 Over a dozen clocks chimed, bonged, pinged or warbled the hour of four o'clock in Mr. Alfred Hepplewhite's store, without fuss simply named Clocks & Watches. Jocelyn smiled at the cacophony of timepieces heralding the time, while Mr. Hepplewhite placidly continued to fiddle with the clasp of her brooch watch. His gnarled hands were as deft as an artist's, his eyes intent upon the task. The store was busy today. Restless, Jocelyn wandered toward a deserted corner near the front of the shop to avoid mingling with the other customers. For this moment, she wanted to savor the freedom of being alone, a widow of independent means beholden to nobody, whose sole activity of the day consisted of enjoying the chaotic voices of a hundred clocks. "Mrs. Tremayne? Your timepiece is ready." Jocelyn hurried across to the cash register, ignoring a disheveled little man wearing a bowler hat several sizes too large, as well as an officious customer who insisted that Mr. Hepplewhite hurry up, he had an appointment in an hour and didn't want to be late. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Hepplewhite," she said as she opened her drawstring shopping bag to pay. "And you, madam." He handed her the watch, bushy white eyebrows lifting behind his bifocals when the seedy-looking customer wormed his way past the rude gentleman to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jocelyn. "Sorry." He produced an unrepentant gap-toothed grin. "Just wanted to see them watch chains." "Here now, I was next. Move out of the way, you oaf." "Right enough, gov'ner." With a broad wink to Jocelyn the other man stepped back. "Fine-looking brooch watch, ma'am. Don't see many like it these days." "No, I don't suppose you do." Jocelyn pinned her watch in place, steeling herself to fend off another impertinent remark. Instead the man abruptly scuttled back down the aisle. After jerking the door open, he darted across East Broad, barely missing being run down by a streetcar. People, Jocelyn decided as her gaze followed the strange scruffy man, were uniformly unpredictable, which was why she didn't trust many of them. The door flew open again before she reached it. A tall, broad-shouldered man loomed in the threshold. Blinking, Jocelyn took an automatic backward step when, eyes narrowing, he focused on her. For some reason time lurched to a standstill, all the clocks ceased ticking, all the pendulums stopped swinging because this man with windblown hair and gray eyes looked not only dangerous, but familiar. For a shimmering second he stared down at her with the same shock of recognition she herself had experienced. "Excuse me," he finally said. His deep voice triggered a cascade of sensations she'd buried a decade earlier, of longing and hope, and Jocelyn squelched the emotions. "Yes?" One eyebrow lifted, but unlike most other gentlemen, this one remained uncowed by the hauteur she had perfected over the years. "A man came i Fiction Fiction eBook, Steeple Hill<