Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  "What does that mean?" Lindsay wondered.

  "Watier's is the club formed by Brummell, Lord Alvaney, Henry Pierrepont, and Sir Henry Mildmay—the four most prominent dandies. It's become even more exclusive than White's, and Byron calls it 'The Dandy Club,' claiming that they persecute literary types." He paused, shutting his eyes again for a moment. "You know, all of this business goes against the grain for me. It's mildly diverting, as long as I tell myself that it won't last and that it's necessary for the success of the project your father and I are involved in. The sad fact is, though, that the cornerstones of London society are selfishness and snobbery. It's best to remember that this is not our real life, nor should it be."

  Lindsay pondered this for a few moments, leaning back beside him and staring at the high, arched canopy. She wondered how Ryan had gained such insight into these people after only a few hours and if he might be right. What did that say for her own sister? Mouette did seem alarmingly frivolous these days, not at all the wise older sister she had expected to look up to.

  Suddenly it dawned on her that she and Ryan were lying together on her bed, alone in the room. When his fingertips brushed her bare wrist, a shiver ran through her body. What if he rolled over right now, pinning her down and kissing her until she couldn't breathe or think? The possibility made Lindsay's heart pound with excitement. It seemed so long since they'd touched, since that night aboard La Mouette when they'd seen the shooting star and she'd been locked in his embrace...

  "Mmm-unh."

  It was a sleep sound, bordering on a snore! Lindsay stiffened and sat up, raging silently as she stared down at Ryan's slumbering form. The fact that he looked boyish and vulnerable only increased her fury. How dare he? She very nearly shook him and shouted the question aloud but realized that she would end up looking like a lovesick fool. And that she most surely was not!

  Rising, she threw him one last contemptuous backward glance, then strode into the corridor. Her parents were emerging from their suite of rooms at that moment and smiled at her in greeting.

  "Have you seen Ryan?" Andre asked. "Things couldn't have gone better at White's. Harry says that his membership is certain since Brummell made his approval clear. Your friend handled himself magnificently; it was quite a performance!"

  "He's not my friend!" Lindsay shot back, her gray eyes smoldering. "I detest the man!"

  Devon and Andre glanced at each other, blinking in surprise. "Darling, what's brought this on?" her mother asked gently. "Did Ryan do something to insult you?"

  "He fell asleep on my bed!" The hot words poured out even though she knew how silly they must sound.

  "What's wrong with that?" inquired a baffled Raveneau.

  "He's acting just like a brother!" Lindsay cried. Turning on her heel, she started down the hallway toward the stairs, adding over her shoulder, "I can't explain; you wouldn't understand."

  When their daughter was out of sight, Andre looked down at his wife. "Do you understand?"

  "I'm afraid I may." Devon sighed. "I'm going to give this situation the benefit of the doubt, however, and keep my own counsel for the moment."

  "Thank you." He bent to kiss her lightly. "I was hoping you wouldn't tell me!"

  Chapter 14

  June 7, 1814

  "Well, well, the Times already shows an account of the King of Prussia's arrival in Dover," Raveneau remarked over his morning coffee as he shook out the newspaper. "It says that he docked yesterday afternoon and is expected in London today. Here's a sentence worth sharing: 'The public anxiety to behold these great sovereigns to whom so much of the present tranquility of Europe is owing will no doubt receive full gratification.' "

  "That must mean that they'll drive through town." Devon smiled.

  "That's full gratification?" Ryan laughed. "I would have thought it implied something much more personal!"

  "Isn't it time for your cravat lesson?" Lindsay inquired pointedly between sips of chocolate. "Your conversation makes me consider the notion of taking my breakfast in bed like most gentle ladies."

  Ryan's brows flew up as he applied his napkin to his mouth. "She's angry with me," he confided to Andre and Devon. "Trouble is, I don't know what I've done!"

  "You've come face-to-face with one of life's great lessons, son," Raveneau intoned, his eyes gleaming with silvery amusement. "Women don't need a reason to be angry with men."

