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.
"No... not particularly, though it's possible. I was a different person then, and so much time has passed that I doubt anyone there thinks of me anymore. Besides, I spent little time in London." He paused, considering. "It wouldn't be particularly difficult to alter my looks and personality just enough so that there would be little or no danger of recognition."
Raveneau laughed dryly. "Devon will be happy to help in that area! She's an expert at creative deceptions...."
From the hallway, Devon called, "Did I hear someone mention my name?"
"Join us, cherie," her husband replied, rising to embrace her as she entered. It seemed to Andre that his wife had changed not at all during the thirty-two years of their marriage. She remained a bright, lovely, adventurous, curious, headstrong minx, and he loved her more than ever. Kissing her upswept curls, he remarked, "The hardest deception of all will be convincing people that you are old enough to be Ryan's mother."
"Don't be silly, Andre. Nathan may be only twenty-eight, but Mouette is at least Captain Coleraine's age." She took a chair and waited for the two men to sit down. "Now, first of all, we'll have to dispense with formality. I will call you Ryan and you must call me Devon."
"Or Mother," Andre put in with a straight face.
"You'll have to excuse me... Devon," Ryan said with a rather pained smile, "but I think I'm in shock. I'm still digesting this entire plan, and the fact is, I haven't yet agreed to participate in it."
She waved this off with a tiny hand. "You men! You're all so hardheaded. Andre was terribly difficult for days after Senator Hampshire discussed this matter with him, and he's only just begun to realize how entertaining this adventure could be!"
As he lit a cheroot, Raveneau slanted a wry smile at the younger man. "If you're wise, you'll take a piece of advice from a man who has lived with this woman for over thirty years. Once she packs a bit of snow together and starts it rolling down the mountain, there's nothing to be done. You might as well surrender, Coleraine."
"Do you always follow your own advice, sir?"
Andre and Devon exchanged a meaningful, laughing look before he replied, "I didn't say that I was wise!"
"Darling," his wife chided, "give the poor man an opportunity to make up his own mind! Come along with me into the kitchen. Cassie wants you to approve the hotchpotch of mutton." Firmly, she took him by the hand and drew him into the hallway. When they neared the kitchen, Devon paused to whisper urgently, "I don't know what we'll do if Captain Coleraine doesn't come around almost immediately. Lindsay has made up her mind not to like him, and she herself hasn't agreed to come with us to London. Once she finds out that he'll be going, masquerading as Nathan, I shudder to imagine the ensuing scene!"
Raveneau rolled his eyes. "Why can't anything ever be simple?"
* * *
In the study, Ryan Coleraine was wondering the same thing. He was glad to have a bit of time alone to think, but he soon realized that his reactions to Raveneau's proposition were definitely mixed. He had no desire to return to England, especially in the guise of the Raveneaus' rich, fashionable son. The thought of playing that part, coupled with the prospect of sharing a family home, went strongly against his grain. A yearning for independence and a self-governed destiny had been his motivation for leaving Britain in the first place. These days, Ryan treasured nothing so much as his total freedom.
On the other hand, he felt that he owed America a great debt. Could he live with himself if he turned his back on a request from President Madison? And could one refuse such a request? Even Raveneau, who was twice as old and twice as powerful as Ryan, had come around.
Sighing, he sank back in the rose-upholstered wing chair and rubbed his bearded jaw. Since the Chimera had been destroyed the week before, Ryan had worked to suppress emotions he viewed as useless, chiefly, rage and restlessness. He'd been anxious for Captain Raveneau to return from Philadelphia, certain that the older man would be filled with plans to rebuild instantly—and perhaps even to seek revenge against the British. These new developments were totally unexpected, yet Ryan told himself that Raveneau would achieve the same ends though by different means. The ships would be rebuilt while he was in England, and in the meantime a subtler, more civilized form of revenge could be pursued. Sipping his brandy, Coleraine thought, Perhaps he's right. This assignment may prove more satisfying and challenging than staying around here to wait. At least we'd be busy...
"I'd hoped
that you would have the good sense to politely refuse my father's dinner invitation and leave our home," a cool voice said from the doorway.
Ryan blinked and almost smiled as he stood to acknowledge her presence. "Ah, Miss Raveneau! I see that skirts have not improved your manners."
"All that my manners require is your absence, sir!" She stared at him defiantly, blushing under the apparent amusement in his eyes, then took a chair across the study. "Was my father called away by an emergency? I hardly think he would have left you alone with our valuables otherwise!"
Ryan feigned shock. "Have I been insulted?" He'd forgotten how stimulating Lindsay's company was. She might be infuriating and rude, but now that she couldn't cause trouble with the British troops, he was able to appreciate the fact that, unlike most women, Lindsay Raveneau never bored him. And she was physically stunning. Ryan's appreciative gaze swept over her simple white muslin gown, noting the graceful lines of the form it concealed, then lingered on her face. It featured pale, creamy skin accented by flushed cheeks; exquisite bone structure; a lush mouth, narrow nose; and, finally, those beautiful, intelligent smoke-colored eyes with their thick lashes and delicately arched brows. The crowning touch was Lindsay's mass of strawberry-blond hair, caught up in the simplest of loose Grecian knots that released soft, wispy curls to frame her face. She wore no jewelry, no powder, paint, lace, or satin, and Ryan thought that her beauty was heightened by their absence.
"I am baffled by your question, sir," Lindsay replied frostily. "Did you expect flattery?"
The devil himself seemed to prompt Ryan's answer. "I had hoped you might find it in your heart to treat me with the same kindness you might show your brother. After all, soon we'll be living under the same roof—"
"What?" she cried. "I knew it! You're a madman!" Looking over her shoulder, Lindsay saw her parents appear in the entryway in response to the sound of raised voices. "Papa, you must ask Captain Coleraine to leave! He's ranting like a lunatic that I should treat him like a brother—"
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