Echoes Of Honor

Kingdom’s planets, with mores and concepts quite different from those of frontier Gryphon or straitlaced Sphinx. The Star Kingdom had its licensed professional courtesans, but ninety percent of them were to be found on the capital planet, and White Haven had availed himself of their services upon occasion. Emily knew that, just as she knew that all of them had been women he liked and respected but did not love. Not as he loved her. After all these years, it was she with whom he still shared everything except the physical intimacy which they had lost forever. His brief affairs hurt her, he knew—not because she felt betrayed, but because it reminded her of what had been taken from them—and because of that, he was always discreet. He would never let them become public knowledge, never allow even the hint of a possible scandal to expose her to potential humiliation. But he never tried to hide the truth from her, for he owed her honesty, and 'crippled' or not, she remained one of the strongest people he had ever known... and the only woman he loved or had ever loved.

Until now. Until Honor Harrington. Until in some inexplicable fashion, without his ever realizing it, professional respect and admiration had changed somehow, crept inside his guard and ambushed him. However he’d given himself away, revealed at least a little of what he felt, he would never, ever have done anything more than that. But he couldn’t lie to himself now that she was dead, and what he’d felt for her had been nothing at all like his friendship for Theodosia or the discreet professionals with whom he’d dealt over the years.

No, it had been far worse than that. It had been as deep and intense—and as sudden—as what he’d first felt for Emily all those decades ago. And so, in a macabre sort of way which no one else in the entire universe would ever realize, he’d betrayed both of the women he’d loved. Whatever he’d felt for Honor hadn’t changed the way he felt about Emily; it had been separate from Emily, or perhaps in addition to his love for his wife. Yet letting himself feel it had still been a betrayal that, in many ways, was far, far darker than his affair with Theodosia had ever been. And by letting some hint of his feelings slip, he had driven Honor off to die.

He’d never meant to do either of those things, and even now, he hadn’t committed a single intentional act to betray either of them. Indeed, the rest of the universe probably wouldn’t 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 Great’s 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 wasn’t every day that the First Space Lord of the Royal Manticoran Navy and the Chancellor of Her Majesty’s 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, don’t 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 hadn’t been Hamish’s fault, not really, but he’d been the Blue Team commander, and he’d 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 commander—and no human being—can 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, it’s 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, didn’t 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

'She’s a gorgeous ship, Hamish,' Lord William Alexander said as Lieutenant Robards, his older brother’s Grayson flag lieutenant, ushered them into the admiral’s day cabin aboard Benjamin the Great at the end of an extended tour. 'And this isn’t half bad, either,' the younger Alexander observed as his eyes took in the huge, palatial compartment.

'No, it isn’t,' White Haven agreed. 'Please, be seated, both of you,' he invited, gesturing to the comfortable chairs facing his desk. Robards waited until they’d obeyed and White Haven had seated himself behind the desk, then pressed a com stud.

'Yes?' a soprano voice replied.

'We’re 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 admiral’s steward’s 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 Haven’s 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 Haven’s guests, then to him, and finally to Robards, and then bowed and disappeared as unobtrusively as she’d 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. 'It’s been—what? Fourteen T-years now?'

'She is, and it has,' White Haven agreed. 'And you can stop hoping to lure her away. She’s 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 didn’t 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 it’s 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 Caparelli’s 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 People’s