Surrender the Stars (25 page)

"Dear Mother, please don't rebuke me," Ryan said. He took the chair opposite the settee on which she reclined and lifted the lid on the teapot that remained with assorted soiled china on the low table between them. "Empty, I see." Boyish disappointment was written on his face.

Devon's heart softened. She couldn't help it; he was far too engaging and too like Andre. "I'll ring for more."

Ryan smiled his gratitude and picked up the
Times.
He could feel her questions thick in the air, and though aware that a few layers of newspaper would not stave them off, he did hope for a brief delay.

"You look very handsome in your riding smalls," Devon observed. Her eyes traveled over his immaculate fawn-colored coat and the doeskin breeches that were slightly wide at the hip but fit snugly down to the polished top boots that encased Ryan's calves. "Do you mean to ride in the park?"

He glanced up and smiled. "Hyde Park? I thought to, yes. Is it safe?"

"Now you
do
sound like Nathan! My intention was not to sound like an overprotective mother. I am merely curious."

"Curiosity noted." Ryan smiled again and pretended to be absorbed in the assortment of advertisements that covered the first page of the newspaper. Homes, cottages, rooms, and warehouses were for let or lease, but his attention was drawn to the various horses for sale. After a minute or two of silence, he remarked, "I think I'll go to Tattersall's tomorrow. I'd like to buy a horse of my own."

"What will you do with it when we leave England?"

"You're behaving more like a mother than my own ever did!" Ryan laughed. "I'll decide that when the time comes. Have you forgotten that I'm past thirty years of age, Devon? I've looked after myself for half my life, or so it seems. If it weren't for this rather ridiculous charade we find ourselves tangled in, I wouldn't be living here at all, you know. I'd have rooms of my own."

"You wouldn't be in London at all!" Her tone was light, but his little speech had made her uneasy for a reason she couldn't fully identify.

"Point taken," Ryan said, rather than go on with a conversation he was finding increasingly tiresome. With relief, he saw Cassie in the doorway with a fresh tray of tea and cake. She wore a familiar plain gown of figured ivory muslin and her ginger-colored hair was twisted up in a loose knot atop her head. The very sight of her was a poignant reminder of Connecticut.

"It's good to see you, Cassie. I've missed you!" He grinned and stood to take the tray from her. "Where have you been hiding?"

Her round face lit up in response to his kind words, then darkened. "It's that Mrs. Butter. She won't let me touch anything! If it weren't for my devotion to this family, I'd go to Kent with Able and stay there!"

Devon stared, aghast. "Cassie, why didn't you say something?"

"I shouldn't have needed to," she replied plainly.

"For heaven's sake, this isn't Pettipauge! It's a much bigger house and you know that I have had a great deal to do since we arrived in London!"

"That's why I haven't burdened you with our problems. We're only servants after all."

Ryan cut a slice of the square cake and took a bite. "Mmm!" he exclaimed. "Now
this
tastes of America!"

A warm blush spread over Cassie's cheeks. "It's my own recipe for blueberry gingerbread. I had to bake it during Mrs. Butter's nap."

"One hopes that she may nap more often," he murmured with a wink of encouragement.

"There, you see how much you're loved and appreciated?" Devon exclaimed. "Captain Coleraine is going riding momentarily and then you and I will sit down and talk this over. Agreed?"

Nodding, Cassie backed out the door. Devon watched as Ryan poured tea for them both, squeezed lemon into his own, and drank half the cup.

"You must have gotten home very late to have slept so long," she ventured.

His eyes met hers over the rim of his cup. "I didn't just awaken. I had to bathe, shave, and dress, you know. This damnable cravat requires a ridiculous amount of time to tie correctly."

"I suppose so." She paused, then tried again. "Will you at least give me some clues as to the outcome of your interview with Lady Chadwick?"

"What aspect were you interested in? Social? Political? Sexual?"

"Ryan, you are being quite odious!" she cried, her cheeks pink.

He smiled wryly. "You look like your daughter when you blush. No, don't scold me further; I'll yield. Lady Chadwick and I renewed our friendship quite successfully, and we may trust her to keep our secret. Politically, she has agreed to help in some rather roundabout ways by informing me of the receptions to attend where prominent Tories will be present. It was Hester who encouraged me to visit Hyde Park as often as possible. Seems that plenty of powerful men, as well as dandies, ride there at five o'clock." He took another bite of blueberry gingerbread and finished his tea, then gave her a sly look. "As to the last area of interest, there's nothing to tell."

"You wouldn't say so if there were!"

Ryan laughed. "Quite true." Picking up his hat and riding crop, he came around the table to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you later, Mother dear. Wish me luck."

The sound of his footsteps on the stairs had faded before Devon realized that she hadn't told Ryan that Lindsay had also gone out to the Hyde Park—in the company of Lord Fanshawe.

* * *

Lindsay was feeling reckless and gay seated beside Dudley in a beautiful
vis-a-vis
drawn by a pair of elegant grays, as they wound their way over the paths of Hyde Park. They passed, and greeted, the cream of London society. The men rode the finest horses Lindsay had ever seen and the women were in neat, two-person equipages like her own.

