Ch29 - Pocket watch

Violet sat at her vanity, tugging her collar down slightly as she studied her reflection. A faint mark peeked out from the curve of her neck—just seeing it made her cheeks flush as the memory from two nights ago flickered back.

Yeah… high-neck tops only, for the next few days.

“Ma’am,” the housekeeper’s voice came from outside the door, “Jay’s arrived. He says the car’s ready whenever you are.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Violet replied.

She clasped the necklace she’d picked earlier—a soft pink natural pearl that sat perfectly against her cream blouse. Elegant, refined, but not flashy. After all, she was attending the pocket-watch collectors’ exchange from Julian’s side. Showing up underdressed wasn’t an option.

Her eyes drifted to the ring resting on the table. After a pause, she decided to leave it behind.

Once her heels were buckled, she headed downstairs.

The event was being held in a private club on the Upper East Side, tucked away on the third floor of a sleek, industrial-style building.

At the curb, Jay opened her door. “Would you like me to escort you upstairs?”

He was Julian’s assistant—polite, efficient, and discreet. Ever since Julian had instructed him to assist Violet when needed, Jay had noticed she wasn’t like the other society wives. No gossip brunches, no charity luncheons—she avoided all that noise. Watches, though? That was where her eyes lit up.

“No need,” Violet said with a small smile. She wasn’t used to having someone hovering around her.

“Understood. I’ll be waiting downstairs when it’s over,” he said, giving a respectful nod.

After security checked her invitation, Violet stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, and a soft hum filled the silence as it rose. When they opened again, she was immediately greeted by light—no hallway, no preamble—just a wide, open exhibition space.

The hall was bright but warm, illuminated by soft overhead lamps. Along both sides stood long velvet-draped tables, each displaying rows of pocket watches beneath spotless glass cases. White-gloved attendants hovered nearby, carefully lifting pieces for viewing, while guests leaned in with magnifiers, whispering to each other in awe.

A champagne table gleamed in the corner beside trays of delicate finger food.

There couldn’t have been more than thirty guests, all elegantly dressed, murmuring over complications and escapements, sipping their drinks. Just the sight of it all made Violet’s pulse quicken.

Following a staff member’s cue, she approached one of the display tables. Her eyes widened as she took in the watches—each one a tiny piece of history. Some she’d only ever read about in old horology journals, some she’d thought were lost forever. Seeing them here, inches away, felt unreal.

The ambient chatter and the clink of glasses faded around her, replaced by the rhythmic tick, tick, tick that seemed to fill her chest.

Maybe she looked too absorbed—or maybe it was because her face was so much younger than most of the attendees—but soon, whispers started circling behind her.

“Who’s that? Never seen her before.”

“She’s young… daughter of one of the collectors, maybe?”

“Daughter? At that age, she could be someone’s granddaughter.”

“I heard she came in under the Ashford name.”

“Ashford? Don’t tell me she’s Julian’s plus-one? No way—doesn’t look like his type at all.”

The women nearby clinked their champagne glasses, gossiping between sips—until one of them noticed Violet.

“Look at her,” one of them hissed, “the way she’s holding that thing—she’s gonna drop it any second.”

“Oh, shut up. If she drops it, no one here could afford to pay for the damage. That piece belongs to Mr. Reinhardt.”

The name made another woman’s brows shoot up. “Reinhardt? That old man? He’s a total eccentric.”

But Violet didn’t hear a word of it. She was completely absorbed, tracing her gloved fingers gently along the surface of the pocket watch.

She didn’t notice the stares, or the quiet murmurs. Nor did she realize that someone else’s gaze had been fixed on her for quite some time.

A man—early thirties, sharp suit, light brown hair that caught the light just right. A thin pair of wire-frame glasses sat perfectly on his aquiline nose, giving him the air of an Oxford scholar. From the moment Violet had stepped into the room, his eyes had followed her—first out of curiosity, then fascination.

Setting down his glass, he moved closer. When he saw what she was holding, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“This one’s a beauty, isn’t it? Late nineteenth century—there’s something mesmerizing about it.”