  "I'll have to start writing these things down." Ryan laughed. "I'll make a page for Beau Brummell's aphorisms and start another for yours, sir." Standing, he tossed down his napkin, then bent to kiss first Devon's cheek, then Lindsay's. "Try to forgive me, brat," he whispered. "Whatever it was, I promise never to do it again!" Then, picking up his hat, gloves, and new whitethorn cane, he disappeared out the front door.

  Devon turned to her daughter, who was staring pensively at her buttered scone. "Are you still out of temper with Ryan because he fell asleep on your bed? Or is it because he treats you like a sister?"

  "I don't want to talk about it." Lindsay stood up. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to my room to read."

  * * *

  "The town's in a state of chaos," Ryan announced upon his return. "Do you really think that we should venture forth to watch the entry of the royals?"

  Devon looked up from her pretty satinwood writing table and smiled. "How handsome you look! My, my, did you tie that cravat yourself or is the Beau responsible?" Spontaneously, she opened her arms to him. How much he reminded her of her husband in his youth! Ryan, however, was less angry than Andre had been, at least under these circumstances. Devon delighted in his twinkling blue eyes and the humor that seemed to infect his every utterance. "Do you know," she said, holding his chiseled face in her hands, "I'm beginning to think of you as a son!"

  "That's nice. Thank you." His smile was warm. "As for my cravat..." Ryan glanced in the mirror, touching it. "I tied it myself. Brummell swears that I'm doing as well as he, that I learned faster than any pupil he's had. I'll wager that I could teach that little weasel Dinde a thing or two!"

  "Speaking of Dinde, I wonder if we shouldn't persuade Mouette to find another place for him. There are Harvey's feelings to consider, and I also get the impression that you are not overfond of the man."

  "Ah, Mother, how perceptive you are!" Ryan pulled up a shield-backed chair and sat down next to her desk. "Let us say that I have nothing against Monsieur Dinde, but his assistance is no longer needed."

  Devon arched a delicate brow. "Or ever, methinks. Sometimes I am convinced that you must have been a dandy once, so at home are you in the role! It's hard to believe, considering the dashing, bearded Ryan Coleraine I knew in Connecticut..."

  "Believe me, madame, I was never a dandy, at least not in this life! Put it down to my powers of observation, and possibly my talent for mimicry, and then put it away. The reasons are not important."

  "You're right, of course. What matters is the undeniable success of your masquerade. All the rest is simple human curiosity."

  "It's best to take me at face value. My past is just that. I often think of my first voyage to America as a rebirth. That's the wonder of the place: its innocent welcome to people who wish for a new beginning. I'm only here now because I feel I have a debt to pay to the country that took me in without questions or judgment."

  Devon longed to search his eyes, but Ryan was involved in lighting a slim, dark cheroot. "Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" she proclaimed brightly. "We all love you just as you are and whatever your past holds is your own affair, not ours."

  His brows flicked upward. "Don't misunderstand me, Devon. I wasn't involved in anything criminal. I didn't come straight to Pettipauge from Newgate prison, if that's what you're thinking!"

  "Not at all! And even if you had, it wouldn't matter. Your life to us began the day you signed on with Andre, and you have proved yourself to be a man of strength and impeccable character. Why, even Lindsay likes you, and she doesn't like many people!"

  "Does she, indeed," he said with a hi
nt of irony. "I wonder."

  "Well, that's between you two. Between us, I have a present for you. Mother to son, as it were." Devon pulled open the writing table's middle drawer and produced a tiny wrapped box. "Open it!"

  He stared at her in amazement. "I'm touched. Do you know, I haven't had an honest present for years."

  "All the more reason you should have one now, from someone who loves you." Devon was surprised to feel tears in her own throat as she watched Ryan carefully undo the wrapping and cast it aside.

  "Good God." Ryan opened a velvet box to behold an exquisite Sevres snuffbox. "It's almost as beautiful as Brummell's!"

  "No, it's more beautiful!" Devon laughed. "He'll be green with envy. Next thing you know, he'll be wearing yellow and dove gray"—she nodded at today's coat—"and asking you for advice!"

  "Somehow I doubt that." Smiling, Ryan came halfway out of his chair to kiss her cheek. "This is a very thoughtful gift, and I'm sure it will bring me good fortune."

