Page 42 of Part of Your World

Zane and Muriel had not had the chance to talk since that disastrous dinner two nights ago. He'd made a thorough search of his house for the stolen journal in the intervening time, however. Not that it had done him much good. Even his father's bedchamber and office had produced no fruit. None that he could access, at least. He'd found a small, locked trunk at the bottom of his father's wardrobe and a pair of locked drawers in his father's desk that he'd been unable to open. At least he'd narrowed the possibilities. Unless his father had taken the journal to his office at the Exchange. Not likely, but Zane wouldn't rule out the possibility.

"Ah, Zane. Do ye smell that?" Muriel lifted her face to the sky and inhaled deeply as a gentle breeze ruffled the loose hairs around her face. "The sea. There's no better scent."

Pure delight radiated from her, and all thoughts of journals and villains dissipated like vapor from Zane's mind under the force of her beauty.

The salty tang in the air had grown stronger as they neared the shore, but Zane had barely noticed. Until now.

"The ocean has an aroma all its own, doesn't it? Brine mixed with the fishy smell of the sargassum that washes ashore."

Her brow crinkled. "The seaweed, ye mean?" At his nod, the lines smoothed from her forehead. "Ah. Ye wouldn't think it smelled as nice if the workers at the hotel didn't rake away the old ev'ry morn. Once that stuff sits in the sun a few days it stinks to high heaven. Worse than rotten eggs." She made a face then grinned as if laughing at herself. "Me nephew Fletcher helps with the removal sometimes. When he's not in school."

Zane had never given much thought to the sargassum being removed from the tourist beaches, but it made sense that the hotel would employ workers to haul it away each day. They'd want to remove the clutter and any sulfurous stench it produced.

"Would you introduce me if we happen to see Fletcher?" He wanted to meet her family. Anyone from her world, actually. He'd only seen her in his world, and he longed to see her in her own. To get to know her without the veil of pretense hanging between them.

She nibbled her bottom lip then dipped her chin in agreement. "Aye. There's a good chance he'll be about."

Zane's chest warmed at the gift of her trust.

The closer they came to the shore, the more people bustled about. Carriages rolled down the thoroughfares, ladies in white dresses and parasols strolled the boardwalks accompanied by gentlemen in pale linen suits and straw hats. When they reached the Beach Hotel, they had to wait for a mule-drawn streetcar to pass on its way to collect passengers at the front of the building.

As they wound through the tourists, Muriel scooted closer and closer, her grip on her shawl tightening.

"I don't usually mingle with the fancy set," she murmured just loud enough for him to hear over the small brass ensemble playing a polka from the bandstand in front of the hotel. "Fletcher and me, we keep our distance, only combing the sand after the guests have retired to dress for dinner. I don't feel right walkin' amongst them like this."

Why had he never considered that her experience at the shore would be drastically different than his own? Perhaps taking a side street farther from the Beach Hotel would have been better. But no. He didn't want her to think he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Nothing could be less true. He felt like the verist king walking about with her on his arm. Though today wasn't about showing her off and making himself look good. Today was about learning more of her heart by seeing her in her element.

He leaned his head close to hers. "You are as elegant as any lady here, and I couldn't be prouder to have you by my side. But if you'd be more comfortable, I'd be glad to walk with you out past the Pagoda Bathhouse where there are fewer people."

"'Twould be a sight easier on me nerves."

"Then consider it done." Zane gestured to his right, away from the congestion of the hotel.

"I'm gonna grab a lemonade at the hotel and sit out on the veranda for a spell." Grandpa Clem gave a salute-style wave. "You young'uns have fun."

Muriel managed a smile for his grandfather, but the hand she'd placed in the crook of Zane's arm still felt stiff with tension.

Hoping to distract her from the self-consciousness that seemed to be inhibiting her natural zest for the seaside, Zane rambled off some random facts about the hotel that his mentor had designed.

"Did you know that the Beach Hotel is supported by three hundred cedar pilings anchored into the sand?"

"Really?" She glanced back at the sprawling four-and-a-half story building and studied it as if looking for the pilings. Then she quirked a smile at him, her natural effervescence beginning to revive. "Did ye know that it has two hundred rooms?"

Zane chuckled. "I forgot you have a family connection to the place. You probably know more about it than I do."

"I doubt that. Fer instance, I've no earthly idea why they'd paint the roof in red and white stripes. Seems more fittin' fer a circus tent than an elegant hotel."

"Well, it is a bit like a circus around here during tourist season."

Muriel's grip on his arm relaxed as she chuckled softly. "Me sister would agree with that."

Zane steered her past the rolling bathhouses that stood in a row, awaiting rental. "I believe the intent was to draw attention and make it immediately recognizable."

"'Cause someone might miss the giant, domed buildin' at the edge of the water?"

A full laugh burst from his chest at her dry remark. "It's not exactly subtle, is it?"

Her eyes danced with humor. "Not even a smidgen."