Page 29 of Part of Your World

A fetching brunette he hadn't yet noticed nodded in his direction, her gaze rather direct for that of a servant. She quickly diverted her attention to the floor, but Zane couldn't escape the feeling that her matchmaking mistress had secured her services for more than propriety. She'd no doubt been tasked to spy on the couple and report her observations. As much as he disliked the idea of having his personal business bandied about, he had to admit that having a chaperone who favored his romantic success could be a boon. She'd likely not interfere with his attempted courtship. Unlike Sister Steel-Eye, who continued glaring at him as if he were a wolf making off with one of her lambs.

Warding off a shiver, Zane turned to Muriel and offered his arm. "Shall we go?"

She nodded with bountiful enthusiasm and fit her hand into the crook of his elbow, her cheeks pinkening slightly at the contact. He understood the feeling. A delicious warmth permeated his chest, and his pulse decided to take up the polka. Thankfully, the walk to Forbes's gave them time to adjust to each other. Since he couldn't ask her about her day or her opinions on current events, he prattled on about his studies, pointing out a few examples of architectural styles as they passed different buildings. Instead of simply inclining her head politely, Muriel quizzed him by squeezing his arm and pointing to additional structures. In fact, she went a step further and tugged him off Bath Street to turn down Avenue I. He suspected her intention and was proven correct when she stopped a couple blocks later in front of the First Baptist Church. She gestured to the unusual white building then turned to him with an expectant gaze.

Unused to having someone other than his professional colleagues demonstrate any true interest in his architectural knowledge, Zane grinned as he shared what he knew of the building.

"This church displays an unusual blend of Gothic and Eastern Orthodox styles. See the rounded vestibules? That circular style is reminiscent of the domes utilized in Eastern Orthodox churches, yet all the arches over the doorways and windows come together in a gothic point to draw your gaze upward."

She tilted her head as if following those arch points into the heavens. Then she lifted her hand and started counting. She tugged her hand away from his arm and held up seven fingers.

Zane chuckled softly. "Yes, seven steeples. Most churches are satisfied with one, but I suppose they were aiming for perfection."

Her brow scrunched slightly as if she didn't quite understand his comment.

"Seven is considered a number of completion or perfection. It harkens back to the seven days of creation."

Her face cleared, and she nodded right before snagging his arm again and tugging him around the corner toward the more Gothic side of the church. This section of the building sported a steep triangular roof, yet it boasted a circular window at the apex that indicated an Orthodox influence. It really was a fascinating study, but as much as he enjoyed sharing his observations on the subject, this evening was not about impressing her with his knowledge of building design. It was about building a relationship. Or at least laying a foundation for one.

However, Zane couldn't resist pointing out two of the buildings that bore his mentor's fingerprints as they continued their walk. After they'd crossed Avenue H, he drew her attention to Eaton Memorial Chapel with its more classic Gothic Revival lines.

"I'm apprenticing with Nicholas Clayton." He tried to keep that statement from sounding like a brag even though he was particularly proud of the connection. "He designed this chapel. It might not be as grand as Trinity Church on the corner or St. Mary's on the next street over, but I've always been rather fond of it. Its smaller scale might not inspire as much awe as its larger counterparts, but I like its unpretentious feel. As if everyone would be welcome, regardless of status or influence."

She leaned into his side and squeezed his arm in silent agreement.

A throat cleared somewhere behind them, reminding Zane they weren't alone. Score one for the chaperone. Muriel straightened away from him, and he immediately missed the feel of her nestled against his side. He'd not expected to find a woman who shared his appreciation for the simpler things in life. Not among the elite, anyway. It reinforced his conviction that Muriel Quinn was indeed the partner God intended for him.

Muriel stole a peek at Vanessa and winced at the girl's disdainful stare. The maid had not been shy with her opinions when she arrived at the academy that afternoon to dress Muriel's hair and give her a tutorial on lock picking. A lesson that proved challenging since very few locks existed in a school run by nuns. Mrs. Underhill had thought ahead, though, and instructed her maid to deliver a tea caddy and a jewelry box, each sporting a different type of lock—one called a warded lock, and the other a lever lock. Muriel had no success with either, probably because it felt sinful to learn the skills of a thief, especially with Jesus looking on from the crucifix on the wall. She was already walking a tightrope regarding the not bearing false witness commandment. She wasn't too keen about breaking the Thou shalt not steal one, even if it was for a good cause.

Until Vanessa had clutched her arm with a painful grip and jerked her out of her reticence. "Do you think this is a game? Mrs. Underhill is desperate to get that journal back. She's dangerous, and she doesn't make idle threats. If you want to survive, you've got to quit being a namby-pamby and get down to business. There's no room for lofty ideals or prudishness when dealing with the missus. She only cares about one thing—results. Fail to give them to her and you'll suffer for it."

