2. Chapter Two

M r. Hugh Lockhart’s prayers that morning had included his oft repeated request that this would be the day he had the opportunity to meet an aristocrat or two for an extended encounter.

Perhaps he should have been more specific in his request.

In his mind, such an encounter would lead to a possible stepping stone to having his own business. It was why, whenever possible, he delivered repaired clocks to London’s elite himself. So far, none of the timepiece owners had been inclined to indulge in an extended conversation, but all it would take was one to help him get started.

While the encounter in the park could fit as an answer to his prayers, it had not been quite what he had in mind.

Now that the excitement was over, the scattering of people around the green went back to their own business. Not that he blamed them for stopping to watch the earlier farce. The absurdity of the women being set upon by the errant kite was a memory that was likely to make him laugh for days to come.

At the moment, though, any urge to laugh was being smothered by the awkwardness of the little group now standing around a broken, subdued kite.

At least, Hugh felt awkward.

Mr. Woodbury or Duke or whoever the man was, grinned as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The two remaining women wore expressions of far less happiness, appearing to wish they were anywhere else but not willing to traipse away as the youngest lady had done.

No, the youngest woman. Because she was not a lady.

Even the discomfort of the moment wasn’t enough to keep his lips from twitching at that recollection, so he busied himself with collecting his fallen hat and paper-wrapped package. Once he was confident his face had returned to an appropriate expression, he stood and gave his momentary companions a respectful nod.

“It was my honor to be of assistance, my ladies.” He stumbled over the word ladies, but it seemed only their absent companion had issue with the honorific. “As I have business to attend to, I will leave you in the care of your, er, Mr. Woodbury.”

“Have no fear,” the affable other man said. “I shall see them home and keep a close eye out for any more wayward toys.”

Hugh glanced about the green, where the day’s hearty wind was dallying with more than just the kite. Several ladies held their skirts in a tightly wrapped configuration and nearly all the men had a hand on their hat or had given up and chosen to carry it.

Even now the twirls of problematic breeze were threatening to send Hugh’s hat toppling back to the ground. He shoved the object further down onto his head, hoping it would secure it without pushing it too far out of shape. He’d need to keep an eye out for more flying objects as he crossed the green.

With a last nod to the trio who didn’t seem to know quite what to do with themselves, he walked off.

As he crossed behind a tree that temporarily blocked the wind, a scraping sound emanated from the package in his arms, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He’d tried to be careful with the box while aiding the group of ladies. The outer wrapping bore no visible damage, but that didn’t mean the delicate contents hadn’t suffered from his dash across the green.

He tucked himself further into the protection of the cluster of trees and shrubs, then used his body to block whatever wind remained as he knelt and set the package on the ground.

The tails of his coat flipped about as he untied the string and peeled away the protective wrappings to reveal the nearly 100-year-old table clock.

He leaned over to peer in the glass window on the side of the wood casing. The spring he’d realigned and the verge escapement he’d had to replace appeared undisturbed. He couldn’t check the striking mechanism without turning the clock over and opening the back, but it was less likely that element had been disturbed by the shaking. Possibly the winding key had become dislodged and now sat in the bottom of the casing.

Satisfied all was well, he replaced the protective wrappings and secured the twine. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head and rose to his feet once more with the clock securely clasped in his arms.

Though he knew his focus needed to be on the lord he was en route to see, he looked back to see if the ladies and Mr. Woodbury were still standing about. They were nowhere to be seen. Most likely they lived in one of the homes lining the square. He hadn’t been able to see where the younger woman flounced off to, but the lack of concern from the women meant she must not have needed to walk far.

As he was on his own, he allowed the memory of the moment to inspire a chuckle.

He was still smiling when he reached his destination, as it, too, was one of the fine townhomes at the edge of the square. Four layers of windows stretched above him as he eased down the six steps from the street to the servant entrance. The windows stretched four across as well, indicating there was certainly money within these walls. There was also a viscount with a penchant for fine timepieces.

Was there any chance he’d be willing to invest in the opening of a new chronometer shop?

Despite Hugh’s daily prayer, he sighed in anticipation of defeat. Aristocrats rarely involved themselves in trade, preferring investments that were less directly connected to the acquiring of their friends’ money.

