Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.
When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.
“Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.
Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she had stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.
“May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.
“I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”
Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but shedidn’t. Surely, he had to know she had seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.
Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?
Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”
“I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she had misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”
“And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.
“Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”
“Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.
As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”
“My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”
“Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she had planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome withthose sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.
Passionate kisses?Heavens above!Whatwasshe thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.
“Until we meet again, Miss Carlson,” he said, saving her from forcing her brain and tongue to work in unison. “Good day.” With that, he turned and walked out of the shop, settled his hat on his head, and strode off toward the wharf, not that she watched him.
She snatched Patsy’s gloves from the workbench, rolled them together, and stuffed them into her pocket with the locket, then hurried to the kitchen, sliding onto her chair and bowing her head as her father took his seat at the head of the table.
As they enjoyed the good food her mother had prepared, Lucy ignored the conversation of her parents discussing a new house being constructed by one of the Loyalists and focused on eating the meal, hardly able to stand the wait until she could look at the locket. Something about it—about Patsy—made her beyond curious to know more.
Once everyone had finished the meal and Lucy had assisted her mother in washing the dishes, she scuttled upstairs to her room. Her parents rested outside on the bench in the shade, and Theo played with a bandalore that their neighbor to the immediate east of them, bookseller Jonas Jones, had given to him for his birthday.
The toy had become a favorite of Theo’s. A string wound around a thin center bar attached to two wooden discs. The object of the game was to unfurl the string, then wind it back up using the force of the pulling action without touching the discs. It took practice and skill, and Theo often played with it when he was restless.
Lucy glanced out the open window in her bedroom to assure herself of privacy, then took a seat at the small desk in her roomwhere she sometimes read or wrote in a journal of an evening when the rest of the house was quiet. She took a polishing cloth from a drawer, then removed the gloves and locket from her pocket.
Carefully, she unrolled the gloves and smoothed them out, setting them aside before she centered her attention on the necklace.
The silver chain that held the locket was new and sturdy, the clasp of good quality and not likely to break if it were yanked or tugged, which had probably saved Patsy from having the locket stolen earlier.
The oval-shaped locket, crafted from fine sterling silver, bore no maker’s mark on the smooth back. The face of the piece fascinated Lucy, fashioned in an intricate repoussé arabesque design. She traced her fingers over the raised delicate scrolls and leafy flourishes intertwined in a pattern that created a central knot. The background behind the embellishments was darkened, most likely blackened with a sulfur process, to create a distinct contrast to the raised silver design.
Lucy opened the locket, uncertain what she might encounter. She smiled at a miniature portrait of a pretty child with dark hair floating about her head, rosy cheeks, and her lips curved upward in a slight smile. Did the little girl belong to the mysterious Patsy? Or perhaps she was a grandchild.
On the left side of the locket, opposite the portrait, the wordsIn God We Trustwere inscribed into the silver. For reasons Lucy couldn’t explain, it put her in mind of the Declaration of Independence. Her mother had procured one of the printed copies that were available the day they had heard the colonel read it. Cleta, Lucy, and Theo had poured over the inspiring words of liberty multiple times, memorizing their favorite passages. Lucy had no doubt her father would frown upon it,but she didn’t care. The Declaration was too important to their future not to treat it with reverence and respect.
The locket appeared nearly new to Lucy, but she set to work polishing it. With caution and care, she removed the little portrait to clean behind it only to discover a tiny clasp that had been hidden by the image of the child. When she pushed on it, the back of the locket opened, revealing a hidden compartment.
