13. Chapter 13
Zane stood outside the Ursuline Academy and checked the straightness of his tie before ringing the bell to announce his presence. Breathe, man. Just breathe.
Thank heaven he'd had the revisions of his veranda design to focus his mind at work today.
The pressure of providing Mr. Clayton a quality sketch had been the only force strong enough to keep his mind from constantly drifting to a certain titian-haired mermaid.
Not that visions of Muriel hadn't still found their way into his mind.
They had. Often. Each time he wrenched his mind away from her, he did so with the promise that he'd be able to see her tonight.
And now here he stood, all thought of ironwork and classical proportion systems stored away in mental drawers so he could give his full attention to the young woman his heart had been seeking for years.
The heavy door pulled inward and a middle-aged woman garbed in black with a frightfully stern countenance peered up at him, a question in her eyes.
"Zane Erickson, ma'am." He tugged off his hat and offered a smile. "I'm here to escort Miss Muriel Quinn to Forbes's Confectionary."
She looked him over from head to toe as if measuring his worthiness. Her raised brow seemed to indicate she lacked conviction that he met the standard, but she admitted him anyway.
"This way, sir."
Zane followed the nun through a dim corridor, his shoes tapping loudly against the stone floor. His heart tapped its own rhythm, doubling the tempo of his steps.
The nun assigned the duty of petrifying male callers drew to a halt and aimed a steely glance at him that promised the wrath of God would strike should Zane disregard her instructions.
She stretched an arm toward an open doorway to his right.
"You may wait in here, Mr. Erickson. Miss Quinn and her maid will be down shortly. "
Her maid? He hadn't thought a public outing to an ice cream shop would require a chaperone.
He went there all the time with his friends, including those of the female variety.
But then, he'd not been paying court to any of those ladies, and they'd not been alone.
He should have expected that a woman living in a school run by nuns would have a stricter code to follow.
Not that he minded . . . too much. Though it might make the surprise he'd planned for the walk home a little awkward.
The sister left, and Zane paced the small receiving room, making an effort to distract himself by noting the elements of gothic styling, but not even the vaulted ceiling or the pointed arch design above the door managed to capture his attention for more than a moment.
He'd gotten desperate enough to start counting the individual panes in the line of tall, narrow windows along the outer wall when the sound of footsteps had him abandoning his tally and pivoting to face the open doorway.
The stony-faced nun held him back with a stare as effective as being jabbed in the chest with a spear.
Did she practice those fear of God injection glares, or was it a natural talent?
Either way, she'd found her calling. No dishonorable intention could survive that withering glare.
Even with completely honorable intentions, Zane still felt the pinch.
He had to remind himself that he'd done nothing wrong.
Thankfully, he didn't have to endure the hostile stare of the guardian nun much longer, for a vision in dark green entered and offered an opportunity for escape.
"Miss Quinn." He stepped forward and sketched a bow, his hat tucked beneath his left arm. "I'm delighted to see you again."
Delighted was such a tepid word. Enraptured. Jubilant. Exultant. Those would be better descriptors for the swirling giddiness that attacked his abdomen at the sight of her. Yet, he doubted Sister Steel-Eye would approve, and he didn't want to do anything to sabotage this meeting.
Muriel tilted her head back and lifted her lashes.
Her hazel eyes lit with a joy so genuine he didn't need the smile blooming upon her face to recognize her pleasure.
Though her smile was a sight to behold. Straight, white teeth on full display, she held nothing back.
Except her voice. But he'd prepared for that.
Sister Steel-Eye cleared her throat. "Mrs. Underhill has provided her maid, Vanessa, to accompany Miss Quinn this evening."
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.