11. Chapter 11
"You found her?" Mother laughed. She turned to Miss Quinn. "Isn't that just like a man to take credit for the work we women have done?"
Zane's neck warmed.
"I'm sorry, my boy, but you can't claim credit simply because you opened a door and walked into a room. Mrs. Underhill did the finding. At my behest, I may add. So, if there are any finding fees to be awarded, the ladies will be the ones collecting. Won't we, Miss Quinn?"
A smile stretched across the young woman's face.
Not a debutante's shy smile that barely curved the lips.
Nor the coquettish smile of a lady set on making a conquest. No, this smile beamed with energy and delight.
Full coral lips spread wide, exposing white teeth, while lovely hazel eyes twinkled with good humor.
He found himself forgetting his embarrassment and smiling back.
"Forgive me, Mother. Miss Quinn." He bowed to each of them.
"I would never dream of stealing the credit for an accomplishment not of my making.
In truth, I had just been remembering a young lady that I met at the beach a couple weeks ago.
" Miss Quinn flushed a bit at his words, stirring hope that his assumptions about her had been correct.
"A young lady I very much wished to meet again.
Then I walked into the parlor and found her sitting beside my hearth. It quite took me off guard."
Mother looked from Zane to Miss Quinn and back again. "You've met Miss Quinn before?"
He didn't look away from his siren, just nodded his confirmation. "I believe so, yes. But only Miss Quinn can verify." He took a step closer to her. "You're her, aren't you? The lady who pulled me from the sea and saved my life."
Her lashes lowered as the pink in her cheeks deepened. Then she glanced up into his face and nodded.
He knew it! It was her.
"Good heavens!" Mother pressed a hand to her chest. "This is the woman who saved you? Surely not. No woman of good breeding could swim into the depths of the Gulf. Her bathing costume would drag her to the bottom."
Some of the light dimmed from Miss Quinn's eyes, and her chin dipped to her chest.
A muscle ticked in Zane's jaw. "Well, I, for one, am thankful for her swimming prowess. Had she been a helpless miss hobbled to the shore by antiquated social mores, I would have perished."
Her chin lifted, and she gazed at him as if his black trousers and frock coat had just transformed into a suit of shining armor. A rather invigorating yet terrifying prospect. He wouldn't last long on a pedestal. Then again, wasn't that precisely where he'd put her these past weeks?
"I didn't mean to imply . . ." Mother sputtered in an effort to smooth away her insult.
"I had no idea . . . that is . . ." She ceased talking and took hold of Miss Quinn's hand, causing the young woman to startle and blink like a snared rabbit.
"Forgive me, Miss Quinn. My son is correct.
You are deserving of my most heartfelt gratitude.
Had you not been there . . . " Her voice clogged.
She cleared her throat and adjusted the set of her chin as if doing so would dam up her emotions.
"Well, I dare not even imagine the outcome.
" She gave a sniff then gestured toward the Rococo-styled sofa and chairs situated around them.
"Why don't we all have a seat. It seems we have much to learn about each other. "
"Excellent notion, Mrs. Erickson." The matchmaker inserted herself into the conversation with practiced precision, commandeering Miss Quinn to ensure the young lady sat beside her on the sofa. Whether to support her or control her was hard to tell.
Miss Quinn seemed to pack away her personality and become a proper miss as she took her seat next to Mrs. Underhill.
Her eyes lowered as she folded her hands in her lap and demonstrated admirable posture.
As if he would be impressed with a straight backbone.
Every girl in society had one of those. No, it was the impish sparkle in her gaze and the genuine delight in her smile that captured his interest. Yet he was denied both as she wrapped herself in the cocoon of social expectations.
Patience. He could bide his time. Endure the formalities. Besides, he wanted to learn everything he could about her. Might as well get the boring stuff out of the way first.
"Mr. Erickson. Mrs. Erickson." The matchmaker nodded to him and his mother in turn. "May I present Miss Muriel Quinn?"
Muriel. A beautiful name. Lyrical. So fitting for a sea siren.
"Miss Quinn is a new addition to the Ursuline Academy, but her pedigree is impeccable. Her father is in shipping."
Miss Quinn's brow twitched, almost as if her expressive features were trying to break free of the propriety subduing them.
Did she object to Mrs. Underhill's characterization of her father?
Or had the movement simply been a meaningless facial tic?
He doubted his mother had caught the half-wince.
Her attention remained riveted upon the matchmaker as she recited Miss Quinn's bridal résumé.
Zane listened with half an ear. Social standing and familial connections had no bearing on his future happiness.
He'd rather live a simple life in a small house with a woman he loved than in a mansion with a rich woman who cared more about appearances than affection.
He supposed it possible that Miss Quinn might care about money and social standing, like most others of their class, but somehow, he just couldn't believe it of her.
The woman who had stood on that rocky outcropping and poured her heart into a song meant for God alone, was a woman of passion and deep faith.
