"Christ Church?" Dudley shrugged as he drew the cork from the wine bottle and magically produced two glasses. "I suppose. Of course, it's an honor to attend any college at Oxford, but in terms of prestige, I suppose Christ Church ranks first. It's the grandest, at any rate."
"Is it very old?"
"Not as old as many of the colleges. Merton, you know, was founded in the thirteenth century. As I recall, it was 1264. Christ Church was begun by Cardinal Wolsey, during Henry VIII's reign, when they had a tendency to overdo such things. It was the king, I believe, who united the college with the cathedral."
"How fascinating!" Lindsay accepted the glass of wine and took a sip. "It was very kind of you to take me punting, Dudley, and to suffer all my questions."
"At last you are calling me by my Christian name without being prompted!" He smiled. Carefully, Fanshawe slid down into the punt so that they sat close together. "It's been my pleasure to show you Oxford, dear Lindsay. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know that you are interested in becoming acquainted with the places that have shaped my life."
In the act of swallowing a bit of wine, she choked and took a huge gulp, then another before the spasm subsided.
"My dear, are you all right?" he inquired solicitously. Seeing his opportunity, Dudley put an arm about her and bent near, hoping that she might grant him a kiss in this moment of weakness and gratitude.
"All right?" echoed a familiar voice from the river-bank. "My sister will be perfectly well once she is restored to dry land."
Still coughing, Lindsay struggled out of Fanshawe's unwelcome embrace. "Nathan!"
He slowly lifted a dark brow. "None other. May I assist you?"
Dudley blinked in disbelief and muttered under his breath, "The man is like a curse, invariably turning up to plague me at the worst possible moment!"
Chapter 20
June 14, 1814
Ryan gave the younger man a charming smile. "I beg your pardon, Fanshawe? Did you say something?"
"No." He rolled his eyes.
Deftly, Ryan came down the steep bank and lifted Lindsay from the punt with ease. When she stood on the high ground of Christ Church meadow, he turned back to Dudley.
"I hope you don't think that I have been less than a gentleman, sir," the blond man intoned, balancing unsteadily in the slender punt.
Forcing himself, Ryan raised his quizzing glass. "Not at all! Why should I imagine such a thing? Fact is, my sister is notoriously prone to seasickness! She wouldn't tell you, of course, but as her brother, I felt it my duty to come to her rescue!" He gave him his best foolish smile. "I'd suggest that you return that punt, Fanshawe. Excuse us, won't you?"
Lindsay waved weakly from the bank, then Ryan took her arm in a hard grip and led her away.
"Surely you don't think that anything happened—" she began.
"Surely you don't take me for a fool!" he retorted angrily. "Your family didn't know where you were, your father is imagining all sorts of things, and you should thank God that I found you before he did!"
"If you're referring to the fact that I accepted a glass of wine and allowed Dudley to sit beside me—"
"Spare me!" Ryan shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I am well aware of your passionate nature."
Lindsay stopped and tried to slap him, but he easily caught her hand. "No more of that. I can't go round with a different bruise on my face every day!"
Suddenly the anger between them seemed to melt away and the humor seeped in. Lindsay pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh at the thought of Ryan trying to explain his various slap marks, but a giggle slipped out. He caught both her wrists and tried to glare down at her, yet his own eyes were dancing. "Little vixen!" They stood in the middle of Christ Church meadow surrounded by sun-dappled wildflowers and chestnut trees in full bloom. "Of course I know you weren't doing anything, but you were a fool to go!"
"You're jealous," she said impulsively.
"Of that ridiculous jackanapes?" He started off again with Lindsay in tow. "Don't insult me."
She decided to change the subject and pointed to the distant buildings. "That's Christ Church College, you know. I think it is magnificent! Dudley has been instructing me."
"No doubt," Ryan muttered dryly.
"Truly! I am utterly captivated by Oxford and eager to learn more about it." She lifted her chin. "I wish that Dudley were here now to tell me what I am seeing."
Before he could stop himself, Ryan said, "Believe it or not, brat, even an ill-bred boor like myself can manage to retain a few facts over the course of a lifetime." He lifted a dark hand and pointed, his finger moving from left to right. "That's Christ Church's hall, and the bell tower with the high, tapering curve is Tom Tower, named after Thomas a Becket. The tallest spire is that of Oxford Cathedral, which is also Christ Church's chapel. Satisfied?"
