London, 1666

“Are you telling me you made this bracelet? A girl? This shop is Goldsmith and Sons, is it not?” Robert puckered his freckled face and made his voice high and wavering. “Where are the sons?”

From where she stood by the stone oven, Amy’s laughter rang through the workshop. “Lady Smythe! A perfect imitation.”

“Well done, Robert.” Her father smiled as he brushed past them both and through the archway into the shop’s showroom.

Robert’s pale blue eyes twinkled, but he stayed in character, cupping a hand to his ear. “Imitation? Imitation, did you say? I was led to believe this was a quality jewelry shop, madame. I expect genuine—”

“Stop!” Amy fought to control her giggles. “You’ll make me slip and scald myself.”

Robert’s gaze fell to Amy’s hands. As he watched her pour a thin stream of molten gold into a plaster mold, his expression sobered. “I like Lady Smythe,” he muttered. “At least she buys the things I make.”

“Oh, Robert.” She sighed. “Why should it matter who made something, as long as we’re selling a piece?”

“I’m a good goldsmith.”

“You’re an excellent goldsmith,” Amy agreed. Although she also thought he was a bit unimaginative, she kept that to herself. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a girl.”

She clenched her jaw and tapped the mold on her workbench, imagining the gold flowing to fill every crevice of her design. “I’m also a jeweler,” she said under her breath.

“Never mind.” He walked to his own workbench and plopped onto his stool, lifting the pewter tankard of ale that sat ever-present amongst his tools.

Ignoring him, Amy picked up a knife and a chunk of wax, intending to whittle a new design while the gold hardened. The windowless workroom seemed stifling today—hot, close, and dark. She dragged a lantern nearer, but the weak, yellowish glow did little to lift her mood.

Five years she’d lived and worked with Robert Stanley, her father’s apprentice, and he still didn’t understand her. She couldn’t believe it. She was marrying him in two weeks, and she couldn’t believe that, either.

Once it had seemed like a lifetime stretched ahead of her before she had to wed. But now she was seventeen, and Robert was twenty-one, and his apprenticeship had ended. Which meant it was time for them to marry.

She’d asked for more time, but her father had refused. According to the betrothal agreement that had been signed when she was born, Robert was now due a share of the shop—and Hugh Goldsmith wasn’t about to share his family’s hard-earned business with a man who wasn’t his son-in-law. So he’d set a date, and that had been that.

No matter that Robert thought his wife should stay upstairs and mend his clothes; no matter that he resented it when Amy’s designs sold faster and she received more custom orders than he did.

No matter that she didn’t love him. Not the way a wife should love a husband. Not the way it was in the French novels she smuggled into her bedchamber. Not the way she had felt, five years ago at the coronation procession, when that young nobleman’s emerald eyes had locked on hers.

Never mind that she’d been but a fanciful girl of twelve at the time—she’d felt something, and that feeling was something she’d never forgotten.

She would learn to love Robert, her father said. But it hadn’t happened—not yet, anyway. Not even close.

Amy sighed and lifted the plait off her neck, fanning the hot skin beneath. She’d set out to talk to her father dozens of times, to beg him to reconsider. But her courage always failed her. Since the death of her mother in last year’s Great Plague, it seemed she could take anything but her father’s disapproval.

When the casting was set, Amy plunged it into the tub of water by Robert’s workbench. She rubbed the mold’s gritty plaster surface, feeling it dissolve away in her hands, watching Robert’s knife send wax shavings flying as he sculpted a model.

She scowled at his curved back. “I believe I fancied you more as Lady Smythe.”

Robert turned and stared at her for a moment, then hunched over suddenly. His face transformed, taking on a Lady Smythe look. “Are you certain, madame?” he asked in that high, wavering tone. “I hear tell you’ve had dancing lessons and speak fluent French. Such pretensions. I don’t hold with women reckoning account books, you know. Not at all.” His voice deepened into his own. “Or making jewelry, either.”

Amy flinched. She pulled the casting from the water and carried it to her workbench to brush off the remaining bits of plaster.

He rose and came up behind her, tilting her head back with a hand beneath her chin. “Two more weeks, and a proper wife you’ll be,” he said and clamped his mouth on hers.

The faint scent of his breakfast had her squeezing her eyes shut and praying for the end to this torment.

“Part your lips, will you?” he said against her mouth.

