"I think I am up to the challenge," Ryan assured her, trying not to betray his amusement. "At least, I will try my best."
"When does the czar arrive?" Devon asked her daughter.
"Well, you know Czar Alexander's sister, the Grand Duchess Catherine of Oldenburg, made an advance appearance in March. She wanted to have a look-see at this foreign territory, we think. Harry says that she came early because of the Regent's desire to arrange a marriage between his daughter, Charlotte, and the Prince of Orange. They wouldn't look kindly on that marriage in St. Petersburg!" Mouette focused on Ryan. "Had you heard that my husband, Sir Harry Brandreth, was recently elected to the House of Commons? Papa is quite pleased, aside from political considerations."
Andre touched Mouette's arm. "All of this is highly entertaining, and no doubt useful, but first it might be better to deal with the more timely issues. When does the czar arrive?"
She lifted her eyebrows at her father. "Can I help it if I like to talk? I would have thought that my family at least could accept me without criticism!" Then Mouette laughed, diffusing tension. "All right, I'll be good. Harry says that Czar Alexander and King Frederick William of Prussia are due to land in Dover on June the sixth. I gather that they'll be accompanied by Europe's ruling princes, statesmen, and generals. You know, it's only been five weeks now since the last shot was fired, so the mood of celebration is still very intense. This royal visit should ensure a most festive summer and I can hardly wait!"
"It will certainly provide the perfect opportunity for all of us to find a comfortable niche in society." Devon nodded thoughtfully. "In other circumstances, we, especially Ryan, might be scrutinized to the point of suspicion, but who will have time—or the inclination—to look at us with these glamorous foreign visitors in London's midst?"
"And we'll all have such fun in the bargain!" exclaimed Mouette. "I don't even want to understand exactly what it is Papa and Ryan are really up to. I'd much rather concentrate on teaching my new brother to use a quizzing glass and a snuffbox and on introducing my long-lost, grown-up sister to the world of English men!" She winked across the tea table. "What do you say, Lindsay? We'll be friends! I'll take you shopping in Bond Street and teach you to drive my curricle. I have the sweetest pair of grays all to myself! As for the men, well, I'll wager that you'll have them on their knees, queued up around Grosvenor Square just as soon as you make your first appearance in society. And it won't be at a dull evening at Almack's, either! Doubtless Prinny will give a sumptuous ball for the czar, and then there you'll be—"
A voice broke in from the doorway. "Mouette, my love, I've come to rescue your family from your unceasing chatter."
Lindsay recognized her brother-in-law immediately, for he had changed not at all. Harry Brandreth had been classically handsome in his youth, and remained so, from his cropped golden curls to his long, perfect legs, currently encased in snug pale yellow pantaloons. Now, though, Lindsay wondered if the broad white smile he bestowed on them was a trifle insincere.
Mouette was at Harry's side in an instant, kissing him and linking her arm through his as they walked toward her parents. Devon embraced her son-in-law warmly, while Andre shook his hand.
"Good to see you again, Harry," he said. "And congratulations on your seat in the House. That's quite an accomplishment at your age."
"Thank you, sir. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see all of you here in London! Quite a surprise, coming home to hear that Mouette had gone over to greet her family! Not that I expected to find her at home—"
"Harry," Mouette broke in quickly, "say hello to Lindsay! Look, she's all grown up! And here's Nathan! Would you have known him?"
"Can't say as I would have!" Harry remarked, giving each of them a brief embrace. "Makes me feel quite ancient, seeing the two of you. Last time I saw you, Lindsay, you couldn't have been more than fourteen! Seems to me that your legs were too long for the rest of you. You were forever bumping into the door frames because your nose was buried in some romantic novel. And Nathan..." Harry shook his head bemusedly. "Good God, you look as old as Mouette!"
"I beg your pardon?" challenged his wife in mock outrage. "Nathan looks much older than I do! So does Lindsay, for that matter!"
Harry smiled with indulgence and said to the others, "I've noticed that women begin spouting such nonsense past the age of thirty. Can't bear to face facts."
