Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  When Lindsay had recovered her composure, she looked up to see Ryan taking snuff. Languidly, he commented, "I've just realized that I had my dates mixed. I'm free after all this next week and would be delighted to join my family for this outing to Oxford and Grimley Court."

  * * *

  "I can't sleep."

  "Mmm?" Drowsy and contented after lovemaking that had rivaled their early days together, Devon snuggled closer to Andre's chest. "Why not, sweetheart?"

  "I'm wondering why Ryan suddenly changed his mind about Oxford. That empty-headed dandy pose might get him by Dudley Fanshawe, but he can't fool me. 'Dates mixed' indeed!" Raveneau narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "It was quite obvious that he didn't want to accompany us, then thought better of it."

  Wide awake now, Devon pushed back her hair and tried to read his face in the shadows. "I agree, but I thought that the reason for his turnabout was quite obvious, considering it came immediately after he learned that the Earl and Countess of Chadwick would be among those visiting Grimley Court."

  "Yes, it would seem that he couldn't resist the opportunity to be near Lady Chadwick."

  "Hester is very beautiful," Devon said tentatively, "and although Ryan has not been very forthcoming about their shared past, it does seem obvious that he still has feelings for her. You know that I have rather keen instincts about these things, and I am convinced that Lady Chadwick returns those feelings. I know that you don't want any scandal, and with Lord Chadwick along there is always that possibility, so I can understand your concern, and—"

  "You're starting to babble, cherie," he interjected ironically. "And I fear you've underestimated me. Did you really think I would remain blind to the situation that's developing between Ryan and Lindsay?"

  It seemed that her heart had stopped. Finally, Devon managed a weak "Pardon?"

  "I have eyes. And I'm not so old that I've forgotten how people behave when they're falling in love."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Simply that I believe Ryan didn't want to go to Oxford for some personal reason. Perhaps people know him there. However, I don't think it was the prospect of being near Hester that overrode his misgivings; I think it was the idea that Dudley would have Lindsay all to himself."

  Devon hardly knew what to do. It went totally against her temperament to play false with Andre, but if she agreed with him everything could be ruined. "Darling, I think your paternal imagination may be getting out of hand! When did you conceive this notion that Lindsay and Ryan are falling in love?"

  "It's crept up on me, I suppose. I didn't want to think it, but the seeds were probably planted that first time I saw them together in our house in Pettipauge. There have been plenty of clues ever since, and I've reached a point where I can't ignore them."

  "But they despised each other then! And they've argued most of the time ever since! It's only lately that they've struck a rather unsettled truce—"

  Raveneau interrupted with a short, sarcastic laugh. "Do you take me for a fool, my love? I can assure you that I am not, nor have I forgotten our verbal skirmishes during the months after we met. If memory serves me, we spent virtually all our time together either pretending we detested each other or else making love!"

  She blushed in the darkness. "Lindsay has a completely different character from mine. You know perfectly well that she has always kept a tight rein on her emotions. She has told me that she does not even find Ryan physically attractive, that he isn't her type."

  "He's too much like me! Sometimes I feel as if I'm watching myself thirty years ago and it scares me to death!"

  "You're talking like a madman."

  "If he lays a finger on my daughter—"

  Devon's soft laughter was suffused with relief. "So that's what this is all about! You're worrying that Ryan's going to steal your daughter's virtue the way you stole mine! Darling Andre, you must remember that this is a completely different situation. I had no father to watch over me, but you are in the same house. Besides, I still think that you are wrong about the two of them. Didn't Lindsay tell us that he treats her like a sister?"

  Raveneau gathered her near. "Yes, but—"

  "Stop worrying. Dudley Fanshawe is exactly her type. He's well-bred, educated, gentlemanly, and fair-haired—the opposite of Ryan Coleraine. Her attention is on him, and Ryan's, for better or worse, is on Lady Chadwick."

  "That comes with its own set of problems, but at least I think Fanshawe can be trusted not to ravish my daughter."

