Surrender the Stars (7 page)

"Cassie, did you hear me? How did Lindsay respond to the British attack? Perhaps it was more traumatic for her than she lets on?"

"She was quite upset that those redcoats just sailed into our harbor and burned the ships—particularly those built by Captain Raveneau. After the British warped the ships out into the river and set fire to them, I saw Miss Lindsay walk out the front door and stand in the middle of Main Street to watch that tragic spectacle. Tears were running down her face, and I'm not sure she even realized it." Cassie took a breath, searching for the right words. "She seemed frustrated that nothing could be done to stop the redcoats and that the townspeople weren't fighting back. But once it was over and the damage was done, Miss Lindsay seemed quick to recover and to go on with her life as usual."

Devon listened thoughtfully. It was hard to imagine her daughter weeping in the middle of Main Street or wishing violence on anyone, even red-coated enemies. Perhaps Lindsay was pluckier than her parents realized. Devon could only hope that this was the case and that the adventure of moving to London would release some of that pent-up liveliness.

From the front of the house came the sound of the door opening and closing, then Lindsay calling, "I'm home!"

"We're in the kitchen, sweetheart," Devon replied. She stood as her daughter entered the big, warm room carrying a stack of books and papers that she deposited on the table before embracing her mother.

"How pretty you look today, Mama." Lindsay smiled.

Devon glanced down at her own beautifully fitted gown of jonquil silk. Emeralds sparkled at her neck, and her curls were caught up in a flattering silk bandeau. Lindsay, on the other hand, wore a dark blue spencer over a simple gown of white muslin. How lovely she would be in the new gowns, jewels, bonnets, and slippers they would buy in London!

"It's sweet of you to say so," Devon replied, casting a meaningful glance toward Cassie.

"If you two ladies will keep an eye on the stew, I think I'll pick some daffodils for the supper table," the housekeeper said promptly.

Lindsay poured a cup of tea for herself and took a chair across from her mother. "Oh, this day seemed endless! Jonathan Payton had the devil in him all morning. I could have thrashed him! Fortunately, I think he exhausted himself, because by the time we did sums, he stopped pinching Sally Arnold and quieted down." She paused, her eyes alert. "Mama, is something wrong?"

"Lindsay, I have something to tell you, something I consider wonderful news. I only hope you'll agree."

"Well, good news would certainly be welcome in view of last week's tribulations!"

"I can see that wary look in your eyes, so I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to work up to this gradually. The fact is that while we were in Philadelphia, Senator Hampshire asked your father to go to England on a diplomatic mission."

"What?"

"Now, let me explain, briefly at least. You see, because of the war, there has not been an American ambassador in residence in London. The president desires that someone known to the British go there now. There is concern that someone may be selling American secrets, or influencing the powers that be in a negative way, but it's only speculation. Our only purpose in going may be simply to spread American goodwill. All the other prominent Americans who also are trusted in London are currently in Ghent, with the Peace Commission, so your father was a logical choice. At first, as you might imagine, he balked because of his business here, but in view of recent events, there is nothing to keep him in Connecticut."

Lindsay was aghast. "Mama, how can you call this 'wonderful news' and expect me to echo your sentiments? I think it's dreadful! Why, Papa might be away for a year or more!"

"You didn't let me finish, sweetheart," Devon said gently, gazing into her daughter's eyes. "President Madison desires that
all
of us travel to Britain. He feels that your father's role will be most effective if he can seem to be a neutral, family-oriented man. If he were to appear alone in London, while the war is going on, suspicions might be aroused."

Stunned, Lindsay could only whisper,
"All of us?"

"Don't you see, it's a wonderful opportunity for you! You need to get away from Pettipauge and see the world, Lindsay. London is like a fairyland for a girl your age. Handsome men, beautiful clothes, balls and assemblies—"

"You know that I consider none of those important for happiness. I'm accomplishing something here, Mama. I'm helping children to learn, to grow intellectually—"

"Wouldn't you hope that one day your students might be moved by what they've learned to venture out into the world and see its wonders firsthand? Don't you want them to be well rounded, to seek knowledge from experience as well as from books?"

"Of course, but—" Lindsay broke off as her mother's words sank in. Turning her head, she stared at the fire for a long minute, then whispered, "I have responsibilities..."

"Your first responsibility is to yourself, my dear, and in this case you also have a responsibility to your country. There is more to this journey than pleasure, as your father will explain. President Madison wants each of us to play a role in London." Reaching out, Devon touched her hand. "Besides, it's only for a few months—a year, at most. I'd hoped that you might be able to awaken a secret reserve of courage at the prospect of such an adventure."

"Courage?" Lindsay straightened her slim back. She was about to say "You might be surprised!" when a commotion in the front entry hall caused both of them to turn their heads.

"Devon? Are you here,
cherie
?" It was the deep voice of Andre Raveneau.

"We're in the kitchen, Papa," Lindsay replied, glad for the diversion. She met her father in the doorway and was wrapped in his strong embrace when she saw the other man approaching down the hall. Suddenly, her heart began to hammer madly.

"Loose me,
ma fleur
." Andre chuckled, turning to wave his guest into the kitchen. "I don't believe that you were present the last time I brought Captain Coleraine home. Ryan, allow me to introduce my daughter, Lindsay."

Though his smile was as devastating as ever, Lindsay recognized the dangerous glint in Coleraine's midnight-blue eyes. He held out a hand to her but spoke to Andre. "Miss Raveneau and I have already met. We introduced ourselves last week in front of the Griswold Inn."

Lindsay prayed that her cheeks didn't look as hot as they felt. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Captain." Then, to prevent him from gloating over the thought that he was keeping a secret for her sake, she added, "Papa, you must thank Captain Coleraine. In spite of his own trials on the day the British attacked, he still found time to see to my safety."