"I don't suppose you brought my grandchildren?" Devon asked eagerly.
"Arabella took them to the kitchen for gooseberry tart. Mrs. Butter said she didn't want them smearing it all over your good silk chairs."
"But we haven't seen them for years!" she protested. "Not since they visited Connecticut before the war. Little Anthony was only a baby, and even Charles was just three. They've probably forgotten all about their grandparents—"
At that moment, two sturdy little boys came barreling into the sitting room. "Where's Grandmother and Grandfather?" demanded the smaller child, a handsome blond of five.
"Can't you see, corkbrain?" his brother replied. "They're the old people!"
Andre arched an eyebrow at Devon, who blinked in surprise before kneeling to gather her grandsons into her arms. "Oh, children! How you've grown!" She stroked Charles's black curls and kissed Anthony's cheek.
"I'm eight years old, nearly nine," Charles announced. "I have my own horse!"
"Mama, how come you say Charlie looks like Grandfather?" wondered Anthony. "His hair is white!"
Andre chuckled. "I think that all of you ought to join us for supper and we'll see if we can't sort all of this out then!"
* * *
"I suppose I ought to simply resign myself to the idea of living in a madhouse for the next few months." Raveneau sighed as he got into bed and lay back against starlit pillows.
"I suppose so," Devon echoed, her own sigh infected with laughter.
"A daughter whose personality changes with the wind, a son who isn't really my son, another daughter who cannot stop chattering long enough to breathe, two outrageous little grandsons—"
"Don't forget 'a charming, beautiful wife who provides an island of serenity amidst a sea of chaos,' " she teased.
"Are we speaking about the same wife? The one for whom life isn't worth living unless it is tangled with schemes?"
"They aren't schemes. They're plans!"'
"Oh. Pardon me!" He turned on his side and gathered her petite body close against his. "Devon, my love, tell me that you'll keep an eye on things and make certain the affairs of these children don't become impossibly snarled."
"Of course I will. Haven't I always?" Pressing light kisses along Andre's collarbone, she refrained from telling him that her instincts were on alert about Mouette and her marriage. As a mother, it hadn't been difficult for Devon to realize that her daughter's antic behavior had not been rooted in happiness. This was not the time to delve into this new problem, however, so instead she said, "Besides, they aren't children any longer! And though our daughters might allow some subtle attempts at guidance from me, I am quite sure that Ryan Coleraine will have none of it."
"Ryan!" Andre scoffed while his fingertips traced the line of Devon's back. "He is the least of my worries! Ryan's a grown man with a good head on his shoulders."
"Just so long as he doesn't get into trouble with women here. He has a reputation, you know, and if he becomes embroiled in an affair with someone else's wife it could prove the undoing of all our plans."
"Hmm. As a father, I'm more concerned about Ryan's relationship with Lindsay. He reminds me too much of myself."
"But Lindsay's nothing like me... is she?" Devon sighed in the darkness, remembering her daughter's recent flashes of fire. "Besides, she assures me that she cannot stand him. Wouldn't she confide in her own mother? And Ryan treats her with affectionate tolerance, as if she really were his sister. I don't think we have anything to worry about on that score." She snuggled closer to her husband and brushed her lips over the line of his jaw. "In any event, not at this
particular moment."
"That's right." Raveneau's voice was barely audible. "The house is asleep and the night is ours."
Devon responded by twining her arms about his neck and drawing him down to her parted lips. "At this moment, I wouldn't care if they all were awake! Ryan and Lindsay could be planning to elope to Gretna Green and I wouldn't lift a finger to interfere."
"Don't place such a choice before me, sweetheart," Andre murmured, tasting the sweetness of her mouth and then the line of her throat. "It's frightening to think that I could so easily be distracted from my parental duties."
"It's only a matter of priorities," she teased softly as his hand found the curve of her breast. "I was here first."
Chapter 12
June 1-2, 1814
"I thought you were asleep!" Lindsay peeked into Ryan's partially open door, surprised at her own daring. "I went to the library for a book and happened to glimpse you sitting in front of the fire...."
