Page 23 of Part of Your World

Muriel opened her mouth, then caught herself. She swallowed the answer waiting to be verbalized, and instead offered a tiny shrug and a playful glance that projected a response of wouldn't you like to know.

Her mentor chuckled softly, the sound resembling a purr of satisfaction. "There's hope for you, yet." She reached for a small cake and lifted it to her lips. "Remember, darling. She who holds her tongue, gets her man."

Chapter 10

Zane tilted his head and scrutinized the drawing he'd been working on for Mr. Clayton. A client wished to add an ironwork veranda to the front two stories of his Italianate villa and Clayton had tasked Zane with creating a design that would blend seamlessly with the existing architecture. A test of his readiness for larger projects.

Determined to prove himself, Zane had spent several days consulting design books, drawing the existing house, and making sketches of the ironwork fence surrounding the property. All added to his inspiration. A teardrop-shaped finial sat atop each fence post, adding a bit of softness to the angularity. The veranda would need to stay true to the rectangular shapes and flat roof dominating the house itself, but the corners could be softened in the same style as the fencing.

Rectangular shutters flanked each of the rectangular windows, but above each one, affixed to the red brick edifice, sat a rounded ornamental molding. One that curved at the outer edges and came to a point in the middle, as if someone had grabbed either side of a teardrop and stretched it wide enough to match the width of the window.

His design incorporated similar elements. The proposed veranda and its ceiling formed stark rectangles. Ironwork railings created a boxy border. Iron support posts stood tall and straight, placed in four pairs of two. Yet he'd softened the design with iron teardrops eighteen inches from the top of each slender pillar. Then he'd created an arch effect with lacy iron filigree reaching out from either side of the teardrops, like corner-hanging spiderwebs touching at the highest point in the center.

"I like what you've done with this project." Nicholas Clayton peered over Zane's shoulder. He reached past and planted a finger on the sketch of the porch corner. "I think we'll need to add a third pillar on each of the front two corners for added stability. Your design will still work. It just needs to be expanded. Make the adjustments tomorrow, and we'll take it to the client for approval next week."

"We?" Zane's breath caught.

Mr. Clayton's bushy mustache twitched as a smile stretched his face. "Only right that the designer meet with the client, don't you think? I'll want you on hand at the construction site as well. Calculating angles and load-bearing limits on paper is one thing, but seeing those calculations take shape in three dimensions is critical for broadening an architect's grasp of structural engineering."

Zane rose from the drafting table to face his mentor. "Thank you, sir. I'll make those revisions, and once you approve, I'll ink a fresh copy of the plans on drafting linen and have it ready by the end of the day tomorrow."

"Good." Clayton thumped him on the back. "Keep advancing like this, Mr. Erickson, and it won't be long before you're assisting me on larger projects."

Zane's breath caught in his lungs, making his chest ache in a most satisfying manner. "Like the Ursuline Academy?"

He'd seen some of Clayton's initial sketches. It rivaled the cathedrals of Europe in craftsmanship and Gothic styling.

Clayton chuckled. "That one's probably a few years away yet, lad. I have several residences in the works that will need more immediate attention."

"Of course." Zane fought off a wave of disappointment as practicality asserted itself. "I'd be delighted to assist on any company project."

"You're bright and capable, Mr. Erickson. Perhaps by the time the Ursuline Academy job is ready for us, you'll be ready for it."

Zane grinned. "I look forward to that day."

"As do I," Clayton said. "After finishing construction of the Ursuline Academy in Dallas three years ago, people have been wondering why I haven't yet designed a building equally grand for our dear sisters here in Galveston." He leaned in and winked. "What they don't know is that the one in Dallas was a trial run. I have even bigger plans for the one here in my backyard." He swept a hand out in front of him as if painting a picture. "It will be my crowning achievement. Towers, turrets, spires, and flying buttresses. All eyes will be drawn to the heavens, to the Master Architect, Designer of the universe." His hand lowered as he gave a small shrug. "The sisters haven't officially commissioned the work yet. I imagine it will take some time to raise sufficient funds for such an undertaking, but Mother St. Agnes has been dropping hints."

"I have no doubt that you will surpass all her expectations."

Clayton nodded, his expression growing serious. "I always give my best to each project, but there is something special about working on a building that is dedicated to the Lord's work. A feeling of higher purpose. A melding of pressure and privilege, responsibility and reverence. The striving for perfection is both exhausting and exhilarating."

"A study of contrasts," Zane observed. "Like the strength of stonework supporting an airy vaulted ceiling."

"Precisely." Clayton thumped his shoulder again then tipped his head toward the veranda sketch. "File your work. I've delayed you long enough."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

As Nicholas Clayton fetched his hat and departed the office, Zane cleaned his work area and made sure all the other draftsmen's work was properly stored. As an apprentice, the menial office work fell on his shoulders, but he didn't mind. Looking over the work of more experienced men served as an education all its own. Yet he dared not take the time to examine the drawings of George Sealy, the associate architect, or any of the other draftsmen tonight. Not if he wanted to escape his mother's wrath. She expected him to be home by five-thirty, and according to his pocket watch, it was already five-forty.

Zane fit his hat to his head then made sure to lock the office door behind him before he hurried home. In truth, he'd rather go out with Max tonight, tell his friend about his conversation with Mr. Clayton, and celebrate his good fortune with a game of billiards or a good gallop on the beach.

Instead, he'd be stuck inside, pretending not to be bored stiff while his mother introduced him to whichever female she'd scraped from the bottom of society's barrel to foist upon him in hopes of stirring his interest. Why did mothers think it their duty to find brides for their sons? Much more sensible for the sons to do their own choosing. Was she really so desperate for grandchildren that she must do all in her power to hurry things along? Or was it Father's ambition motivating her desire to pair him with an appropriately well-positioned society miss?

A sigh escaped him as he marched at a fast clip down Avenue J toward home. Father might prioritize him selecting a bride who came with advantageous business connections, but Mother simply wished for him to be settled and content. She wasn't so much trying to run his life as she was trying to help him find happiness. He couldn't blame her for good intentions even if he didn't care for her methods. It might rankle that she didn't trust him to take care of matters himself, but with his increased focus on building his career in architecture, he'd not exactly been seeking courtship opportunities.

Until a mysterious siren saved his life then disappeared all in a single afternoon.

He'd been seeking her every time he was out in public. Sometimes without even realizing it. Yet any time a flash of red hair crossed his periphery, his head swiveled and his feet diverted their path to follow, until she either vanished or he got a good enough look to recognize that she wasn't the lady he sought.