  Devon realized that he was far from convinced but wanted to believe her for his own peace of mind. "Remember, too, that Lindsay is a good girl and far more level-headed than her mother. We raised her well and have to trust her." Even as she spoke, Devon remembered the interlude between her daughter and Ryan at Carlton House. Lindsay had assured her the next morning that they had only been arguing, just as Devon had told Andre, but her maternal instincts continued to sound a warning, which she tried to ignore.

  "I suppose you're right." Raveneau closed his eyes, then muttered, "It's Coleraine I don't trust."

  "Hush." She reached up to stroke his hair and felt him smile grudgingly against her brow. After a time, the cadence of his breathing told Devon that her husband was asleep, but she still lay wide-eyed, turning people and events over and over in her mind. Finally, it came to her that she ought to follow her own advice. If Ryan and Lindsay were falling in love, there was nothing to be done about it except to trust to her daughter's judgment—and fate.

  Besides, Devon thought with a small, sleepy smile, Ryan Coleraine was just the sort of man Lindsay needed. There'd be no escaping life and all its emotions with that dashing, irrepressible Irishman!

  Chapter 19

  Oxford, England

  June 14, 1814

  It was a day of rare glory. Under a cerulean sky, Oxford's spires were hazy and golden. High Street, the town's main thoroughfare, wound like a silvery stream past gabled houses and shops, Gothic college buildings and churches, and battlemented walls. This afternoon it was crowded with spectators. Members of the university were ranged on each side of the street in lines extending from St. Mary's church to Magdalen Bridge, all waiting, with other visitors, for the appearance of the Regent, the czar of Russia, the king of Prussia, Prince Metternich, and Field Marshal von Blucher.

  "Oxford seems enchanted," Lindsay murmured to Ryan as they stood wedged between an undergraduate and a proctor. "It's exactly what I hoped for."

  He smiled down at her lazily, tending to agree. The June sunlight was infused with a luminous glow that lent an aura to Oxford's pinnacles and spires as they crowded skyward. He'd come today against his better judgment, but now, standing next to Lindsay in this town he knew so well, misgivings were pushed aside. Lightly, he touched her cheek with one dark forefinger and murmured, "You look enchanted yourself today, my dear."

  She beamed up at him. "Do I? That's the nicest thing you could have said."

  It was true. Lindsay wore a charming new walking dress of thin muslin over a peach-colored sarcenet slip, accented by a triple fall of lace at her throat. With it, she wore a high-crowned peach and cream bonnet tied at the side with wide ribbons, straw-colored gloves, and cream kid shoes. The colors were a perfect foil for her strawberry-blond curls and gray eyes.

  "I'm quite sincere, you know," Ryan whispered with a touch of mischief.

  His words, and the warmth of his breath, made her blush. "Duly noted, brother dear."

  He chuckled and looked over her head in hopes of spying the Regent's party. Instead, his gaze lit on Lord Fanshawe peering hopefully in their direction. A dozen people, including the Brandreths and the elder Raveneaus, separated them, but Ryan had no wish to encourage the young nobleman's desire to make his way to Lindsay. He'd had quite enough of Dudley during their journey to Oxford.

  "Do you see them yet?" Lindsay inquired. Several tall Oxonians, gowned and capped, blocked her view.

  Without acknowledging Fanshawe, Ryan bent to reply. Pure chance, and a bit
of subtle maneuvering on his part, had isolated him with Lindsay amidst this crush. They'd had so little time alone together lately, with the hurried preparations for this excursion, that Ryan found himself even more intoxicated than usual in her company. Her soft fragrance drifted up to him even as she tipped her head back and gave him a winsome smile.

  A roar rose from the crowd. Lindsay stood on tiptoe to watch the Prince Regent and his illustrious European guests, all in full uniform, proceed on horseback around High Street's curves. Prinny bestowed regal smiles on the spectators, pretending that the cheers were for him rather than for the slimmer, more glamorous czar of Russia or the king of Prussia. As usual, Field Marshal von Blucher was a great favorite of the crowd, partly because of his colorful personality and partly because he had been a brave general during the war. The English longed to cheer a hero in the absence of their own Wellington, who remained in Paris.

  "I wonder why the Regent does not realize how foolish he appears," Lindsay murmured to Ryan. "He behaves like an overgrown child, competing with these other sovereigns as if he cannot see that his own countrymen are more taken with these Europeans than with their own future king!"