  "There's one more thing." Devon disappeared into her dressing room and returned with a glazed jar filled with a flaky brown substance. "Here is your snuff. This is Spanish Bran, a most popular variety and the one André thought you might prefer as long as you're forced to indulge. There are others, though: Masulipatam, Bureau Demi-gros, Curasao –"

  He held up a hand, palm out. "I draw the line at using snuff I can barely pronounce."

  Laughing, Devon said, "All right, I'll stop. Beau Brummell's quite an expert, I perceive. You may want to consult with him about developing your own mixture."

  "I've been observing the Beau's method for taking snuff," He took a pinch of the Spanish Bran and sniffed it.

  "One-handed?"

  He nodded. "The left. But, as with my coats, I would like to absorb his style without imitating him. I'll have to work out a technique of my own."

  Devon smiled her approval. "You're a very astute man, Captain Coleraine."

  "It's a pleasure to hear my own name spoken. It's good to be reminded that I'm not really a Raveneau." Her slightly injured expression made him laugh. "You all have certainly made me feel at home, but I mustn't fool myself. I'm still Ryan Coleraine." His eyes twinkled suddenly. "Of course, your charming younger daughter would doubtless remind me of my true station if she suspected that I was becoming carried away with this charade!"

  Privately, Devon wondered if that might be because Lindsay had feelings for Ryan that were not sisterly, but aloud she inquired, "Do you have a family here in Britain, Ryan? Parents in Ireland?"

  "My parents died several years ago—and I buried the past with them." He stood up, abruptly distant. "If there's nothing else, I have a few matters to attend to before we venture forth to greet the czar of Russia, the king of Prussia, and their entourage."

  "There is one more thing." Devon reached under the papers on her writing table and produced a long-stemmed quizzing glass attached to a black silk ribbon. "I thought you might be needing one of these. Andre received it as a gift some years back but never used it."

  "Madame, you'll never know how much I appreciate your kindness." Accepting the quizzing glass, Ryan held Devon's hand for a long moment, his gaze rich with emotion.

  Impulsively, Devon leaned forward on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Some charades are more real than others," she whispered.

  * * *

  "Well," Ryan remarked to Harvey Jenkins before exiting his rooms, "we're off to greet Czar Alexander and his entourage."

  "Mmm." Harvey peered at his master's cravat and smoothed one edge. This entire expedition to London had become a test of his patience. Harvey had been steward and factotum to Coleraine ever since he had taken command of the Chimera, and he had grown used to a very different Ryan Coleraine in a very different setting. Harvey had always been the expert on rules of fashion and decorum, and his employer had either waved him off or indulged him. Now, Jenkins found himself in the company of an impeccably clad buck who insisted on tying his own cravat and was suddenly wearing a quizzing glass around his neck and carrying a Sevres snuffbox! Add to that the indignity of sharing duties with the rude little Dinde, and Harvey found himself in a perpetual state of exasperated confusion.

  "Why don't you come out, too, Harvey?" Ryan asked, watching the manservant with gentle eyes.

  "Oh, no, sir. I don't think so," he replied stiffly.

  "You mustn't sulk, old man. I realize that this life isn't what you're used to, but it's only temporary. Before you know it, we'll be back on the decks of a new Chimera, bound for the West Indies! In the meantime, why not make the best of this? Forget about me and amuse yourself." Ryan paused, fingering the stem of his quizzing glass. "You might start by inviting Arabella Butter to accompany you out this afternoon to view the arrival of the royals!"

  Jenkins put his head to one side and considered. "Well, I might do, sir."

  "That's better." With a grin, Ryan put an arm around the shorter, stouter man and they walked toward the doorway. "The girl likes you, you know. I've seen how she looks at you."

  Harvey attempted to raise his brows in the manner of his master. "Gammon, sir! It's you Miss Butter gazes at, and well you know it!"

  "I won't argue with you, Harvey, since you're always infuriatingly positive that you're correct. However, you might consider this in a different light. I'm giving you permission to steal the girl away from me!"

  A grin spread over the manservant's face. "I see, sir!"

  "There's one last thing I should tell you, in the cheering-up line, and then I must go. Mistress Raveneau has decided that there is no place for Dinde in her household. He's being dismissed."