Lindsay held fast to his arm and nearly stumbled in the grass as she tried to match Ryan's stride. "How do you know all of this?"
"Never mind. I shouldn't have spoken at all." His profile was chiseled, remote. "I shouldn't have come at all."
"To Oxford or to find me?"
"Take your pick!"
"Well, then, why did you? I could be having a perfectly lovely time if you weren't so intent on spoiling it!"
"Drinking wine in a punt with that milksop Fanshawe?" he asked acidly. "Kissing him under the willows? How romantic!"
"You're impossible and unfair!" Lindsay cried. "Why do you hate him so? He's a perfect gentleman and has never said or done anything to offend you!"
"His mere existence offends me," he shot back unreasonably. "He's puffed up with his own consequence and it's all hot air. His title, his manners, his family estate, his Oxford degree—"
"I still say you're jealous!"
Ryan stopped suddenly and stared down at her with stormy midnight-blue eyes. "I'll say this only once, Lindsay, and then you'd be wise not to throw those words in my face again. I wouldn't accept Fanshawe's assets if they were presented to me on a silver platter. They don't count a damn toward character."
She couldn't help herself. "Well, of course you'd say that!"
He turned and walked away.
Furious herself, Lindsay lifted her skirts and ran after him. As they emerged from the meadow onto the Broad Walk they passed fellows in caps and gowns who turned to look curiously at Lindsay's lovely but unladylike figure.
"Wait for me!" she cried at last. Ryan stopped but neither looked back nor spoke as she came up behind him. "You are the horridest man I know!" She gasped, trying to balance and remove a pebble from her kid slipper at the same time. "Would you have me make a fool of myself before all of Oxford?"
"You're perfectly capable of doing that without any assistance from me." When he saw that she was in danger of toppling over at the moment when her shoe was nearly back in place, Ryan put out a steadying hand. "You know," he remarked conversationally, "sometimes I could strangle you."
"And I, you!" Eyes flashing and cheeks pink, she gave him a murderous glance. "You are the rudest, crudest—"
Lightly, he waved a hand in front of her mouth. "Never mind the rest. It's all redundant. You've listed my shortcomings so many times that even I, oaf that I am, have managed to commit them to memory."
As they resumed walking, Lindsay attacked from a different angle. "Furthermore, I am sick to death of your petty complaints about Dudley! What about your precious Heather? Don't you suppose that my sensibilities are offended by the sight of a married woman with children—and, I might add, with one of those pompous titles you disdain—fawning over you like a schoolgirl? Even more unpleasant is the sight of you, fawning in return, for all the world to see! Is it any wonder that I accepted Dudley's invitation to go punting rather than endure one more nauseating moment of such a spectacle?"
The corners of Ryan's mouth twitched. "Hmm." He gave a mock sigh. "Sounds like jealousy to me... but then, what do I know about such things?"
She longed to screa
m and pummel him with her fists, but instead she cuffed his arm. "This is simply—"
"Shh." Staring ahead, he caught her wrist in a grip that was firm yet gentle.
Something in his manner gave Lindsay pause. She swallowed her arguments and followed his eyes. They had turned north on St. Aldate's and were approaching Tom Tower, which loomed above the arched entrance to Christ Church's Tom Quad. The only person coming toward them was an elegant, tired-looking old man dressed in what Lindsay guessed were robes that bespoke a position of authority.
Almost inaudibly, Ryan muttered, "Jesus, I'm done for now. I was a fool to leave London."
While still some distance away, the old gentleman's head lifted a bit, his shoulders straightened, and a smile flickered in his eyes. Ryan returned Lindsay's hand to the crook of his arm and whispered. "Behave yourself." Then they walked forward.
Before they reached the old man, a gowned student passed them from behind and removed his cap. "Good afternoon, Dean Jackson."
The dean nodded. "Mulcaster." Then, as the boy went on, he came to meet Ryan and Lindsay. "Hello, Coleraine." His smile was faint but suffused with affection. "You've changed, but, of course, I never forget a face. Yours in particular!"