He looked up, smiling at the sight of Lindsay in a white silk and Alencon lace dressing gown that emphasized the lithe curves of her body. "Come and join me, dear sister."
Observing Ryan's bare calves, stretched out casually from the simple gray robe that hid the rest of his body, Lindsay hesitated. "I have a feeling that it wouldn't be proper."
"Oh, of course, and you and I have ever been sticklers for propriety!" he rejoined, laughing softly. "Don't say that you're going to turn spinsterish on me, brat! I've been counting on you to pinch me and make faces at me behind the backs of London society."
Lindsay melted under his potent, offhand charm. Besides, Ryan was treating her as he would a sister. His behavior was perfectly casual, without a trace of the passion that had marked their last night on board La Mouette. This was exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? Crossing the room, Lindsay curled demurely in the wing chair next to his and met his even gaze.
"Brandy?" Ryan offered, indicating his own glass and the decanter on the tripod table at his elbow.
"Please," she answered boldly.
He arched one black brow just a trifle, then poured a small amount of the liquor into a cut-glass tumbler and handed it to her. "You're fond of brandy?"
"Very." Lindsay nodded.
"That's reassuring. I'd rather not watch you cough it up all over these Chinese rugs."
"I suppose you're referring to my reaction to your Irish whiskey. Well, I can assure you that unless this is Irish brandy, I'll be perfectly fine." Defiantly, she swallowed her first taste of the stuff and clenched her teeth in an effort to conceal her horror. Did all strong spirits taste so foul?
"You approve?" Ryan tried not to betray his amusement.
"Of course. It's delicious." Somehow, she managed a smile.
"Have some more." Leaning over, he splashed more brandy into her glass and grinned. "It should thaw you out."
"For what purpose?"
Ryan gazed at her, enchanted by Lindsay's smooth fair skin with its new dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the loose halo of her golden-rose curls, and her warm, challenging gray eyes. "Amicable conversation. What other purpose could I have?"
Color suffused her cheeks, but she gathered her wits in time to reply, "I thought perhaps you wished to quiz me about Mouette. I seem to recall you having a penchant for married ladies."
His blue eyes cooled. "I've never had a penchant for anyone, Miss Raveneau—at least not since I achieved an age to know better."
"Well, you and Mouette certainly seemed full of fast affection!" Lindsay took two hot sips of brandy in a row.
"Your sister is a charming, beautiful woman. Unfortunately, her husband doesn't appreciate her and thus she turns to other men for attention."
"I beg your pardon!"
"I don't mean to sully Lady Brandreth's reputation, Lindsay, or to suggest that she's engaged in anything illicit. We all need reassurance from time to time, though, and Mouette is more needy than most." Ryan gave her a sidelong glance. "More deserving as well!"
"I'll thank you to change the subject before I lose my temper!"
"Certainly. What would you like to talk about?"
Caught off guard by his easy dismissal of what she perceived to be a burgeoning argument, Lindsay took a moment to slow her breathing and to think of a proper response. Finally, she said, "How do you like London?"
"My dear, I am British, in case you've forgotten. I lived here before coming to America and probably know the city better than your parents. As for liking it, it's a mixed blessing to be back. I left for a reason."
"Is that what kept you from sleeping tonight?" she dared to inquire.
"I hate to dash your curiosity, but I won't tell you about my past here or anywhere else. It's none of your affair, but I can assure you that I don't lose sleep over it." Ryan sipped his own brandy, staring at the fire, then summoned a smile. "However, I will tell you what important problems kept me from sleeping tonight."
"If they have anything to do with women, spare me!" Lindsay heard herself exclaim, then blushed in reaction.
"I can assure you that women were the farthest thing from my mind. I was pondering my new wardrobe. Weston, the tailor, is coming here tomorrow, you know. Your mother has told him that I am ill and cannot come to Old Bond Street to be fitted. She and Mouette think, quite rightly, that I shouldn't be seen in public until my new persona is perfected."
