Page 41 of Part of Your World

But would Zane approve? Or would it be safer to keep him in the dark until the deed be done?

Octavia paced the academy's music room, her mind traveling down one thought branch after another, searching for flaws, for inconsistencies, for traps.

When Vanessa had reported in last night after a clandestine meeting with the Ericksons' footman and informed Octavia that dinner had been a disaster, Octavia had immediately started plotting the demise of her young Irish protégé. The little fool had actually admitted to being part of a ruse and, worse, had implicated Octavia in the deception. What did it matter that the Erickson patriarchs had dug around enough to unearth the truth of her parentage? She should have kept her mouth shut and used her supposed injury to her advantage. A damsel in distress was a classic ploy for a reason. But no, she'd spoken—in that atrocious accent, no less—and brought the entire house of cards down in one fell swoop. Thankfully, she'd been smart enough not to mention the journal. The footman had not seen a book of any kind at dinner nor had he overheard any mention of one, despite the fact that Muriel had had it with her. Vanessa had seen her place it in her bag along with a couple spare hairpins.

Yet now, Miss Quinn arrived for their morning meeting and announced that she had concocted a plan to retrieve the journal. Her. A naïve, untried girl of nineteen with an overactive conscience who couldn't even manage to keep her mouth shut for more than a few days.

Octavia swirled around to face the infernal creature standing near the end of the piano. "Do you expect me to believe that after Sophie Erickson learned of your deception, she offered to sponsor you in society? What rot!"

Though it would be awfully convenient if it was true. But how could it be? People, especially those in lofty positions, rarely offered forgiveness so magnanimously. Especially not to outsiders who could offer them nothing substantial in return.

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but I be tellin' the truth." Muriel lifted her chin. The appendage wobbled worse than an aging soprano's vibrato, but the chit held her ground. Something few people managed to do when facing Octavia's fury. "Zane's ma loves him somethin' fierce, and she felt horrible 'bout the things her husband said at dinner. I'm thinkin' she's afeared Zane will move out and sever ties with them if she doesn't support his choice. When Zane stayed by me side after dinner, he made it clear he wasn't ready to let me go." She pushed back her shoulders and looked Octavia in the eye. "And I won't be lettin' him go, either."

Ugh. Such syrupy sweetness was nauseating. Though, it might prove useful. Love made people stupid. And easy to manipulate.

"Ye'll see it's true when ye receive an invitation."

Octavia arched a brow, immediately suspicious. Surely Sophie had pieced together Octavia's role in planting Miss Quinn in her midst. She might not know of her plan to retrieve the journal, but Octavia was not so foolish as to believe the woman's forgiveness extended to her. Desperation, on the other hand, could make a woman do all sorts of unpredictable things. Like invite an enemy into her home. Especially if the enemy in question had a reputation for ruining those who crossed her.

Yes. Sophie thought to placate her. Foolish woman. Octavia Underhill could not be placated. Diverted, perhaps. For a time, and to pursue her own agenda. But the moment she had that journal back in her possession, she'd destroy Horace Erickson, no matter how many olive branches his wife offered.

"She wishes ye to play fer me." Muriel rested her hand on the ebony piano lid, her fingertips lightly tapping the surface. "She knows no one can match yer skill, and she wishes me shown to best advantage. To impress her friends."

Octavia smoothed a hand over her indigo bodice. "I can't argue with that logic. I am the best pianist on the island." And it had been a dreadfully long time since she'd played for an audience outside of the academy. An audience capable of appreciating her gift.

"I thought ye might even want to play a piece or two by yerself, giving me a chance to investigate Mr. Erickson's study." Muriel nibbled on her bottom lip after making that telling statement.

Perhaps the girl wasn't a complete dolt after all. Octavia doubted her playing would be enough to keep people from noticing the guest of honor slipping out of the party, but adding an extra level of distraction could work quite nicely. And she knew just who to employ.

"Well, I suppose I'll know the truth when that invitation arrives, won't I?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Octavia swept past the girl, rounded the piano, and headed to the back of the room where a cabinet filled with vertical shelves stood. She opened the glass door and started riffling through the academy's sheet music collection.

"Well? Don't just stand there. If we are to show you off to best advantage, we'll need more than sappy Irish ballads. We have less than a week to turn you into a cultured chanteuse. Let's get to work."

Chapter 19

The following Saturday afternoon, Zane and Grandpa Clem arrived at the academy to collect Muriel. Grandpa Clem seemed a better choice of chaperone than the intrusive maid who had accompanied them before. Besides, Grandpa Clem had promised to be purposely lax in his duties.

"Zane tells me you're a swimmer." Grandpa Clem strolled down 25th Street on Muriel's right while Zane enjoyed having her left hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

Muriel smiled. "'Tis a fact. I love the sea. I've missed it over the last month. I can't remember ever goin' without swimmin' fer such a length o' time. When Zane invited me to the beach, I could hardly say yes fast enough." She swung her gaze to him, and the light radiating from her eyes had his pulse soaring like a boat in full sail. "I just wish I could get in the water."

"Why can't ya?"

Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. "I don't have a proper bathin' costume. Mine is more . . . athletic in nature."

"It'd have to be. All the rigmarole fashionable ladies wear would drag you straight to the bottom if you did more than kick about in the shallows."

"'Tis why I only swim out from the hidden cove near where I first met Zane."

Kind of her not to call it the place where he got smacked in the back of the head by his own boom.

"'Tis a secret spot away from prying eyes."

He looked forward to when he could take her out in his catboat and perhaps swim with her in the Gulf. After they married. A prospect he still longed to turn into reality, once they'd cleared the impediments from their path. But right now, he needed to steer clear of imagining her in that athletic bathing costume of hers. So he turned the conversation to checkers and let Grandpa Clem crow about his winning record against his grandson.