Page 24 of Part of Your World

A few days ago, he'd come up with a scheme to seek her with purpose. Starting this Sunday, he planned to visit every church on the island until he found her. She'd been singing a hymn, so she likely attended church somewhere. He just had to figure out where. His mother wouldn't care for him not being beside her at their own services, but if his absence meant finding a bride, he doubted she would protest too vehemently.

Still, he needed to treat whatever young lady he found in his parlor with kindness and respect. She didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his frustration. So, as he jogged up the stone steps of the large Queen Anne style house he called home, he set his frustrations aside and prepared his mind for gentlemanly attentiveness.

The front door opened before his hand could reach the latch. Grandpa Clem waved him inside and relieved him of his leather drafting case.

"Best hurry yourself in there, boy, before the bees in your mama's bonnet start churning out honey. The situation's sticky enough already."

Zane removed his hat and hung it on the rack in the entry way. "How do you mean?"

"Your mama's not pleased with the little gal the matchmaker brought. Heard her whispered accusation to the woman about tryin' to pass off a defective miss as an acceptable bride when she's obviously not Erickson material. All because the lady don’t talk. Ain't her fault her pipes don't work. The rest of her seems to be in good working order. She ain't dimwitted or nothin'. Walked straight over to the bookshelf and snagged a tome on shipbuilding to read while the hens pecked at each other on the other side of the room."

The lady couldn't speak? Good heavens. They really were scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Compassion, Zane. The poor girl can probably sense Mother's disapproval.

He knew what it was like to be scrutinized and found wanting. None of Clayton's staff had expected him to possess any actual talent or be willing to do the grunt work required to gain the required skills. They'd seen him as a pampered rich kid on an architectural lark. Their prejudice created barriers that had taken months to wear down. Least he could do was offer a bit of kindness to a young lady in an awkward situation. Though, he'd need to take care not to give her any reason to expect a future courtship. He'd never toyed with a woman's affections, but on one or two occasions in the past, young ladies had jumped to incorrectly optimistic conclusions that had made things rather unpleasant for all parties involved.

"Quit dawdlin' and get in there." Grandpa Clem planted a hand on Zane's back and shoved.

Zane chuckled as he stumbled forward. Grandpa had never been a big proponent of subtlety.

Smoothing out his gait, Zane ran a hand over his hair to make sure no stray pieces were standing at attention after removing his hat. Reaching the parlor door, he hesitated, needing a moment to breathe. If Mother was in a state, he'd need his wits about him.

"Don't worry," his grandpa murmured from behind him. "I think you're gonna like this one."

Zane's head swiveled in time to catch his grandpa's wink before the cagey codger darted past him on his way upstairs with Zane's satchel. Was the entire family plotting the demise of his bachelorhood? He'd thought Grandpa Clem his ally, but it seemed he'd turned mutineer.

He grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The sooner he got this fiasco over with the better.

"Zane! Finally." Mother stepped away from a striking older woman with silver hair wearing a dark violet walking suit.

The woman's attention suctioned onto Zane like a starfish latching onto a rock. Cool. Assessing. Calculating.

Slightly disturbing.

His mother grabbed his arm and dragged him deeper into the room and thankfully broke him free of the matchmaker's gaze.

"Where have you been?" she hissed. "You were supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago."

"I apologize. Mr. Clayton wanted to go over a few details with me."

Her grip tightened. "Far be it from me to compete with the almighty Mr. Clayton."

"Mother," he warned in a low voice.

She bit back whatever other complaint she'd been ready to fire at him and sighed instead. "Well, you can make it up to me by putting your best foot forward with Miss Quinn. She's a little unusual, but then, none of the usual ladies have captured your fancy, so perhaps Mrs. Underhill knows what she is doing."

Lifting her face and her voice, Mother crossed the red and gold Turkish carpet to the small sitting area in front of the hearth. "Miss Quinn, I apologize for my son's tardiness, but he has arrived at last."

He'd kept his gaze on his mother to this point, not comfortable searching the girl out in the room while his mother discussed her in less than flattering terms, but he marched a smile onto his face like a good little soldier and prepared his tongue for a gracious greeting. But the moment he spied the carefully coiffed red hair, his mind ceased functioning. As did his feet. His mother strode forward, but he remained rooted to the carpet.

Some part of his brain registered Mother's frown when she cast a confused glance over her shoulder. She was saying something, probably making introductions, though for the life of him he couldn't decipher the words. Not when his siren, dressed in an elegant sea-green day dress, rose from the sofa like a mermaid rising from the waves.

Her gaze met his with a shy eagerness that immediately tripled the speed of his pulse. A smile blossomed across her face, crinkling her hazel eyes in a way that made it impossible not to smile in return.

It was her. He had no proof, but he didn't need any. His heart recognized the truth.

Unfortunately, his brain failed to recognize the truth of his addled state and allowed his tongue to move when it should have remained firmly locked in place.