Muriel had slunk back from the maid's vehemence. What horrible things had she witnessed in Mrs. Underhill's employ? There must have been many to create such a haunted look in her eyes. Perhaps she'd even felt the sting of that suffering herself.

"You have family?" Vanessa asked, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

Muriel nodded.

"Good. Use that. That's what I do." She pushed the tea caddy across the desk until it sat again in front of Muriel. "What if your mother or sister were trapped in a trunk with no fresh air to breathe and the key to open the lock was inside this box? Changes things, doesn't it?"

The horrible image of Alana or Fletcher suffocating inside a trunk ripped through her chest and spawned a new motivation.

"Don't think of what you're doing as stealing. Think of it as protecting those you love. Because that's what it is. The missus has no qualms about hurting folks who cross her, and nothing hurts more than knowing your actions, or lack of actions, caused someone you love to suffer."

By the time Vanessa had ceased the lock lesson and turned to hair duty, her disgust with Muriel had become quite evident. Not only for Muriel's lack of skill with the locks, but for her foolishness in getting tangled up with Mrs. Underhill in the first place. Naive nitwit and starry-eyed stupidity had been muttered under her breath more than once as she expertly molded Muriel's tresses into an elaborate braided masterpiece that Muriel could never hope to replicate. Not that she'd want to with all the hair pulling and scalp scraping involved in the procedure.

"Nicholas Clayton also designed Harmony Hall." Zane's voice pulled her back into the sunshine as he tipped his head toward an impressive building across the street, one covered in fancy arches and what seemed to be stone sentries keeping watch from the rooftops. Muriel's stomach tightened. She swore she could feel Vanessa's gaze searing her shoulder blades from behind. Must she be watched from above too?

Let it go, Muri. Ye'll have plenty o' time to fret about desk drawers and the like later. There be no locks waitin' fer ye at the confectionary. Just the man you've been cravin' to know.

Determined to let neither glaring chaperones nor statuary ruin her evening, Muriel gave her full attention to Zane as he pointed out different architectural features. She might not run in the same circles as the Ericksons, but she had heard of Nicholas Clayton. He was one of Galveston's most noted celebrities. Zane must truly be talented to work with such a skilled artisan. To think that Zane might design a church or town hall himself someday. Wouldn't that be something? She'd likely stop people on the street just to tell them that her husband had designed that building.

Husband. Oh, how she hoped Zane would fill that role one day. Her heart nearly burst from the strength of her wishing. But he might not want her once he learned of her deceit. That's why she'd written the letter weighing heavily in her skirt pocket. She couldn't afford to reveal everything. Not yet. Not until she knew she could trust him. But she had to open herself to him at least a little. How else could she hope to build something with him as beautiful and lasting as the hall standing before them?

More pedestrians filled the walkways as they neared Market Street. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but the restaurants and coffee houses did a brisk business, and the Tremont Opera House stood less than a block away. Oh, how she'd love to see a production there someday. What would it be like to hear a true opera singer perform? Gooseflesh popped out on her arms at the thought. But she really needed to get her mind out of dreamy somedays and focus on the day she was walking in right now. The delight of Zane Erickson's company tangled with the darkness of Mrs. Underhill's looming shadow made the road before her rather treacherous. She needed to watch her step, lest she trip up and destroy everything she sought to build.

Thankfully, the pressure relented once they reached Forbes's Confectionary. Zane purchased a soda for Vanessa, and the maid settled at a small table in the corner and pulled out some knitting to keep herself busy while Muriel and Zane took a table near the front window. Once seated, Muriel pulled out her notepad, determined not to make Zane carry on a one-sided conversation for the entire evening. She'd even planned ahead. Turning to her first page, she passed it to him.

"Tell me about your family." Zane looked up from the page and smiled. "Well, you met my mother. She can be a little overwhelming at times, but she means well. She supports my studies, which I appreciate, and she runs the Ladies Auxiliary for our church. My father . . ." His smile flattened. "He works at the Cotton Exchange. Expected me to follow in his footsteps and wasn't too pleased when I opted for an architecture apprenticeship instead." He shrugged, but a lingering disappointment dulled his gaze. "He's not the warmest of men, but he's had to harden himself in order to succeed in the business world. I suppose I shouldn't judge him too harshly since his success has provided our family privileges we wouldn't have enjoyed otherwise." Yet the way he said it made Muriel suspect that Zane would have preferred a few less privileges and a few more evenings with his da.