One

      It was fascinating, like stepping back over two hundred years in time.

      Bemused by the novelty of the experience, Adam Grainger came to an abrupt halt behind the two elderly ladies blocking his passage to Duke of Gloucester Street. In no particular hurry, instead of circling around them, he waited patiently for them to finish their conversation and then either cross the street or part company.

      It had been snowing when Adam flew out of Wyoming that morning, snowing and windy and bitterly cold. Rather normal weather for mid-December. At the time, since he was flying toward the eastern seaboard, he had presumed it would be cold in Virginia, as well.

      But it wasn’t cold; in fact with the temperature hovering around 62°, the air felt balmy against his face.

      While waiting, basking in the gentle sunshine, Adam slowly took in his surroundings, the sights and sounds of the restored capital city of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.

      Lowering his gaze to his hands, he studied the well-marked map, which delineated every street and restored building in the area. His bearings set, he raised his eyes. Directly opposite, across the cobbled street, stood the Bruton Parish Church, and beyond the church, the Governor’s Palace rose majestically at the end of the two-block-long Palace Green.

      But it wasn’t the lovely old church or even the more imposing palace in the background that caught Adam’s attention and fancy, riveting his gaze.

      A young woman was approaching the street from the green. Although attired in the period costume of a reenactor, she strode forth with the free and easy long-legged gait of the modern woman, a long dark red cape swirling around her ankles, a mobcap swinging by its strings from her fingers. Sunlight glimmered in loosened strands of gold streaking her brown hair, which was gathered into a carelessly fashioned topknot.

      An odd sensation of familiarity flared to life inside Adam. Startled by the feeling, he stood staring, arrested by the very sight of her beautiful composed face.

      “A pity, really, she’s such a lovely girl.”

      Adam couldn’t help but overhear the remark made by one of the ladies standing less than a foot in front of him. A movement of the lady’s head indicated the remark had obviously been intended to apply to the young woman coming to a halt at the opposite curb.

      A pity? he thought, frowning. What could there be to feel pity for such an enchanting creature? The thought had no sooner struck him than the answer was forthcoming.

      “A bit odd, you know,” the lady murmured in a sympathetic tone, shaking her head.

      “So I’ve heard,” the other lady replied, heaving