Page 48 of Part of Your World

"Yes, ma'am." She bobbed a curtsey and fled the room.

Good riddance. Octavia paced the room, free from the weight of Vanessa's ill-hidden disapproval. As if she cared what a maid thought of her. She'd cultivated a network of influence, respect, and fear among the social elite of the wealthiest city in the south. People knew better than to cross her because her threats were never idle. And while ruining the reputations of Patrick Quinn and Liam Doherty would be more in keeping with her usual style, it was harder to successfully blacken the names of men of integrity. According to her sources, both of Muriel's kinsmen possessed pristine reputations. The blighters.

But a boy was a different story. A boy whom Miss Quinn held dear. Sentimental females with big hearts proved remarkably compliant when a beloved child was in danger. Yes, the boy would suit her purposes nicely.

She needed to send a message to the docks. Make sure everything would be ready as early as Tuesday evening. If Muriel Quinn tried to cross her, there'd be a reckoning.

Poor, unfortunate soul. She was so far out of her depth she could swim for days and never find her footing.

Octavia's throaty laugh rumbled forth like timpani rolls heralding a climactic orchestral conclusion. The thought of that syrupy sweet little songstress getting her comeuppance proved too delightful to contain her glee. And why should she? She'd earned it. Tipping back her head, Octavia let her laughter soar like a soprano's aria. Her triumph was assured.

Muriel had never experienced nerves before a performance. Singing was simply part of her. Yet when Zane's mother said her name and extended a hand toward her in invitation, Muriel's breath seized in her chest. Her heart pumped at an alarming rate, making her lightheaded and strangely unsteady on her feet.

Zane took her arm and leaned close to her ear. "You can do this." His assurance eased a bit of the cramping in her belly, and when she turned and saw his smile and the way his eyes lit with love, her head ceased its swimming. "Close your eyes if it helps," he said. "Pretend you're standing on that outcropping by the shore, and I'm the only one who can hear you."

Sing for Zane. The man she loved. Not for the audience of strangers politely applauding and likely growing impatient with her hesitation. Just for Zane.

Muriel smiled at him and gave him a nod. The answering brightness in his gaze filled her with enough courage to relinquish his arm and walk the handful of steps to the piano. Mrs. Underhill sat upon the bench, her fingers poised above the keys. Her lips turned upward in a smile even as her eyes speared threats through Muriel's chest.

They'd met at the academy yesterday to rehearse, and Mrs. Underhill had given her an earful about duty and contracts and promises. As if she'd needed the reminder. She'd thought of little else over the last few days.

Stay in the moment. Think o' Zane. Let the music flow.

Turning her attention away from her sinister accompanist, Muriel faced the small crowd of Zane's family and friends. Genuine pleasure sparked in her chest as her gaze fell on a grinning Grandpa Clem standing near the mantel.

Inhaling a deep breath, she addressed the audience. "Thank ye fer yer kind welcome. I'm more accustomed to singin' in church than in front of an audience, so I have a few wee nerves dancin' around in me belly."

Polite laughter echoed softly through the parlor.

She pressed a hand to her midsection, willing the flutters to settle. Thankfully, Mrs. Erickson had cultivated her guest list with precision. Only kind gazes peered up at her from the dozen or so guests seated throughout the large music room. Well, except for Zane's scowling father. Horace Erickson had surprised them all by insisting upon attending the event. Thankfully, he stood near the back of the room and could be easily ignored. A movement closer to the piano brought her gaze back to Zane as he took a seat next to his friend Max, the friendly fella from the beach. Zane aimed a nod at her, and a few more fretful barnacles slid free of their mooring on her spirit.

"Our first selection this evening is 'The Last Rose of Summer.'" A piece that had required little practice since both she and Mrs. Underhill had gone through it together previously.

Taking a second to gather herself, she smoothed her hand down the skirt of the dark green dress that she wore only on special occasions. It seemed faded and drab compared to the fashionable silks and satins of the ladies in the audience, but she'd refused to wear another gown purloined from Mrs. Underhill's students. Besides, most of the fabric had come from one of Ma's old dresses, so wearing it was like receiving a hug from her mammy at the moment she needed it most.

With that lovely thought buoying her, she nodded to her accompanist, and rich music filled the quiet.

"'Tis the last rose of summer . . ."

A tremor beset the first few notes of the song, but she kept her gaze on Zane, and eventually the final barnacles fell away, leaving her free to sail uninhibited across the sea of music.

She followed her first selection with a newer piece, ironically entitled "Love's Old Sweet Song," then concluded her portion of the program with the ever-popular "Beautiful Dreamer." Rousing applause met her last note, and Zane shot to his feet with an enthusiastic ovation. Heat rushed to her cheeks at his display, but soon the entire audience rose to their feet as well. So stunned was she, she nearly forgot Mrs. Underhill's training for taking a bow.

Holding her skirt to the side, she dipped into a graceful curtsy, crossing one arm over her chest as she bowed her head.

Zane's mother made her way back to the piano, moisture visible in her eyes. She clasped Muriel's hand. "My dear, that was the most stirring performance I have ever heard. Absolutely beautiful." She turned to the crowd. "Truly remarkable, isn't she?"

The applause revived. Zane's friend Max even added a few whistles.

"But Miss Quinn isn't the only talented musician in the house this evening. Octavia Underhill is a classically trained pianist, and she has graciously agreed to play a few pieces for us as well. You're in for a treat."

Muriel strolled away from the piano toward the hall where a table had been set up with punch and small desserts.

Zane met her there, his face beaming. "You were amazing!"

His whispered praise set her heart aflame, but a dark-haired serving maid darting down the hall with an odd contraption in hand doused Muriel's delight with harsh reality. She wasn't finished performing tonight.

She accepted the punch Zane handed her and drank half of it in one swig. "Vanessa's here," she whispered, her head tipping toward the hall. "We need to be ready."