She didn’t. She wished he’d use one of those newfangled little silver toothbrushes Aunt Elizabeth had sent from Paris.

Finally he raised his head. “Two weeks,” he repeated.

Her eyes snapped open and burned into his. “Papa will never allow you to keep me from making jewelry.” Looking down, she brushed at the casting harder.

He shrugged. “Your papa won’t be here forever.” His hand moved to grip her waist.

Amy’s gaze flickered toward the showroom in warning.

Sighing, he wrenched away and strode back to his workbench, back to his ale. “At least soon I’ll be allowed to touch you whenever I please.” Grinning, he lifted the tankard in a salute. “Two weeks.”

Amy had once thought his grins shy and engaging…but of late they only made her uneasy.

The bell on the outside door tinkled, giving Amy a start. She stood and whipped off her apron. “I’ll get it.”

“Your father is out there,” Robert reminded her. “He can handle it.”

Paying him no mind, she straightened her gown and smoothed back a few damp strands that had escaped her plait. She put a shopgirl smile on her face before heading through the swinging doors into the cool, bright showroom.

“A locket,” a girl at the far end of the L-shaped case was saying, smiling up at a tall gentleman with his back to Amy.

Deep red curls draped to the young lady’s rather scandalously bare shoulders; her lavish golden brocade gown had a wide, scooped neckline Amy’s father would never allow. Was she the gentleman’s mistress?

The gentleman addressed Papa. “My sister would like a locket.” He urged the girl—his sister, not his mistress—forward. “Go on, Kendra, see what you fancy.”

Though the gentleman seemed determined to work with her father, Amy stepped closer, poised to turn the corner and help close the sale. Papa glanced at her, then smiled. “Have you a style in mind, or a price, Lord…?”

“Greystone.” His back still to Amy, he waved an impatient hand. “Whatever she likes.”

Papa cleared his throat. “Perhaps my daughter can help you decide. Amethyst, please show Lord Greystone the lockets.”

She took a tray from the case and moved to set it before the gentleman’s sister instead.

“They’re all so pretty!” Lady Kendra exclaimed in delight. When she bent her head to look closer, her beautiful red curls shimmered to rival the glitter of jewels in the case.

Amy’s hand went reflexively to her own head, as though she could rearrange her hated black hair into something more fashionable than its serviceable plait. Resisting the urge to sigh, she lifted an oval locket with tiny engraved flowers.

“See the gold ribbons forming the bale?” As her father had taught her, her voice was sweet and confident, reflecting her certainty of both the quality of the piece and her ability to sell it. She snapped open the locket and extended it, looking from Lady Kendra to Lord Greystone. “It’s—”

Her voice failed her.

Her father nudged her, frowning. “Amy?”

“It-it’s quite feminine,” she stammered out, telling herself Lord Greystone couldn’t be the young nobleman she remembered.

But then his emerald green eyes locked on hers—as they’d done five years earlier.

It was him.

The nobleman from the coronation procession, the one she’d been unable to forget. Only now he was all grown up. Her heart seemed to pause in her chest, and for a second she thought she would drown in those eyes; then she looked away, with an effort, and down to the locket she was holding.

Lady Kendra reached to take the locket from Amy. “Oh, look how pretty it is, Colin.” She held it up to her bodice, turning to model it for her brother.

With seeming reluctance, Lord Greystone swung his gaze toward his sister. “I’m not sure I care for it.”

“Notice the fine engraving, my lord,” Papa rushed to put in. “Truly first quality.”

Lord Greystone ignored him and looked back to Amy. When his eyes narrowed, Amy found herself studying him in return. Classic symmetrical features: a long, straight nose, sculpted planes, a slight dimple in his chin. His complexion appeared more golden than was the fashion.

Marry come up, he was beautiful.

When he finally spoke, his voice, smooth and deep, sent an odd shiver down her spine. “Have you a locket with…amethysts?”

Amethysts…

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words refused to come out.

“I’m sorry, my lord, we don’t,” Papa said. “But emeralds would suit the lady—”

“Yes,” Amy interrupted, finally finding her voice. “Yes, we do have amethysts! If you’ll but wait one moment.” She reached to grab the key ring off her father’s belt, then turned and bolted for the workshop.

“What are you in such a rush for?” Robert asked as she jammed the key into the first padlock on their iron safe chest.