  "I can't say I'm sorry, sir." Harvey's grin widened.

  "Neither am I!" Coleraine winked almost imperceptibly as he picked up his gloves and disappeared into the hallway. "Don't forget about Arabella!" he called in a stage whisper, then lightly took the stairs to the entry hall where his new family awaited him.

  "Sorry I'm late." Ryan drew on his dove-gray gloves. "Jenkins needed a bit of reassurance. I'm afraid this isn't what he's been used to during his years of service with me."

  Lindsay stood off to one side, waiting for him to notice her extremely flattering new walking dress. Made of jaconet muslin, it was high-waisted, its fullness drawn in by welts. Over the gown Lindsay wore a pale canary-colored spencer trimmed with primrose satin. A French bonnet, perched atop her burnished curls, was finished at the brim with more primrose satin and a cluster of ostrich feathers off to one side. The final touches to her ensemble were gloves and shoes of the same soft canary hue. Lindsay liked them immensely and couldn't resist first pointing a toe and then pretending to readjust the fingers of her left glove.

  Ryan approached, took her hand, and leaned closer. "My, my, aren't we fetching today," he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

  She strove to appear aloof. "I don't know about you, but I certainly am."

  "Now, children, you mustn't quarrel if you want to be allowed out in public!" Devon cautioned, laughing.

  "That's right." Raveneau was opening the door and guiding his wife through it as he spoke. "Behave yourselves, or we'll lock you in the nursery for the afternoon."

  Coleraine bit back an indelicate retort but indulged himself by eyeing Lindsay through his quizzing glass behind her parents' backs. The sight of her sudden, involuntary blush nearly made him laugh aloud.

  "What a ridiculous piece of affectation that is!" she hissed.

  "What?" Ryan feigned ignorance. "Oh, do you mean this?" He flourished the quizzing glass. "Guard your tongue, dear sister; it was a gift from your mother. I rather like it. It helps to make me feel like a different person."

  "Let me assure you that you were different long before acquiring the toys of a dandy!"

  Before Ryan could reply, Devon turned to speak to them. "I think we should walk. The fresh air will do us all good, and I have it on good authority from Harry that the best place to watch for the czar will be in Piccadilly, just a short stroll from here."
>
  "But isn't the czar going to St. James's Palace?" Lindsay wondered.

  "Certainly the Regent expects him to stay there, but Harry thinks that he will go first to the Pulteney Hotel where his sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg, has taken rooms. In any event, I do not think we want to brave the crowds that are pouring out from the southeast of London. Ryan remarked on them on his return from Beau Brummell's, and Harry says that the Prince Regent's gold and scarlet postilions, sent to meet the sovereigns, were submerged in the tumult. He was there himself and saw the mob set upon two separate vehicles approaching from Kent."

  "It's a scene of chaos, no doubt about it," Ryan confirmed. "The route to St. James's Palace is lined with coaches and carts, and wooden stands are filled on every street corner. The windows along the way are a sea of faces."

  "I find it rather mystifying that all of London would want to turn out to greet European royalty!" Lindsay said. "It's not as if the English have much in common with them. What's the attraction?"

  Raveneau smiled back at his daughter. "You're sounding more and more like your mother in her youth!" He chuckled as they turned south on Park Lane. Across from them, lush green branches curved above the walls enclosing Hyde Park. "I think that the English are caught up in this precisely because they feel that these visitors are foreign and exotic. Plus, there's the desire for celebration now that the war is over. What better excuse than a visit from some of Britain's allies in the struggle against Napoleon?"

  They continued in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sunny June afternoon. Lindsay walked with her gloved hand snug in the crook of Ryan's arm, their paces matched. She liked the sensation of his tall, hard body against her slim arm and glanced over occasionally to watch the play of muscles in his white-clad thighs as he walked.

  Soon, the quartet turned left onto Piccadilly, following the flagstone footpath that was crowded with pedestrians. It wasn't far to the Pulteney Hotel. Across the way was Green Park with its docile deer and cattle, the white-stuccoed Ranger's Lodge among the trees, and, in the distance, Buckingham House's redbrick facade framed by abbey towers and Surrey hills.