A woman who didn't prioritize the opinions of others, else why expose her soul in a public place?
She cared more for the well-being of a stranger than herself.
His identity hadn't been known to her when she'd jumped into the sea to save him.
He could have been a dock worker or fisherman.
His status hadn't mattered. Her actions spoke of bravery, of sacrifice, of noble intent.
Not of ambition or the desire to climb the social ladder.
"And what of her . . . mutism," Mother asked, breaking Zane out of his musings. "Was she born with this affliction? My husband will want to know if the condition could be . . . hereditary."
Mrs. Underhill dipped her chin. "A reasonable concern, of course."
Zane blinked. He'd forgotten all about Miss Quinn's inability to speak.
He'd been so overwhelmed by the discovery of her in his house that he'd given thought to little else.
His siren had possessed a rapturous voice.
One that ensnared his spirit. Had the woman who rescued him been a different woman from the one who'd been singing upon the shore?
Surely there hadn't been two redheaded women in the deserted cove that day.
He searched Miss Quinn's face, but her gaze remained directed at her lap.
"I can assure you that the loss of Miss Quinn's voice is a recent development. One we are quite hopeful will be remedied with time. She sustained an injury to her throat two weeks ago."
Zane's attention snapped to the matchmaker, who eyed him in such a way that left no doubt in his mind as to what, or rather, who had caused this injury.
A drowning man thrashing about insensibly.
Concerned only with his own dire predicament.
Giving no heed to who he might hurt in his desperate bid for salvation.
His breath caught in his throat and a leaden weight pressed upon his chest. He'd done this. He'd destroyed her voice. That passionate, glorious, God-given voice. Horror pulsed through his veins and threatened to drown him a second time.
Throwing himself out of his chair, he fell at Miss Quinn's feet and caught her hand between both of his as emotion choked him and made his own voice rasp with regret.
"This is my fault, isn't it? I can't bear to think that my stupidity in the boat that day did this to you.
" He hung his head. "I'm so sorry, Miss Quinn.
So wretchedly sorry. I should be the one to suffer. Not you."
"Zane." Mother's horrified whispered needled him in the back. "What do you think you're doing? Get off the floor this instant."
He ignored her. His need to atone overrode his need for propriety. Yet how could mere words atone for what he'd caused? What if she never sang again? Never spoke again? All because he'd failed to heed the position of the boom.
In his misery, it took a moment for him to realize that Miss Quinn was pulling her hand away from his grasp.
Of course she was. He'd probably frightened her, making free with her person in such a manner.
He dropped his arms, shrinking into himself.
Why couldn't he act as a normal person around this woman? She must think him an emotional idiot.
He began to slink away, but before he could escape, she clapped his face between her hands and angled his chin upward.
His eyes widened, and his gaze latched onto her face.
Her ardently beautiful face. She didn't look at him with disgust or pity or even false politeness.
Her hazel eyes sought his with desperation.
She shook her head in a negative motion with such vigor, a tress of copper hair slid free to bounce beside her right ear.
She pounded her chest with her palm, as if trying to communicate that she was responsible.
Which was utter rot. Then she raised a finger and dug around in the pocket of her skirt, squirming about on the sofa until she finally produced a small notebook and pencil.
She opened it to a fresh page, scribbled a handful of words upon the paper, then handed it to him.
NOT your fault! She'd underlined not three times. My choice.
"You're an extraordinarily generous woman not to hold me responsible, Miss Quinn. Yet, there's no escaping the fact that had I been attending the sail as I ought, your injury never would have happened."
She returned pencil to paper. Silence filled the room as she wrote a longer note, the only sounds the scratch of the pencil and the ticking of the mantel clock.
And Zane's heart. Though its pounding probably filled only his own ears.
Finally, the scratching stopped, and she turned the notebook outward to face him.
If you hadn't fallen overboard, I never would have met you. Any temporary loss is worth that gain. Please don't worry about my voice. It will come back. I promise.
She promised? Zane wagged his head slightly as a smile found its way onto his face. He didn't know if that promise was based on a mighty faith or naive optimism, but he found he liked the positivity of it. Why not believe the best? He was starting to.
Did she really consider meeting him worth the price fate had forced her to pay?
Rather extravagant in his estimation. He was no great prize.
Yet he understood the sentiment, for nearly dying seemed to him quite a reasonable price to pay for meeting her.
More bargain by the minute, as a matter of fact.
"Zane, please." Mother's pained tone pierced his conscience. "Retake your seat."
He pushed to his feet, his gaze holding Miss Quinn's as he stood. A smile brightened her eyes, stirring a tornadic whirl inside his chest that left him a tad lightheaded.
"May I call on you tomorrow evening? I know a great little ice cream shop."
She was nodding before he got more than half the invitation out.
He grinned, her overt eagerness delighting him more than any coy flirtation could have.
"Zane, really. We've barely learned anything about her."
His gaze remained locked on his siren. "I've learned plenty."
And he liked it all.