“Customers are waiting.” Having removed the second padlock, she knelt on the floor and began working the twelve bolts in their complicated sequence.

Robert wandered over, wiping blunt hands on his apron, leaving streaks of abrasive gray slurry. “What customers?”

“A gentleman and his sister,” she said as the last bolt slid into place, allowing her to access the final lock. She opened it with the largest key, then lifted the lid and rummaged inside.

Luckily, the locket she was after was there in the top tray. “Ah, here it is.” Just seeing the piece, the shimmering gold, the sparkling gems, made her smile.

She rose and headed back to the showroom, Robert at her heels. He lounged against the archway and fixed Lord Greystone with a distrustful blue stare.

Well, she would just ignore him.

“I found it,” she announced, handing the locket to Lord Greystone. She watched for his reaction even as she plunked the key ring into her father’s outstretched palm.

Lord Greystone blinked at the piece in his hand. “Beautiful. It’s truly beautiful.”

Amy’s heart swelled. “It does have amethysts, my lord, and diamonds, too.”

“I can see that,” he said, staring at the locket. “It’s splendid.”

“Splendid doesn’t do it justice!” Lady Kendra’s eyes had gone wide and round.

The piece had taken Amy weeks to make, so many hours she could still see it with her eyes closed. On top, a cutwork pattern of diamond-set leaves surrounded an amethyst flower. The lozenge-shaped locket dangled beneath, encrusted with amethysts and diamonds, its lid enameled with delicate violets. Swinging from the bottom, a large baroque pearl gleamed.

Lord Greystone finally looked to her father. “It’s remarkable.”

“I made it.” Amy felt a flush blossom on her cheeks.

Lady Kendra’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Lord Greystone’s startled gaze swung to Amy, over to her father, who nodded proudly, then back to Amy. “I don’t believe it. You’re—”

“A girl?” She heard the challenge in her own voice.

His grin was a bit sheepish. “However did you learn to make something like this?”

Her father cleared his throat. “We hadn’t much to do during the Commonwealth, my lord. I expect you were abroad?”

Lord Greystone nodded.

“Well, jewelry was much frowned upon, other than some mourning pieces. I had time aplenty to train Amy in the arts of goldsmithing.” Amy’s father placed a possessive hand on her shoulder. “She’s a natural—even did the enameling herself.”

“I must—I mean, Kendra—must have it.”

Papa shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale. It’s Amy’s own keepsake.”

“Of course it’s for sale, Papa.” Amy regarded Lord Greystone with a speculative gaze. “But it’s very expensive.”

“I’d expect so. We’ll take it.”

Lady Kendra turned to him, a frown creasing the area between her light green eyes. “Are you sure, Colin?”

He looked down at his sister. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s lovely, but…”

“I said I would buy whatever you chose for your birthday. I want you to have it.” He fished a pouch of coins from his surcoat and handed it to Amy. “Here. Take whatever’s fair. Include a chain; I want her to wear it now.”

Shocked that he would leave the price up to her, Amy fumbled with the pouch. She drew out a few coins, then a few more. The materials had been costly, and the piece had taken a lot of her time—she didn’t want to take advantage of Lord Greystone, but she wouldn’t short herself, either.

“Papa?” Closing the pouch, Amy showed her father the gold she’d taken.

Papa nodded. “That’s fine, Amy.” He pocketed the coins and placed a gold chain on the counter.

As she returned the pouch to Lord Greystone, he handed her the locket. His fingers brushed her hand, and another brief, warm shiver rippled through her. She hoped no one noticed the way her breath caught.

Robert sullenly pulled a cloth from his apron pocket and moved from the archway to stand beside her. He polished the glass case as she threaded the chain through the bale on the locket, then held it up for Lady Kendra to see.

“Ooh,” Lady Kendra breathed. “Will you put it on me?”

She turned, and Lord Greystone lifted her hair so Amy could fasten the clasp.

Lady Kendra faced Amy and touched the locket reverently. “Thank you so very much. I’ll treasure it always.”

“Thank who?” her brother prompted with a smile.

“Thank you, Colin,” she said and turned to embrace him.

Amy bit her lip, feeling a twinge of envy. She envied the girl’s shiny red curls and exquisite, fashionable gown, but most of all, she envied the way Lady Kendra was hugging Lord Greystone. She glanced down at the counter, lest Robert catch sight of her telltale eyes.

