Page 25 of Part of Your World

"I found you."

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.