Ryan's black brows flicked upward almost imperceptibly. "Your daughter obviously inherited her parents' legendary bravery. It will come as no surprise to you to learn that a Raveneau attempted to repel the British singlehandedly, thereby ensuring the safety of your ships. Needless to say, my own efforts to inject a note of caution into Miss Raveneau's defense of Pettipauge were less than welcome. At the risk of sounding boastful, I would venture to say that I may have saved your daughter's life when I removed her from the fray." Ryan delivered this speech in a jaunty tone that suggested exaggeration for the amusement of his audience.

Andre glanced at Lindsay, who managed to smile and shrug innocently, thereby banishing his faint hope that Coleraine might be telling the truth. Obviously the man didn't know that Lindsay was actually nothing like the feisty rebel he had just described or that her parents would have been proud if she had behaved with such valor, however misguided. "That's quite a tale!" Andre heard himself chuckle. "How did you manage to convince Lindsay to abandon her crusade?"

Seething inside over Ryan Coleraine's smug little game, she spoke up first, laughing. "Oh, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me off. Isn't that what heroes always do?"

Devon had risen from her chair beside the hearth and was watching the trio in the doorway with keen eyes. Her interest had been piqued by the scene that she had just witnessed between Captain Coleraine and her daughter. Even Devon didn't really consider the notion that Ryan's story might be factual, but she did think that there was more to his past encounter with Lindsay than either of them was letting on. Unless Devon's intuition was faulty, it seemed clear that her daughter actually
disliked
this rakish Irishman. The prospect of Lindsay harboring a strong emotion, even if it was ill will, was encouraging.

"I should warn you, Captain Coleraine," Devon said as she walked over to join them, "my daughter does not enjoy being manhandled."

Ryan laughed and bent to kiss the hand she proffered. "I promise never to do it again." Lifting his eyes, he murmured, "It's a pleasure to see you again, madame. Your beauty increases."

"Not so rapidly as your charm, sir!"

Andre spoke up then. "You're aware, Devon, that I have been meaning to have a talk with Ryan. When we met by chance at my warehouse, I remembered the mutton stew Cassie promised to make and invited him to join us for supper."

She mustered a smile. "That's just fine, but Captain Coleraine may not consider hotchpotch of mutton to be the sublime delicacy that you do, my darling."

"Impossible!" her husband scoffed. "Now then
,
give me half an hour alone with Ryan in the study before you ladies join us for a glass of wine before supper"

With that, the two men disappeared down the hall and Devon was conscious of a rising panic. Lindsay was not yet reconciled to the idea of going to London
herself.
How could Devon tell her that Ryan Coleraine would be joining their family, masquerading as her brother? All of her maternal instincts warned that such a disclosure at that moment would cause Lindsay to refuse to travel to Britain—or ever to leave Pettipauge at all!

"I don't like that man," Lindsay whispered.

"I noticed," Devon replied with a wan smile. "I must say, though, I can't see what there is
not
to like. Ryan Coleraine seems to be the embodiment of a woman's dreams. He's—"

"Oh, Mama!" Lindsay hissed. "Spare me your fairy tales! I'm going up to my room. Not only must I prepare tomorrow's lessons, but there is this situation about London to consider."

"Yes, of course." Devon's heart sank. Watching her daughter gather the stack of books on the table, she realized that the unfamiliar emotion that swept over her was helplessness. Of course, she ought to do something, but Lindsay's demeanor left Devon at a loss. "I know you'll see how important this journey to London is, sweetheart—for all of us."

Lindsay passed by with her chin elevated. "Possibly."

Chapter 4

April 15, 1814

"Did Senator Hampshire mention whether or not I have a choice in this matter?" Ryan asked dazedly.

Watching the younger man swallow the rest of his whiskey, Raveneau was reminded of his own reaction when this incredible plan had been presented to him. "I'm afraid you have me to thank for your involvement in this. There's no one else I would trust to impersonate my son and, of course, your appearance and age are also perfect. As for the matter of choice, I'd say that it wouldn't be advisable to decline." He ran a hand through his silvery hair and smiled sympathetically. "I felt backed into a wall myself the first few days after Hampshire talked to me. This is not the sort of adventure men like us feel comfortable with, but we would be helping America, and considering the situation here in Pettipauge, it does seem preferable to waiting for the privateers to be rebuilt."

"I'm wondering if someone's tampered with your whiskey, sir. I could swear I'm having a truly bizarre dream!"

"Under the circumstances, perhaps you ought to call me Andre." Raveneau paused, then dryly added, "Or Father."

Ryan rubbed tanned fingers over his eyes and tried to laugh. "You know, I grew up in Britain. When I left nine years ago, I intended never to return. Certainly not under these circumstances!"

"You're from Ireland, though—"

"I lived in England those last few years," Ryan said enigmatically.

Andre thought back to the angry young man with an Irish accent and flashing dark blue eyes who'd come to him nine years ago to ask for work. Coleraine had explained that he had been first mate on a merchant ship out of Boston since arriving in America. He'd heard tales of Raveneau—the man, sea captain, and shipbuilder—and had saved for the journey to Pettipauge, determined to sign on. Ryan had brashly informed him that he intended one day to captain his own ship and eventually to own her, but in the meantime he'd swab decks to prove himself. During the intervening years, Ryan's keen intelligence, discipline, and talent had made his ambitions come true. Raveneau had come to trust and respect him more than any other man in his service, but now he realized how little he really knew of Ryan Coleraine.

"Are you concerned that people in London will remember you and expose our masquerade?" Andre asked.