  Ryan's mouth quirked ironically. "As I understand it, Prinny's problem for much too long has been that he's attributed every wonderful event that has occurred in the world to his own great talent. No doubt, at this point, it is less painful for him to continue the charade than face the truth."

  Straining for a view as Blucher rode into sight, Lindsay made a small exclamation of surprise when she felt Ryan lift her off her feet from behind. He held her suspended six or seven inches off the cobblestones for a full minute. Rather than reprove him, as she knew she should have done, Lindsay chose to pretend it hadn't happened. Back on solid ground, she darted a smile at him that was almost shy.

  "The field marshal looks tired," she observed.

  Ryan longed to tease her or, better yet, to kiss her. The sensation of her slim form in his arms again had whetted a dangerous appetite. "So he does," he said instead. "And with good reason. He's been besieged as a hero since they landed at Dover. The courtyard at St. James's Palace has been constantly filled with crowds longing for a glimpse of him and he's been obliging them every five minutes or so. No wonder he's fatigued!"

  Ryan's arm had stolen around her shoulder in what appeared to be a protective, brotherly gesture. Near the Magdalen Bridge, the chancellor and other Oxford dignitaries moved forward. Lindsay's attention, however, was not on the chancellor as he came to meet the Prince Regent. Her senses were full of Ryan. Out of the corner of her eye, she admired the shape of the fingers that curved around her shoulder and the cuff of his well-made fawn-colored coat. Casually, she turned her head and indulged in a glimpse of the dark hair that curled behind his ear. He was looking especially splendid today... Lindsay expelled an involuntary sigh and instantly regretted it.

  "Are you so moved by this ceremony?" he whispered in amused tones.

  "It's—it's just that the day is so lovely. Incomparable, really."

  "Mmm." The barest smile curved his mouth.

  "At last!" cried an exasperated voice next to Lindsay. "I thought I'd never get through that crush!"

  There was Dudley, looking warm in his usual dark blue coat with brass buttons. Ryan knew an intense longing to greet the man with sarcasm, but somehow reason prevailed. Removing his arm from Lindsay, he leisurely produced his snuffbox, flipped it open, and held it out to the intruder. When Dudley declined, Ryan took a fastidious pinch and observed, "No doubt my sister appreciates the effort you've made to reach her side, Fanshawe." Glancing up, he added with a bland smile, "Unless, of course, it was I you wished to see...?"

  "Nathan is such a tease!" Lindsay put in hastily. Amenities were exchanged and then, casting about for an innocuous topic, she blurted out, "I wonder why they call High Street 'the High'?"

  Proudly, Dudley straightened his shoulders. "Fortunately, my dear, you are in the presence of an Oxford graduate. Oriel College, 1812. You must feel free to bring all your questions about Oxford to me!" He paused for an instant, sensing danger from Ryan's direction, but when he looked over, he found that the man was merely gazing at him through his quizzing glass with his usual blank expression. "Ahem! As I was saying, I cannot say for certain why the High is called the High, but it is a custom here. Broad Street is 'the Broad,' Catte Street 'the Catte,' and so on. Even the River Cherwell is known as 'the Char.' Furthermore..."

  Ryan dropped his quizzing glass, clenched his fists, and looked around for diversion, unable to bear another moment in the company of this insufferably pompous twit. The ceremony at Magdalen Bridge had ended and now, as if by fate's favor, he saw Hester coming toward him, her hands outstretched.

  "Mr. Raveneau!" she greeted him brightly. "How lovely to see you again! Might you spare me a moment's conversation?"

  His irritation was such that he dispensed with manners and ignored both Lindsay and Dudley. "Nothing could give me greater pleasure, your ladyship."

  She took his arm and they retreated under the arched entrance to Queen's College with its crowning cupola. Hester, garbed in an elaborate ensemble of pink and cream muslin and silk, gazed up at him with shining green eyes.

  "I realize I'm being indiscreet, but I couldn't help myself. Francis has gone off to speak to the chancellor, and I acted on impulse. It has been simply unbearable, traveling in the same party with you and knowing that we will be staying together at Grimley Court, yet fearing that we might never have a moment alone!"