There was always a chance, though. The world was changing rapidly, and some titled gentlemen were becoming more and more interested in the technological advances of the day. One day, Hugh would encounter a blessed benefactor. Until then, he’d do as he’d done for the past three years and attempt to garner the attention, respect, and recognition among the wealthy so they might see him as a master clockmaker and desire to work with him directly.

If he could gather a little clientage along the way, he could save up the funds for his own shop. It would be slower than he’d like, but at least he’d be moving forward. Today his job was to impress the aristocratic owner of this lovely clock.

Two footmen, three maids, and one butler later, he was shown into the study of the Viscount Eversly.

The man stood from the desk, a genuine smile crossing his face as he rubbed his hands together and came around the furniture to meet Hugh in the middle of the room. He didn’t appear much older than Hugh’s twenty-six years, but he was obviously excited about the clock.

“This is it, then? Johns was able to fix it?”

And therein lay the problem with Hugh’s grand plan. As long as everyone assumed it was Mr. Johns working on their clocks, they’d continue to ask for the shop owner. Despite his limited eyesight that wouldn’t allow him to work with the smaller elements anymore, the older man refused to bring Hugh on as a partner instead of the employee he’d become at the completion of his apprenticeship.

Mr. Johns had never even looked in the casing of this clock. It was Hugh who had gotten the mechanism ticking along better than it had when it was new.

But it wasn’t Hugh’s name on the door, and he couldn’t outright correct the assumption. He needed the steady job, and it was Mr. Johns’ name on the invoice. He was the one with the reputation as the man who could handle the more exacting repairs. That might have been true once, but Hugh had long ago surpassed his teacher’s abilities.

Shoving aside the sinking feeling of despair, he put on a smile to assure the clock owner his expensive repair had been completed correctly.

“A few of the gears and interior workings had to be replaced. Most of it was a matter of cleaning and rebalancing everything.” He nodded toward the desk and raised the wrapped package. “May I?”

Lord Eversly waved toward the door. “Why don’t we take it to the drawing room? That way you can set it in position, and we’ll know everything is at it should be.”

“Of course.” Hugh fell into step behind the viscount and exited the study. He glanced discreetly around at the furnishings and decor. He’d seen the interior of many of London’s finer homes as he performed the task of resetting a repaired mechanism. Clocks of great worth or sentimental value stopped keeping time even with weekly calibrations and he—or rather Mr. Johns—was called upon to make them new again.

Normally he walked the rooms in stiff silence to the accompaniment of a butler who always seemed to think Hugh was going to abscond with the silver. Occasionally, like now, he was accompanied by the gentleman of the house, but either way, he always fell into his place two paces behind his escort.

This situation didn’t seem to be to Lord Eversly’s liking, though, as he fell back to walk beside Hugh as they walked through the house.

And he chatted the entire way.

“My grandfather taught me how to tell time by that clock. It sat in my room at the country estate for years, but I’m almost never there anymore.”

Hugh nodded. What would an appropriate response be? Clearly the man expected this chat to be a conversation and not a monologue with an audience of one.

Fortunately, if there was one topic Hugh could confidently speak on, it was timepieces. “Did it stop working after the relocation?”

Lord Eversly tilted his head in thought as he took them up a flight of stairs. “Not right away, no. But it stopped keeping accurate time after that.” He shrugged. “Then it stopped working entirely.”

“The move might have dislodged the piece that finally broke.” Hugh nodded toward the package. “One gear was in three pieces down in the well of the clock.”

Lord Eversly gave Hugh a crooked grin as he placed a hand on the latch of a door. “Mr. Johns tell you that?”

“Ah . . .” Hugh tried to avoid telling anyone an outright lie, but some people got very upset if they thought their project had been handed off to a lowly lackey and not seen to by the perceived master craftsman. He should have known better than to be lulled into easy conversation by the viscount with the charming reputation. All of London knew of Lord Eversly’s silver tongue.

“Not to worry,” the viscount said with a chuckle. “I shall simply thank you for my working clock.” He pushed the door open. “Oh, hello there!”

Hugh followed the aristocrat into what appeared to be a family parlor and was glad he’d not yet removed the clock’s protective wrappings. The package bobbled in his arms, and he hugged it to his chest to keep it secure.

Seated on the couches throughout the casual sitting room were all the participants of the earlier kite spectacle.

And only Mr. Woodbury appeared happy to see him.