They shook hands, and once again Ryan felt that strange rush of mixed emotions wherein the past tangled with the present. "Dean Jackson, it's good to see you. You're looking very fit."
"I have to be to maintain my legendary tact in managing that most unruly group of undergraduates: noblemen. Why do they all flock to Christ Church?" Ruefully, he shook his head. "I must say, though, I don't feel very fit at the moment. That ceremony in the High was interminable! I confess that I slipped away before everyone adjourned to the Sheldonian to witness the czar and the king receiving their degrees." Now Cyril Jackson turned his keen gaze on Lindsay and waited.
"Allow me to present Miss Lindsay Raveneau." Ryan's tone barely betrayed his discomfort. "Miss Raveneau, you have the honor of meeting Dr. Cyril Jackson, dean of Christ Church."
"The honor is mine, I assure you," Jackson said gallantly. "How are you, Miss Raveneau?"
Completely confused, Lindsay extended her hand and told him of her enchantment with Oxford.
"Miss Raveneau is visiting from America," Ryan explained, hating the fact that he could not be honest with this man for whom he felt such deep affection and respect. "Her father owns the ships I have sailed these past few years, and, at his invitation, I accompanied the family to England for a few months."
"I appreciated your last letter, Coleraine, but you're a less than model correspondent. I believe it arrived more than three years ago! Fortunately, I have heard of your exploits at sea from other sources." His eyes twinkled. "Did I not tell you when you left Oxford that I would pursue you, as long as I live, with a jealous and watchful eye? I haven't forgotten you, you know, or your potential. I'm still waiting for you to live up to it. Woe be to you if you fail me!" Before Ryan, who felt as if he were choking, could reply, Jackson turned to Lindsay. "This young man could have been professor of astronomy by now if he'd remained at Oxford. He might have been a dean one day! But he chose to employ other talents, and who can blame a young man for seeking adventure and longing to conquer new worlds?"
Lindsay was speechless, but Ryan managed to reply, "I've had considerable success, Dean."
"Attacking English ships?" The old gentleman raised a white eyebrow. "Well, you doubtless feel a certain loyalty toward America after nine years, hmm? I don't suppose I dare to hope you've come back for good? You know how desperately we need men who are truly serious about the business of learning."
Ryan looked around, gazing through the arched entrance to Tom Quad as if it were the doorway back to his youth. "It's tempting, but I don't think so... at least, not at the moment."
Dean Jackson ran a critical eye over Ryan's garb. "You haven't turned into one of those dandies, have you? One of those self-indulgent, fancy fellows who insult their social equals and are offensively rude to their inferiors? I've seen too many of my students assume that role but I never would have thought it of you, Coleraine."
Dimly, Lindsay remembered the things Ryan had said to her about the social elite of London, disapproving of their selfishness and snobbery. "Ryan's not like that at all, Dean Jackson!" she said impulsively.
A smile warmed the old man's face. "I thought not, but a word of caution seemed in order."
"Sir," Ryan said, "I would be grateful if you could spare me the time for a private interview at your earliest convenience. There is a great deal that I would like to discuss with you."
"Certainly! I would be delighted. But the afternoon is nearly gone now, and there's that ponderous dinner tonight at the Radcliffe Camera for the Regent and his assorted guests. Can you come to my study at nine o'clock tomorrow morning? We'll have breakfast."
Ryan could hardly argue. Summoning a smile, he agreed, but as farewells were exchanged, he had to speak up. "Dean, I know that this will sound very odd to you, but I hope it will be clear after we speak tomorrow. Until then, might I request that you say nothing of my presence in Oxford? And, if you should meet Miss Raveneau tonight, it would be a great favor to me if you would make no reference to your meeting here today."
"Deception?" The word dripped remonstrance.
"I give you my word that the situation is completely aboveboard, sir."
"In that case, I'll agree, but you know how I feel about dishonesty. I expect you to explain yourself in the morning, Coleraine!"
"Yes, Dean." Ryan shook the old man's wrinkled hand. "And thank you."
After Dr. Jackson had disappeared into Tom Quad and Ryan and Lindsay had continued a little way up St. Aldate's in silence, Ryan suddenly stopped and pressed tense fingers to his eyes.
