Timeless Hearts

Chapter 1 : The Pocket Watch

Emma Cole gripped the worn catalog tightly in her hands, her eyes scanning the room as the auctioneer’s voice echoed through the crowded hall. She could feel the air buzz with anticipation as collectors, historians, and the occasional eccentric socialite jotted down their bids. The scent of aged wood and dust lingered in the air, mingling with the faint tang of ink from freshly printed paddles.

This wasn’t her first estate auction, but something about this one felt different. Emma had spent years in the field of historical research, unearthing forgotten stories and tracing objects back to their origins. She lived for the thrill of discovery, but tonight, a strange unease prickled at her skin.

“Lot 256: A Victorian-era pocket watch. Crafted in 1825, with intricate engravings and unknown provenance. Shall we start the bidding at $500?”

Emma’s heart skipped. She hadn’t even intended to come tonight, let alone bid, but the moment she saw the watch in the catalog, something had called to her. The image of it—polished silver with delicate, almost otherworldly engravings—was burned into her mind.

$500,” a voice from the front row called.

“$600,” Emma blurted before she realized her hand had shot up.

The auctioneer barely paused. “$600 from the lady in the back. Do I hear $700?”

A hush fell over the room, the tension palpable. When no one else raised their paddle, the gavel came down with a resounding thwack.

“Sold to the lady in the back for $600.”

Emma exhaled, her pulse racing. She hadn’t meant to bid, but now the watch was hers.

Minutes later, she stood at the cashier’s table, the heavy weight of the pocket watch resting in her hands. It was even more beautiful in person, the silver shimmering faintly under the dim lighting. The engravings seemed almost alive, swirling patterns that drew her gaze deeper and deeper.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” an elderly man beside her murmured. His voice was low and raspy, like the whisper of pages turning in an old book.

Emma glanced up, startled. The man’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the watch. He smiled faintly, but there was something unsettling in his expression.

“Be careful with that one,” he added, his voice dropping further. “Some objects carry the weight of time itself.”

Before Emma could respond, he was gone, melting into the crowd like smoke dissipating in the air.

Back in her apartment later that night, Emma set the watch on her cluttered desk, its surface littered with open books, research notes, and her laptop. She traced the engravings with her finger, curiosity and unease warring within her.

The watch’s latch clicked open with a faint metallic sound, and Emma froze. She hadn’t touched the mechanism, yet the lid flipped open on its own. Inside, the clock’s hands spun wildly, faster than humanly possible, until they stopped abruptly at midnight.

A low hum filled the air, and the room around her began to blur. Panic surged through her veins as the walls shimmered and twisted, books tumbling off shelves as a gust of wind howled through the apartment.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the noise stopped. The world fell silent.

Emma blinked, her heart pounding. She was no longer in her apartment.

She stood in the middle of an ornate drawing room, the air heavy with the scent of beeswax and roses. Candles flickered in wall sconces, their warm light casting long shadows across the richly decorated space. A massive fireplace crackled in the corner, and the faint strains of music drifted in from somewhere beyond the heavy oak door.

“What in the—”

The door burst open before she could finish. A tall man entered, his dark hair tousled and his piercing green eyes locking onto hers. His sharp, angular features betrayed both surprise and suspicion as he halted mid-step.

“You,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”

Emma stared, her breath catching in her throat. She had no idea how she’d gotten here, but one thing was clear: she was no longer in her own time.

And the man standing before her was undoubtedly the Duke of Ravenshire.

Emma's pulse thundered in her ears as she stared at the man who could only be Alexander Blake, the Duke of Ravenshire. His presence was magnetic and intimidating all at once. He wore a finely tailored black coat, his cravat perfectly tied, and the faintest shadow of a beard framed his sharp jawline. His emerald eyes narrowed as they swept over her modern jeans, sneakers, and hoodie—a stark contrast to the lavish surroundings.

"Well?" he demanded, stepping closer, his voice cold but edged with curiosity. "Explain yourself."

Emma took a shaky step back, clutching the pocket watch in her trembling hand. Her mind scrambled for an answer, but nothing coherent came out. What could she say? Hi, I think I accidentally traveled through time. Can you help me figure this out?

"I... I’m sorry," she stammered. "There’s been a mistake. I didn’t mean to be here."

"Clearly," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He folded his arms, studying her as though she were a puzzle he needed to solve. "That much is obvious. However, uninvited guests do not simply appear in my drawing room without explanation. Are you a thief? A spy? Or simply mad?"

Emma's cheeks burned. "I’m not a thief or a spy! And I’m definitely not mad!" she snapped before catching herself. She didn’t want to provoke him further, but the accusation stung.

His lips quirked upward in what might have been amusement, though his gaze remained sharp. "Then who are you?"

Emma hesitated. Telling him her real name—or anything about herself—felt risky. But lying to a man like this, a man who seemed to see straight through her, felt just as dangerous.

"I’m..." She took a deep breath. "My name is Emma. I don’t know how I got here, I swear. One moment I was at home, and the next I was... here."

Alexander tilted his head, as though weighing the truth of her words. After a long pause, he gestured to the pocket watch in her hand. "And that?"

Emma looked down at the watch. Its face glowed faintly, the hands once again spinning in a strange, erratic dance. "It’s mine," she said softly, though she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. "I bought it at an auction. But I think... I think it brought me here."

The Duke’s brows furrowed. "A watch that brings its owner through time? That’s quite the tale, Miss Emma. Are you certain you’re not mad?"

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but before she could respond, a new voice rang out.

"Your Grace, is everything all right?"

Emma turned to see a man enter the room, his face lined with worry. He was shorter than Alexander, with a rounder build and a neatly trimmed beard. His gaze flickered to Emma, and his expression hardened. "Who is this woman? Shall I summon the guards?"