Lord Greystone ushered his sister outside, then lingered in the doorway, looking strangely reluctant to leave.

“Can…” The long fingers of one hand drummed against his thigh, then stopped. “Can you make a signet ring?”

His question came low across the small shop, to Amy, not her father.

“A signet ring?” she said with a small smile. “Of course, it’s a simple matter.”

Beside her, Robert stopped polishing.

“Excellent.” Lord Greystone paused, frowning a bit. “I’ll send a messenger with a drawing of the crest,” he said at last. “And my direction to deliver it when you’re finished.”

Amy nodded, feeling a quick stab of disappointment that she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Robert’s hand resumed its deliberate circular motion on top of the counter.

“I thank you,” Lord Greystone said. Then he melted out the doorway and into the teeming streets of Cheapside.

The bell rang again when the door shut. Amy stared at the solid wood until her father cleared his throat.

“I cannot believe you sold your locket,” he remarked. “I thought it was your favorite piece.”

“It was,” she answered dreamily. “But I can make another one.”

Her stomach fluttered with happiness, just knowing Lord Greystone admired her craftsmanship and his sister would be wearing her locket. And soon, he would be wearing her ring.

“If you ask me, it was a clod-headed idea,” Robert put in with a shake of his carrot-topped head. “You’ll never find time to make another locket with all the custom orders you get.”

Amy and her father shared a quizzical look.

“Besides, I didn’t like him,” Robert added. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

Amy lowered her gaze and brushed past him into the workshop. She’d liked the way Lord Greystone looked at her, very much.

Very much indeed.

---

Colin entered their carriage to find Kendra seated inside, her arms crossed. “What took you so long?”

He sat opposite her and looked out the window. The door of the jewelry shop had closed, so he couldn’t see the girl with the amethyst-colored eyes and the long, thick, ribbon-entwined plait.

“I ordered a signet ring,” he said.

“You what?”

Colin could have asked himself that question. But in all his twenty-one years he’d never met anyone like the girl who had made that exquisite locket. He’d wanted his sister to own it, and he’d wanted something she’d made for him, too. “I need a signet ring, for a seal.”

Kendra shot him a look of patent disbelief. “You couldn’t even afford this locket.” She shook her bright head. “Something happened in that shop.”

“Nothing happened,” he said, although he knew very well something had. And he knew the girl—Amethyst—had felt it, too. An instantaneous pull of attraction. He smiled to himself. He was glad he’d met her, though nothing would ever come of it.

But he wasn’t about to admit as much to his little sister.

Unfortunately, Kendra was observant as anything, a fact that could be deucedly inconvenient at times. “I just thought it was a beautiful piece of jewelry,” he told her, “and I wanted you to have it.”

“Od’s fish, Colin, you’re the one always lecturing us about saving funds…”

He turned off her voice in his head, instead remembering the little hitch in Amethyst’s breath when he’d accidentally-on-purpose brushed her hand.

“…planning for the future…”

She was completely off limits, of course. A sheltered young woman of the merchant class, for certain she was nothing like the promiscuous ladies of the court.

“And then you ordered a ring. You never wear jewelry!”

Which would suit him just fine, in truth—he wasn’t that sort of fellow anyhow. But well-suited though they might be, Colin Chase, Earl of Greystone, had no intention of marrying beneath himself.

“I cannot believe you bought this locket in the first place.”

Besides, he was already betrothed to the perfect girl.

“I do love it, though.”

As they passed Goldsmith & Sons, he glanced out the window. He would never go back there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a jewelry shop, and…

No, he had no reason to ever return.

“Thank you, Colin. I truly do love it.”

He blinked and looked at Kendra. She was sighing, gazing down at the locket and touching it possessively.

What had she been saying?

Oh, she loved it.

“I’m glad. Shall we go buy our brother that telescope he’s been prattling on about?”

“Are you sure? Ford will be thrilled.” Kendra bounced on the seat, then settled her skirts about her as though she’d just remembered she was a grown-up sixteen. “Can it be from me, too? Much as I hate to encourage his scientific obsession, he is my twin, and I like to make him happy.”

Colin gave his sister a tolerant smile, hoping the gentleman she married would have more energy than he did. “Yes, it can be from you, too. Now, where do you suppose we might find such a contraption?”

---