When Andre had led her out to the stables before Dudley's arrival and explained that it was not considered proper for a female to be seen on a horse of her own, Lindsay had balked. But then the sight of the
vis-a-vis
he had just acquired for the use of his wife and daughter dissolved her anger. It was the most charming little carriage she had ever seen, with its hammer cloth, rich in heraldic designs, and its cozy interior. Best of all, a proper
vis-a-vis
only ventured forth with two liveried footmen and a coachman, all richly garbed and sporting powdered wigs. Lindsay loved the fantasy, especially once they were in the park and it all became even more extravagant and whimsical.

"Good afternoon, Miss Raveneau, Lord Fanshawe!" It was the Duke of Dorset on his magnificent white horse. Affably, he doffed his beaver hat and smiled at Lindsay.

"It's a pleasure to see you, Your Grace!" she replied. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"It can't hold a candle to you, my dear." The duke's eyes swept from her beguiling bonnet of periwinkle satin, set off by a cluster of real pink roses, to the matching muslin day gown that showed Lindsay's lithe curves to advantage. "You're a fortunate man, Fanshawe."

"I'm aware of that, Your Grace."

The cherubic, white-wigged coachman snapped the reins then and they moved on. Paths curved past ponds, flowerbeds, and groves of trees under which grazed cows and deer. The
vis-a-vis
slowed so that they might nod to the Prince Regent, who had paused to converse with the Earl of Sefton. Then, as they rounded the gentle crest of a hill, a stretch of empty pathway lay before them.

"Alone at last!" Dudley murmured with a pleased smile. He gazed at her with frank adoration.

Slightly disconcerted, Lindsay glanced around and pointed toward a stately elm. "Look over there, Lord Fanshawe!"

"Dudley," he corrected, taking her hand in his. "Don't they have elm trees in America? They're a common sight here, I can assure you."

"No, no, look
under
the tree. There's a doe with the most adorable fawn!"

"Not half so adorable as you, my sweet. You're the loveliest woman in London, you know." He edged closer. "I'd begun to think I'd never have you to myself."

With immense relief, Lindsay heard a horse trot up beside the little carriage. She was about to look up when a voice drawled, "Have her to your
self!
I'm afraid that's impossible, old man, at least as long as I'm around to uphold the proprieties!"

"Raveneau!" Dudley exclaimed, staring at the only man on Hyde Park's paths who was not clad in a blue coat with brass buttons. "What are you doing here?"

"Gad, sir!" Ryan raised his quizzing glass and struck an attitude. "I've come to chaperone my innocent sister!"

"Chaperone?" he spluttered. "Lindsay doesn't need to be chaperoned; she's with me!"

Languidly, Ryan lifted his right brow. "My point exactly, Fanshawe. That's why
I'm
here. One can never be too careful with the reputation of a beloved sibling." As the
vis-a-vis
began to roll onward, he trotted alongside on Andre's favorite black gelding. "In that line, I'd appreciate it if you would address Lindsay as Miss Raveneau. It don't do to relax the rules, you know."

Lindsay was torn between fury and mirth. Next to her, Dudley hissed, "Can't you do something? Tell him to go away, that you're perfectly safe with me!"

She looked up and had to smile at the sight of Ryan lazily examining his coat sleeve and flicking off an imaginary speck of dust. Then his eyes wandered over to meet hers, and for an instant, they betrayed a familiar glint of amusement.

Sighing, Lindsay turned back to Dudley. "I don't want to hurt his feelings," she whispered. "After all, he's only trying to be a good brother and his concern is genuine."

He wanted to shout at her that her brother was a ridiculous
fool
who didn't deserve a place in her family, but bit his tongue.

"Lindsay," Ryan murmured with a yawn, "you're forgetting your manners. Have you no greeting for your brother? Aren't you glad to see me?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hello, Nathan. Of course I'm glad to see you, but you really didn't need to go to all this bother."

"Bother?" Ryan repeated as if he didn't quite understand. "Bother? Nonsense, m'dear! As long as there is breath in my body, I shall devote myself to your welfare. Quite frankly, I can't think of a better way of spending my time!"

Lindsay was barely able to stifle a giggle when, next to her, Dudley's shoulders sagged and she heard him moan in torment.

Part Three

The stars of midnight shall be dear to her; and she shall lean her ear in many a secret place where rivulets dance their wayward round, and beauty born of murmuring sound shall pass into her face.

—William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Chapter 18

June 11, 1814

Devon Raveneau's lap was adrift with invitations. "I find it difficult to comprehend that there can be enough people in London society to give this many routs and assemblies," she remarked.

Across the morning room, Mouette sat in a ray of sunlight mending little Anthony's pants, recently split during a foray down the banister. The blond little boy stood nearby, his head bent in concentration over a plate of cookies just procured from the kitchen by his Aunt Lindsay.