  Ryan wasn't sure why he allowed her to talk this way or why it gratified him so. When she put her hand on his arm and he felt the sudden heat of Lindsay's stare from the High, he felt pleased. Still, reason's soft voice interfered.

  "Hester, it's good to see you and to talk to you. I've told you before that I hope we'll always be friends, but you also know that we mustn't be seen together, nor can we afford the risk of conversing in private. Perhaps when all of this is over—"

  "We can have tea together?" Tears sparkled in her eyes. "Don't worry, I shan't make a scene. I'm not the type to beg for favors, Ryan." She laughed shakily. "I did this to myself, didn't I? And what I told you at Vauxhall still holds true. I value my marriage and won't risk it. But seeing you with that Raveneau girl today... the way you look at her..."

  "You're imagining things," he said harshly.

  "Am I? I'd say rather that you are avoiding the truth! You'd do well to guard yourself when you and she are in society, Ryan, or you'll begin to hear the same rumors that have hounded Lord Byron and his sister."

  "Lindsay is not my sister!"

  Hester had taken a step away and now looked back over her shoulder. "No, that's true. But how many people know it? If you continue to woo her in public and she continues to respond, you'll both be the target of the most vicious sort of gossip!"

  Ryan caught her arm. "Has it not occurred to you that you may have overreacted to the sight of us together? Brothers and sisters are frequently affectionate. Just as often, Lindsay and I quarrel before others in the manner of siblings. I think that you are making more of this because you know she is not my sister and because you are jealous."

  "Perhaps." Hester freed her arm and forced herself to meet his dark blue gaze. "People can sense things, however, and as an old friend, I am merely offering well-meant advice."

  Ryan watched her walk away, then closed his eyes. He felt stifled by both the past and the present. The eeriness of returning to this place and of sharing Hester's company was difficult enough, but his present life was also fraught with complications. Where was the control and the freedom he had sought in America and enjoyed at sea? Oh, to be at sea again, on the decks of the Chimera, where the world extended only as far as the horizon! Instead, he found himself trapped between the past and the present, caught in a charade that was becoming increasingly difficult to carry off, surrounded by people who had power not only over his movements but his emotions as well....

  Slowly, Ryan s
ummoned the strength to open his eyes. If he had the courage to confront death during ocean battles, certainly he could navigate the rough waters of his current life. This was simply a different kind of challenge. After all, was Lindsay Raveneau, a mere female, more threatening than an attacking ship?

  The comparison made Ryan smile. He felt confident as he turned back toward the High until he looked for Lindsay and saw that both she and Dudley Fanshawe had vanished.

  * * *

  "Oh, Dudley, this is heaven!" Lindsay exclaimed as she lay back in the punt. The wooden shell drifted lazily down the Cherwell River, propelled by the pole Dudley wielded as he stood at the far end.

  "I'm delighted to hear you say so, Lindsay dear. Dare I hope that I am in heaven with you?"

  She laughed rather uneasily, wishing somehow that he weren't part of this real-life fantasy. Looking away from him, she concentrated on the dainty willows that bent near the narrow river, whispering in the breeze. In the distance were lush meadows, their beauty intensified by sprinklings of buttercups, bright red poppies, and lacy, pale golden meadowsweet. The river itself seemed to define the word peace as it murmured against the sides of the punt.

  Dreamily, Lindsay turned her head and surveyed the ancient surviving walls of Oxford above which rose topaz-tinted spires and domes. "I love it here. If I lived in such a place, I don't think I could ever leave."

  "Well, one has to get on with one's life," Dudley pronounced, guiding the punt toward a grassy bank. "Either that or become a don, I suppose, and I'm not that sort!"

  Unsure of how to respond to that comment, Lindsay sat up slightly and inquired, "Why are we stopping?"

  "That's Christ Church meadow," Dudley said, pointing absently to his right. "We've gone far enough—and I have a bottle of wine I thought we might open."

  "Oh." She felt a certain trepidation but told herself that Dudley Fanshawe was a most reliable gentleman—unlike certain other men! Sitting up in the punt, Lindsay peeked over the meadow grass at the amber towers of Christ Church. "What a magnificent place!"