Alexander held up a hand to silence him. "That won’t be necessary, Mr. Fletcher. Miss Emma here claims to have arrived by... unusual

means." His eyes flicked to the watch again, suspicion darkening his expression. "For now, she stays under my roof until I uncover the truth."

Emma’s stomach sank. "Wait, what? I can’t stay here!"

The Duke raised a brow. "Would you prefer I hand you over to the authorities? I’m sure they’d be quite interested in a woman dressed as you are, speaking nonsense about magic watches."

Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t like it, but he had a point. In this world, she had no money, no allies, and no understanding of how anything worked. Staying with him, however risky, was her only option.

"Fine," she muttered. "But I need to figure out how to get back."

Alexander’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Then I suggest you start by telling me everything you know about that watch. And pray, Miss Emma, that you’re not here to bring trouble to my house. I have enough of that already."

With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his coat billowing behind him. Mr. Fletcher lingered, giving Emma a look that made it clear she was not welcome.

Once they were gone, Emma sank onto a nearby chaise, her hands trembling. She clutched the watch tightly, her mind racing. She needed to figure out what had happened, how she’d ended up here, and—most importantly—how to get home.

But as her eyes wandered over the elegant room, its every detail a testament to another time, a small part of her couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her.

She was in 1825. And the man she’d read about in historical records—the mysterious, reclusive Duke of Ravenshire—was very real.

And far more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.

The hours that followed were a blur of confusion, fear, and begrudging acceptance. Emma was escorted by a silent maid to a guest room—though “guest” seemed like a generous term given the suspicious looks thrown her way. The room was vast and ornate, with heavy velvet curtains, an enormous four-poster bed, and a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. Yet, despite the grandeur, Emma felt a gnawing sense of isolation.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turned the pocket watch over in her hands. The glow from earlier had faded, leaving it looking like any other antique timepiece. She traced the intricate engravings along its edge—swirling patterns that seemed to shift under her fingers.

"What are you?" she whispered, holding it closer. "And why me?"

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Before she could answer, the door creaked open, revealing a young maid with wide eyes and an awkward curtsy.

"His Grace requests your presence in the dining hall," the maid said in a trembling voice. She glanced nervously at Emma's clothing, as though it might burst into flames at any moment.

Emma hesitated. She wasn’t eager to face the Duke again, but she had questions—so many questions. And if she was going to figure out how to get back home, she needed to start somewhere.

"Thank you," she said, forcing a polite smile. "Lead the way."

The maid nodded and turned, her steps brisk but careful. Emma followed, taking in the labyrinthine corridors of Ravenshire Manor. The walls were adorned with oil paintings—stoic portraits of long-dead nobles and sweeping landscapes bathed in twilight. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting dancing shadows that seemed alive.

When they reached the dining hall, Emma’s breath hitched. The room was vast, dominated by a long mahogany table set with gleaming silverware and candelabras. At the head of the table sat Alexander, his piercing green eyes fixed on her as she entered. He had changed into a dark navy coat, his appearance as immaculate as ever.

"Miss Emma," he greeted, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity. He gestured to the seat at his right. "Join me."

Emma hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. She glanced around, noting the absence of other guests. "No one else is dining?"

Alexander’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "No one of consequence. Please, sit."

Reluctantly, she crossed the room and took the seat he’d indicated. The maid from earlier appeared, placing a bowl of steaming soup before her. Emma’s stomach growled in response, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since... well, she wasn’t even sure how much time had passed.

She picked up the spoon, aware of Alexander watching her every move. The silence stretched until she couldn’t bear it any longer.

"So," she began, setting the spoon down. "You wanted to talk."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Indeed. You mentioned the watch brought you here. I’d like to hear more."

Emma hesitated. How much could she reveal without sounding insane—or worse, giving him a reason to lock her away?

"I bought it at an auction," she said carefully. "I’m a historian—I study things like this. But I didn’t know it was... special."

"Special," he repeated, his tone skeptical. "You’re suggesting this object defies the laws of time itself?"

She shrugged, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can’t explain it any better than you can. All I know is that one moment I was in my world, and the next I was in yours."

Alexander studied her, his gaze sharp and assessing. "If what you say is true, then that watch is not merely an artifact. It is a weapon—or a curse."

The words sent a chill down Emma’s spine. "A curse? What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You’re not the first to arrive unbidden in this house, Miss Emma. And those who came before you brought ruin in their wake."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"

Before he could answer, the heavy double doors to the dining hall burst open. A tall man with sandy hair and an air of authority strode in, his boots echoing against the polished floors. He wore the uniform of a military officer, his expression one of irritation and urgency.

"Alexander," the man said, ignoring Emma entirely. "We have a problem."

The Duke’s expression hardened. "Not now, Nathaniel. I’m in the middle of something."

Nathaniel’s gaze flickered to Emma for the first time, his brow furrowing. "And who is this?"

"None of your concern," Alexander said, his tone icy. "What’s the matter?"

Nathaniel hesitated, clearly debating whether to press further. Finally, he sighed. "There’s been another break-in. The same men as before, or so it seems."

Alexander’s jaw tightened. "When?"

"An hour ago. They were searching for something—something valuable."

Emma glanced between the two men, her unease growing. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she had a sinking feeling it wasn’t a coincidence.

Alexander stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse me, Miss Emma. We will continue our discussion later."

Before she could protest, he strode out of the room with Nathaniel close behind, their voices fading into the distance. Emma sat frozen, her mind racing. She didn’t know what she’d stumbled into, but one thing was clear: the Duke’s world was far more dangerous than she’d imagined.

And somehow, she was right in the middle of it.