"I wasn't aware that you were a true fop at heart!" Lindsay taunted. "To think that you couldn't sleep because you were brooding about the cut of your new clothes...."
He reached for her glass. "I think you've had enough of that. It's making you antagonistic."
"I'm an adult, Captain Coleraine! Leave me alone and I'll return the favor!"
He reared back, smiling. "My apologies, Miss Raveneau! Won't you call me Nathan?"
Lindsay was furious with herself for being so affected by his appealing smile and potent nearness. Each time his hand reached toward her, her heart constricted while her mind chastised her for her weakness. "I don't appreciate your humor, sir. Either cease teasing me or I shall leave."
His eyes were warm now as he gazed at her. "Don't do that. Believe it or not, I've missed your company during these past few days of travel. You've been far too well behaved."
When Ryan's fingers reached out to graze her wrist, Lindsay's heart skipped madly. "I'll stay," she managed to say, "if you'll be serious. What is it about your wardrobe that kept you awake?"
"It's not a topic that lends itself to serious conversation," he murmured lightly. "I was pondering the ways of the dandy and how best to carve out a place among them as quickly as possible."
"And?"
"And I decided that it would be best to break a rule or two without going too far out of bounds. Have you heard of Henry Cope, who must have everything green, from his cravat to his furniture?"
"No," Lindsay replied frankly.
"Well, Cope has his place in society, proving that there is still room for individuality in spite of Beau Brummell's code of dress and behavior. In fact, I think that a bit of individuality may work to my advantage. I don't propose to defame the name of Raveneau by being utterly outrageous, but I do think it would speed my access into society if there was something about me that was unique."
"I take it, then, that you don't propose to make your first appearance at White's in a blue frock coat with brass buttons, biscuit-colored pantaloons, top boots shined with champagne, and a deep white cravat tied in the Mathematical?"
Ryan grinned appreciatively. "You're quite perceptive, my dear! And you're right. Brummell's rules put me off. I could opt for a new mix of snuff or a different breed of horses, but clothing seems to offer the quickest route to being noticed. I don't mean to dress all in violet or wear feathers, but I like the notion of defying Brummell's gospel for color."
"Pink, perhaps?" Lindsay giggled, a dimple winking in her right cheek. "Chartreuse?"
"Now those are thoughts you might keep in mind for yourself. I, on the other h
and, lean toward pastels. It's summer. Why shouldn't I wear light-colored coats? Dove gray, tan, sage green, or even pale yellow? I could contrast them with brocade waistcoats of a darker shade. What do you think?"
Lindsay's eyes ran involuntarily over his wide shoulders and tapering chest as she thought that he would look spectacular in anything he chose to wear. "It might work," she allowed.
"Thank God you approve!" Ryan sipped his brandy and gave her a sidelong smile. "Now I can sleep."
* * *
The next afternoon, Devon and Lindsay arrived back from a shopping expedition to Bond Street and handed their parcels to Roderick just in time to witness a scene in Ryan's rooms. Loud voices drew them to the doorway where they observed a group of people moving around agitatedly in front of the fireplace. One was Mouette, who stood slightly apart. Ryan leaned casually against the chimney piece while a tiny man with a red face and a French accent hopped on one foot, shouting at another man whose arms were filled with men's coats.
"I have told monsieur that it zimply will not do!" cried the Frenchman. "He will not listen! Mere de Dieu, zey beg me to help, zey ask my advice, and zen zis—barbarian brushes me azide as if I am un insecte!"'
"No blue coats, he tells me," replied the clothing-laden man in a dazed tone. "I have come all the way from Old Bond Street as a favor to old friends to fit a man I've never met, and what does he tell me? No blue coats! It's unheard of! Every man has blue coats!"
Overcome, Mouette put her hands over her ears and backed toward the windows. Ryan, meanwhile, smiled apologetically. "I assure you, I didn't say it to insult you, sir. If it means so much to you, I'll have a blue coat." Seeing the Raveneau women in the doorway, he lifted both brows just enough to indicate his bemusement "Ah, here's Mother and my dear sister, Lindsay."
Surrender the Stars Page 12