16. Chapter 16
The following evening, Muriel stood in the academy entry hall staring out the window, hoping to see a carriage stop in front of the school.
Each time a buggy approached, she held her breath, and each time it turned down a side street or passed by, air leaked out of her and deflated her posture.
Until the next conveyance rolled down the street.
She'd decided to come down twenty minutes early instead of continuing the fruitless pacing of her too-small chamber, but being able to see the street only heightened the torture.
What she wouldn't give for a swim. To get out of her head and into the sea. Where she could stretch her muscles and work through this horrid anxiety. Would he come? Or did he despise her now?
Oh, Zane. Please come.
The rattle of wheels on packed dirt focused her eyes once again on the street outside the window.
A piano-box buggy drawn by a sleek bay with black mane and tail approached.
The top of the carriage had been folded down, making it easier to see the man driving.
A man with dark hair visible beneath his black Homburg hat.
Her pulse surged like it did after a long swim. It could be him. Please, let it be him.
The buggy drew near, then drifted toward the side of the road. The side in front of the academy. The driver drew his horse to a halt and set the brake. As he turned to alight, his face became clear.
Zane!
He'd come. Muriel jumped back from the window, not wanting him to catch her peerin' out like an impatient eejit with no manners.
Sister Mary Vincent tucked her sewing project back into her basket then rose from the bench where she'd been darning a pair of stockings and bearing witness to Muriel's fretful vigil.
"See now? I told you he would come." She smiled and crossed the entryway, her black robe swishing along the stone floor with a peaceful smoothness Muriel envied.
"No gentleman would issue an invitation then fail to appear.
It would reflect poorly on him and his family. "
Muriel's stomach cramped. Was that why he'd come?
Out of social obligation? The dreadful thought sat in her belly like undercooked fish, stirring up a nausea that brought the sting of bile to the back of her throat.
Heaven help her. She might be facing the most excruciating dinner of her life.
At least no one would be expectin' her to talk. Perhaps her silence was a mercy.
When the knock came, Muriel jumped again, about as easy in her skin as a sunburned sea lion. Thankfully, Sister Mary Vincent made no comment. She simply glided forward to answer the door.
"Evening, sister. I've come to escort Miss Quinn to dinner."
Muriel nibbled on her bottom lip. He sounded cordial. Too cordial?
Ah. Eno' with the frettin'. If his likin' fer ye has soured, ye'll know soon enough. No use makin' yerself ill tryin' to guess.
"Of course. She's been waiting for you." Sister Mary Vincent stepped aside and afforded Muriel a clear view of Zane, handsome as ever in a dark gray coat with black trousers and vest, his hat tucked under one arm.
His face lit when he saw her, and her heart latched onto hope with an iron grip. He strode inside and sketched a bow. "You look lovely, Miss Quinn."
She ducked her chin, pleased at his words yet feeling a bit like a fraud in the elegant silk gown Mrs. Underhill had arranged for her to borrow from one of her pupils.
She'd been afraid the pale mauve fabric would clash with her hair, but the ivory lace trimming the scooped neckline and elbow-length sleeves struck a surprising harmony with her coloring.
Vanessa had styled her hair in a complicated twisted chignon that Muriel would never be able to replicate, which was a shame because it did rather flatter her face.
He drew near, and she lifted her face, searching for clues in his expression about whether duty or desire had brought him here. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. That was a good sign, wasn't it?
"Are you ready?"
Hopeful more than ready, but she nodded and moved toward him.
He offered his arm. She took it, her heart pounding against her ribs, more due to nerves than romantic flutterings.
With a wave to Sister Mary Vincent, Muriel walked into the early evening sunlight and allowed Zane to help her up into the open carriage.
Thankful that a meal with family didn't require Vanessa's chaperonage, Muriel settled herself on the padded bench and placed her handbag on her lap, its odd contents increasing her unease.
Zane circled the buggy then climbed in the other side.
