Surrender the Stars (29 page)

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 were 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.

The largest cottage, built of stone, boasted a small swinging sign that announced: The Spotted Cow.

"God, how I used to love to come here," Ryan said with a sigh. "It's an inn by definition, but it's principally an alehouse."

Inside, he had to dip his head to avoid the low oak beams. The stone and timbered walls looked ancient, and the tables were scarred and worn. Students were scattered throughout the two tiny public rooms, arguing or laughing over their mugs of dark ale. Moments later, Lindsay found herself seated at a corner table, her knees brushing Ryan's, and taking her first sip of English ale. The barmaid lingered over a nearby table, trying to catch Ryan's eye so that she might indicate her appreciation with a flirtatious smile.

"It's good!" Lindsay decided, laughing. "Strong... and rich."

"Be careful. It won't do if you're in your cups when I return you to your parents." His blue eyes were agleam as he watched her drink again, wrinkling her tiny nose.

After a third sip, Lindsay suddenly untied her bonnet and removed it, revealing the soft profusion of bright curls that escaped from the Grecian knot atop her head. "Oh, that feels heavenly! I'm going to take off my slippers, too. Is that all right?"

Her legs wiggled against his for a moment as she freed her feet, and Ryan chuckled. "As long as you draw the line there."

"I can't stop! The gloves must go as well!" She drew them off and tossed them into her bonnet with a flourish.

"The ale's going to your head."

"I like the Spotted Cow. It's very relaxing—and very old. Isn't it?"

His brows lifted slightly as he reached for her mug. "Yes,
very
old. Five centuries' worth."

"Oh, my. That's hard to imagine after America, where everything is so new. How could you leave a place like this?"

"The Spotted Cow?"

"Don't tease me, Ryan! Oxford! Dean Jackson said that you could have been a professor of astronomy! That means you must have been an excellent student. He obviously thinks a great deal of you, remembering you that way years after you graduated. I mean, it's a magnificent accomplishment just to earn a degree from Oxford—"

"Not necessarily."

"Let me say this! I'm about to humble myself, and since I may not do so again for years, you ought to at least listen!"

He flashed a grin and cocked his head slightly in the way she found so appealing. "By all means, do go on."

"I was going to say that you clearly made a mark for yourself here. You took your education seriously." Feeling her cheeks grow hot, Lindsay put her hands over her face and blurted out, "I'm so embarrassed! Every time I remember all the horrid, superior things I've said to you I could just die! I have put myself above you, insulting your intelligence when, in truth,
you
should have been looking down at
me!
"

Lindsay took a breath that was half sob and waited for his response. When it didn't come, she peeked through her fingers to see the barmaid leaning over with his ale. The girl purposely brushed her breasts against Ryan's shoulder and smiled seductively. Lindsay's temper flared. "Do you
mind?
We would appreciate some privacy!"

Ryan was smiling at her with warm blue eyes. "You're amazing, do you know that, Lindsay? I've never known a woman quite like you."

"You must count your blessings," she whispered, her heart pounding with confusion, embarrassment, and the involuntary attraction she felt toward him.

"Don't talk nonsense. And, although I appreciate your apology, I'd prefer to forget it. I don't want you to change toward me because of what you've learned today; judge me as a person. As for your past insults, I never took them to heart." His eyes held hers. "You've known all along that I am not stupid."

Lindsay's mind spun back to that first afternoon on the Point, when Ryan had casually mentioned the bit of Greek mythology that had inspired his choice of
Chimera
for the name of his ship. Over and over again, he had quietly proved his intelligence while she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the evidence.

"I've been the stupid one."

"I don't want to hear any more of that nonsense. I do want to set you straight about Oxford, though, before we put the subject to rest." Ryan lit a cheroot and leaned back in his chair, stretching out his booted legs. "You're right about one thing—I did receive a wonderful education here but that's largely due to Dean Jackson's guidance. Fortunately, I had the sense to listen to him, but most students don't, and education at Oxford has been stagnating for a century. Spoiled young noblemen come here and very little studying goes on. What makes it all worse is the way Oxford men hold themselves above all others. They're incapable of saying 'I don't know' and, in truth, they know damned little!" He paused for another drink of ale.

"Things are changing, though, I think. Dean Jackson has been predicting a period of reform for a long time, although I fear he won't live to see it."

"How sad." Lindsay was stunned by his words. "What a waste!"

"Well, I was loath to disillusion you, but at the same time, it was important for you to realize that Utopia doesn't exist—even at Oxford." He straightened. "And now, we should be getting back. You have a dinner to dress for."

"Ryan... you
are
planning to attend tonight...?"

"You must see that I cannot. It was foolish for me to come to Oxford at all. I realized this afternoon that the risk of someone else recognizing me is too great to ignore. Radcliffe Camera will be jammed with scores of people who knew me during my years here."

"But that was a decade ago!" The prospect of going without him tonight made her heart sink.

"The danger still exists. I could be exposed in front of everyone." He picked up her bonnet and dropped it in her lap. "Get dressed now, brat."