"Good God, I feel as if I'm eighteen again. My own father never had such power over me! Of all the people in Oxford, why did I have to encounter the single one who would recognize me anywhere, at any age, in any disguise?"
Lindsay's own thoughts were spinning. "Ryan," she whispered, stunned, "why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? You're a graduate of the finest college at Oxford and you've kept it a secret!"
He glanced down at her and sighed distractedly. "It was a different life. I've told you before that I began anew when I came to America. Oxford degrees don't win men places on ships, and aside from that, what's the point in discussing such things?"
She hardly knew what to say and, sensing his own preoccupation, remained silent as they made their way past Carfax and the medieval Church of St. Martin. Carfax was a corruption of the Anglo-Norman French for four ways, and it was the central point of the ancient town. Here, St. Aldate's met Queen Street on the west, The High on the east, and Cornmarket to the north, which was Oxford's shopping street. Ryan explained none of this to Lindsay; she had read it in her little guide book that morning when they came into town.
She walked beside him up Cornmarket and said nothing. Finally, unable to bear it another moment, Lindsay caught his sleeve and beseeched, "Ryan, please, won't you talk to me? Can we not sit down somewhere and discuss this?"
A muscle moved in his jaw. "We're nearly to the Golden Cross. Your parents are waiting in their rooms for word of you."
"Then ask the innkeeper to take a message up to them. Please!"
The concern and bewilderment that were etched on her delicate countenance touched an unfamiliar place inside of him. "All right. There is somewhere I've been longing to go, and I'm so damned thirsty." His eyes gazed at the gabled rooftops. "Perhaps a bit of ale and civilized conversation might do me good."
Lindsay clasped his hands. "Wonderful! Thank you!"
"Remember," Ryan warned her with a quelling glance, "I said civilized. No more scenes!"
Chapter 21
June 14, 1814
Ryan and Lindsay went through the coaching entrance to the three-century-old Golden Cross. She waited in the cobbled yard while Ryan went inside and spoke to the innkeeper, then, minutes later, they wer
e turning west onto the Broad and she felt suffused with elation. Passing the golden-stoned, gable-roofed Balliol College and then the leafy gardens that guarded Trinity College, Lindsay was caught up once more in Oxford's spell. Ryan's company, the wonder of his marvelous secret, and the mystery of their destination only intensified the aura of magic.
Students were everywhere, most of them costumed in flowing dark gowns worn over their clothes. They all seemed to be rushing about in the June sunlight, but perhaps it was due to the celebratory nature of the day. Ryan took Lindsay's arm, weaving deftly among the other passersby as he turned again.
"Everything here is so beautiful, so charming," she murmured. "It's like a town from a fairy tale—and yet it's the sense of history and the search for knowledge that make it a perfect place in my eyes."
"I hope you're not plotting to dress as a boy again to try to gain admission."
"Don't remind me of that silly rule. Why is it that men get to decide these things?"
Hoping to avert another tirade, he pointed to a fanciful building in the shape of a D, which was embellished with a great deal of carving and topped with a cupola. "That's the Sheldonian Theatre, designed by Christopher Wren. He took the shape from Roman theaters, and since they were roofless, the Sheldonian's ceiling is covered with a painting of the sky. You know, this is where degrees were conferred upon the visitors while you were out punting with Dudley. You could have seen it for yourself!"
Lindsay's sigh mixed wonder with regret. Ryan led her down
New College Lane, which curved this way and that, but Lindsay saw little of it because soon they came to a narrow opening between buildings.
"Follow me," he said, and started into a tiny alleyway barely wide enough to accommodate one person.
"What are we doing?" she exclaimed, looking about.
"This is St. Helen's Passage—also known as Hell's Passage," he replied enigmatically. Beginning to enjoy her contagious high spirits, Ryan gave Lindsay a smile and reached back to take her gloved hand. It felt warm and tiny in his own. They followed the twisting alley through several turns, finally emerging into a tiny hidden world of cottages with steeply angled roofs that huddled around the imposing bell tower of New College. Otherwise, they seemed completely cut off from the rest of Oxford.
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