The seat shifted with his weight, and his leg brushed against hers as he sat.
Before he could take up the reins, she touched his arm to get his attention. He looked her way, and she reached into her bag to retrieve the first item. His recorder.
She'd played the small flute all morning, its pure tones lifting her spirits even as she fumbled with fingerings.
Eventually, she got the hang of proper air flow, and trial-and-error taught her enough notes to play several simple songs by ear.
Remembering the joy of playing with Zane the evening before had banished her worries until Vanessa showed up and lectured her on how to hunt the Ericksons' home for the missing journal. Hence the second odd object in her bag.
Knowing the meaning the flute held for Zane, and not knowing if she would see him again after tonight, she held it out to him. 'Twas a treasured family tradition. He shouldn't be forced to see her again just to reclaim it.
Zane didn't take the flute from her, however.
He circled his fingers around hers and pushed the instrument back toward her.
"Keep it a while longer." His gaze met hers, a message glowing in their blue depths she really wanted to interpret as forgiveness but wasn't sure if that might be her own wishful thinking reflecting back at her.
She raised her brows in question.
"I'm sure," he said, reading her mind. "I hope we might play another duet one day soon."
Her heart pounded again, but this time the cause was definitely romantic flutterings. His hand on hers, his lopsided smile, his hint that they might make beautiful music together one day. Her own smile found its way out of the clouds and radiated a bit of light in his direction.
Zane withdrew his hand, cleared his throat, and turned his attention to driving while she tucked the flute into her bag.
Her knuckles brushed against the leather of the replacement journal Vanessa had insisted she bring.
The chances of finding the stolen journal tonight were slim.
The chances of her being alone long enough to make the switch if she did find it?
Thinner than the nearly transparent pages of her Bible.
Despite the low odds, Mrs. Underhill expected a report on her findings in the morning. A meeting Muriel dreaded but couldn't escape. Not if she wanted to protect her family.
After rounding the block, Zane turned the buggy down 25th Street and relaxed into the seat as they traveled the straightaway.
She watched the houses grow larger, and her stomach pinched.
As many times as she'd entertained the dreamy notion of living in a castle with a handsome prince, the elegance of Zane's house had intimidated more than excited her during her first visit, and the grandeur of the neighborhood surrounding it now pressed a heavy realization upon her—she didn't belong here. Would never belong here.
"I read your letter."
Zane's quiet words whipped Muriel's head around. She searched his profile for clues and sagged a bit in relief when he glanced her way long enough to offer a small smile.
"I'm not ready to end our courtship just yet," he said.
Muriel gripped the metal handrail near her hip to keep from melting straight off the seat. He wasn't turning her away. Thank heaven. She hadn't ruined everything, after all.
"I've decided to keep your secret for the time being, though I hope you'll come to trust me enough to tell me more of your story.
" He glanced her way again, and this time his gaze lingered on hers.
"I want to help you, Muriel. Whatever trouble you are mixed up in, I'll help you sort it. If you'll let me."
Tears misted her eyes as she mouthed the words Thank you. The loneliness that had been plaguing her since she left her da's house lifted with the gift of Zane's promise. He wanted to court her. To help her.
Well, at least until he learned that helping her meant crossing his father.
Muriel sat back against the seat and blinked the remaining moisture from her eyes.
She never should have made that accursed bargain.
She should have been patient. Sought help from people she knew.
People she trusted. But she'd let her impatience goad her into leapin' before she looked, and she'd landed square in the middle of a marshy lagoon full of slimy algae and venomous water snakes.
They pulled up in front of the mansion Zane called home, and Muriel prayed for calm.
Oh, how she wanted his family to like her.
Just as she wanted her family to like Zane.
When they were finally allowed to meet him.
At least she'd already met his mother. And while the lady hadn't been particularly warm when they'd first met, she'd softened somewhat when her son took a liking to the strange girl without a voice.
Hopefully, she cared more about Zane's happiness than the pedigree of her future daughter-in-law.