Hed never meant to do either of those things, and even now, he hadnt committed a single intentional act to betray either of them. Indeed, the rest of the universe probably wouldnt even consider that he had, for nothing had ever happened between him and Honor, after all. But he knew, and it wounded him deep inside, where his concept of himself lived, in a way his affair with Theodosia never had, for this time he had no excuse. No fresh and bleeding wound which demanded healing. There was only the bewildering knowledge that somehow, without ever meaning to, he had found himself desperately in love with two totally different yet equally magnificent women... and that one of them was forever an invalid and the other was dead.
And God how it hurt.
The sleek shape of a pinnace appeared suddenly beyond the armorplast, drifting through the silent vacuum towards the buffers, and he sucked in a deep breath and shook himself. He reached up and removed the earbug, dropping it into a pocket, and straightened his tunic as Benjamin the Greats bugler took his place and the honor guard snapped to attention.
The pinnace settled delicately into the buffers, the umbilicals swung up and locked, and the personnel tube ran out to the hatch, and Hamish Alexander, Thirteenth Earl of White Haven, grinned crookedly as he watched the Navy side party muster under the eyes of a harassed, semi-frantic Grayson lieutenant. It wasnt every day that the First Space Lord of the Royal Manticoran Navy and the Chancellor of Her Majestys Exchequer paid a visit on a neighboring star system in the middle of a shooting war, and Benjamin the Great's crew was determined to get it right.
And so was White Haven. He had that much left, at least, he told himself. The job. His duty. Who he was and what he owed. In that much, he was like Emily and Honor. Neither of them had ever been able to turn their backs on duty, either, had they? So he could at least try to prove himself worthy of the two extraordinary women who meant so much to him, and he gave himself a sharp mental shake.
You do have a habit of experiencing these moments of personal self-revelation at... inopportune moments, dont you, Hamish? his brain told him mockingly, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry, humorless smile.
Many, many years ago, as a fourth-term midshipman, a senior tactical instructor had taken a very young Hamish Alexander aside after a simulator exercise had come unglued. It hadnt been Hamishs fault, not really, but hed been the Blue Team commander, and hed felt as if it had been, so Lieutenant Raoul Courvosier had sat him down in his office and looked him straight in the eye.
"There are two things no commanderand no human beingcan ever control, Mr. Alexander," Courvosier had said. "You cannot control the decisions of others, and you cannot control the actions of God. An intelligent officer will try to anticipate both of those things and allow for them, but a wise officer will not blame himself when God comes along and screws up a perfectly good plan with no warning at all." The lieutenant had leaned back in his own chair and smiled at him. "Get used to it, Mr. Alexander, because if one thing is certain in life, its that God has a very peculiar sense of humor... and an even more peculiar sense of timing."
Raoul, you always did have a way with words, didnt you? Hamish Alexander thought fondly, and stepped forward to greet Sir Thomas Caparelli and his brother as the golden notes of the bugle welcomed them aboard.
Chapter Twenty
"Shes a gorgeous ship, Hamish," Lord William Alexander said as Lieutenant Robards, his older brothers Grayson flag lieutenant, ushered them into the admirals day cabin aboard Benjamin the Great at the end of an extended tour. "And this isnt half bad, either," the younger Alexander observed as his eyes took in the huge, palatial compartment.
"No, it isnt," White Haven agreed. "Please, be seated, both of you," he invited, gesturing to the comfortable chairs facing his desk. Robards waited until theyd obeyed and White Haven had seated himself behind the desk, then pressed a com stud.
"Yes?" a soprano voice replied.
"Were back, Chief," the lieutenant said simply.
"Of course, Sir," the intercom said in answer, and another hatch opened almost instantly. This one led to the admirals stewards pantry, and Senior Chief Steward Tatiana Jamieson stepped through it with a polished silver tray, four crystal wineglasses, and a dusty bottle. She set the tray on the end of White Havens desk and carefully cracked the wax seal on the bottle, then deftly extracted the old-fashioned cork. She sniffed it, then smiled and poured the deep red wine into all four glasses, handed one to each of White Havens guests, then to him, and finally to Robards, and then bowed and disappeared as unobtrusively as shed come.
"So Chief Jamieson is still with you, is she?" William observed, holding his glass up and watching the light glow in its ruby heart. "Its beenwhat? Fourteen T-years now?"
"She is, and it has," White Haven agreed. "And you can stop hoping to lure her away. Shes Navy to the core, and she is not interested in a civilian career in charge of your wine cellar." William produced an artfully injured look, and his brother snorted. "And you can stop considering the wine so suspiciously, too. I didnt pick it out; Jamieson selected it personally from a half dozen vintages the Protector sent up."
"Oh, in that case!" William said with a grin, and sipped. His eyes widened in surprised approval, and he took another, deeper sip. "That is good," he observed. "And its a good thing a total ignoramus like you has a keeper like the Chief to watch out for you!"
"Unlike idle civilians, serving officers sometimes find themselves just a little too busy to develop epicurean snobbery to a fine art," the Earl said dryly, and looked at Caparelli. "Would you agree, Sir Thomas?"
"Not on your life, My Lord," the First Space Lord replied instantly, although the corners of his mouth twitched in an almost-grin. Sir Thomas Caparelli had never felt really comfortable with White Haven, and the two of them had never particularly liked one another, but much of their personal friction had been worn away over the last eight or nine years by the far harsher grit of war. There were white streaks in Caparellis hair now, despite prolong, which had very little to do with age. The crushing responsibility for fighting the war with the PRH had carved new worry lines in his face, as well, and the Earl of White Haven had been his main sword arm against the Peoples Navy.
"Not a bad strategic decision," White Haven complimented him now, and took a sip from his own glass. Then he set it down and looked up at Lieutenant Robards. "Is Captain Albertson ready for that briefing, Nathan?"
"Yes, My Lord. At your convenience."
"Um." White Haven looked down into his glass for several seconds, then nodded at something no one else could see. "Would you go and tell him that well beoh, another thirty or forty minutes or so?"
"Of course, My Lord." It was a moderately abrupt change in plans, but Robards brown eyes didnt even flicker at his dismissal. He simply drained his own glass, bowed to his admirals guests, and vanished almost as unobtrusively as Chief Jamieson had.
"A well-trained young man," William Alexander observed as the hatch closed behind him, then looked at his brother. "May I assume there was a reason you sent him on his way?"