Violet looked up, startled. Her eyes met his for the first time. He had that composed, quietly confident air of a man who belonged in these circles.

“Very West London accent,” she said lightly, a small smile on her lips.

He chuckled. “You make it sound like a bad thing.” There was warmth in his tone as he extended his hand. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself first. Edward.”

“Violet.” She shook his hand, polite but unassuming. “Nice to meet you.”

Edward nodded toward the watch still in her hand. “You’ve been staring at that piece for quite a while. Mind telling me why?”

Violet glanced down at it again, eyes soft. “Its construction’s unusual.”

Edward tilted his head slightly, intrigued.

She hesitated for half a beat, but his patient, expectant expression nudged her on. “The engraving style—it’s from Swiss Jura, nineteenth century. You can tell by how delicate the lines are. It’s all hand-carved. Hard to imagine the level of precision they managed back then.”

Edward’s smile deepened, approving. “EXACTLY right. That technique practically disappeared after that era. Shame, though—the movement’s dead.”

Violet looked up at him, thoughtful, then lifted the watch slightly and held it close to her ear. She couldn’t hear ticking, but she could feel a faint resistance when she turned the crown. “The mainspring’s probably jammed. If the gears are intact, it might still be fixable.”

Something bright flickered in Edward’s eyes—surprise, maybe even delight. “Go on,” he urged softly.

She hesitated again, fingertips brushing the edge of the case, her tone calm but alive with quiet excitement. “The barrel spring feels intact. That means it could be rewound—but carefully. Its balance wheel’s an early twin-arm design—too much pressure, and it’ll warp.”

Edward’s grin spread, genuine and impressed. “IMPRESSIVE! You actually know your way around these old pieces. Not many young people do..”

Violet smiled shyly. “Compared to the collectors here, I barely scratch the surface. But… if I ever get the chance, I’d love to study them properly.”

She returned the watch to the gloved attendant, her fingers lingering on it for just a second longer.

“There absolutely can be,” Edward said, his voice barely containing his excitement. “May I ask—which family are you representing today?”

Violet paused mid-motion, halfway through removing her gloves. “Ashford,” she said carefully. “Why?”

“If you don’t mind,” Edward gestured politely toward the quieter end of the hall, “could we step aside for a moment?”

She glanced around—no one seemed to be paying much attention—then nodded and followed him to the back, near the champagne and finger food.

Edward rubbed his palms together lightly, trying to sound composed though his eyes were alight with energy. 

“I’ll be straightforward. I’m an independent watchmaker and private collector from England. I came to New York mainly to help my mentor exhibit his collection—but I’m also planning to open a workshop here. And I’m currently looking for an assistant.”

“Me?” Violet blinked, startled. That was the last thing she’d expected. 

When he’d asked what family she came from, she’d braced herself for embarrassment—for being called out as someone who didn’t really belong in this room full of elite collectors. She hadn’t imagined he’d offer her a job instead.

“Uh… unless you’re still in school?” Edward added quickly, mistaking her hesitation for disinterest.

“No, I’m not,” she said, shaking her head. “But—what exactly would the assistant need to do? I’d probably have to talk it over with… my family first.”

“Of course, that’s perfectly reasonable.” Edward smiled with relief. A maybe was much better than a no. 

“Actually, to be precise, it’s not just an assistant role. It’s more of a… mentorship. I’m looking to take on an apprentice, to pass down my craft. My mentor is Mr. Reinhardt—the very same who owns the pocket watch you were holding earlier.”

“Reinhardt?” Violet’s eyes widened. The same watchmaker who crafted the watch Julian had given her.

What were the odds? Ever since receiving that timepiece, she’d quietly looked up everything she could find about the reclusive Swiss master, but there was almost nothing—no interviews, no photos, no public appearances. Just the reputation of a legendary artisan.

And now, standing in front of her, was his apprentice.

Her pulse picked up. If she joined Edward’s workshop, she’d be one step closer to learning from Reinhardt himself.

Edward gave a small, sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course, there’s a salary attached… though I suspect you might not care much about that part.”