The Ambassador's Daughter

by Theodora Lane

  “Tell me about yourself, Lord Brandon. How is your military career going?” Brett touched him gently on the sleeve. He placed his hand over hers and held it there. She made no attempt to move her hand. His hand was larger than hers, which was small and soft with just the right feel to it.

  “I’m working in the Information section as an analyst. We decode and gather information from communication signals and evaluate them. I write a lot of reports, and pass on a lot of conjecture about the events which may or may not be happening. It’s sort of boring actually.” He shrugged, downplaying his role. He’d never been the type to brag or boast about his accomplishments.

  “Boring, but the uniform looks really good.” Brett joked wryly, bringing a soft smile to his face. “I’ve been around long enough to hear between those lines.” She pointed to her damaged ear. “I don’t need both ears to get it. You’re on the front edge of the information war, and it’s up to you to decide what is worthwhile sending upstream, and what’s not, right? Not a small responsibility.”

  There was no getting past her; she was not just smart, she was good at it. She'd been around the military so long as her father’s daughter and in her own right, it was all second nature to her. No wonder she’d risen in rank so quickly.

  “Well, yes, you get it right most of the time. It’s what you miss you fear the most. What if you let something slide and it turns out to be the big one? Awesome responsibility, that.”

  The conversation came to a halt as Stephen stared into her eyes. Captivated by him, she hung onto the next breath he took, the next move he made. What she hoped he’d do.

  He took her hand and softly rubbed it, setting her body on fire, and then he leaned over for a kiss.

  Their lips met, and again her toes curled. Leave me here forever, please. She wanted to stay locked in this moment, in a continuous loop of time, replaying over and over the way his lips pressed against hers.

  They separated. He touched her face gently, and she longed to lean into his touch.

  “Will you have dinner with me this weekend? I know a very quiet restaurant near here I think you will enjoy.” He stared deep into her eyes.

  “I’d love to, Lord Brandon.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Then, I think tea time is over, my mission is complete, and I need to return to my desk. I’ll be working late tonight.” He stood, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her again. “Until then, Miss Butler. I’ll call and we’ll talk tomorrow, if it’s all right?”

  Brett nodded and walked him to the door. He gave her a small formal bow and stepped out the door and trotted down the steps. She watched him for a moment as he entered the vehicle parked at their curb, then she closed the door.

  Brett gave a whoop. It echoed off the marble floor and she took the stairs two at a time up to her room.

  She needed to take a serious look at her wardrobe.

   •●• 

  Brett felt more than relieved when Lady Helena said she’d be thrilled to help Brett shop for some new dresses. Brett realized she didn’t have the wardrobe for most of her social duties here, and for the first time in a long time, she worried about fitting in.

  Helena had been so excited about shopping she picked Brett up and took her to her favorite shops. They'd spent all day shopping, and by the time they finished Helena and she were fast friends.

  Brett liked Helena’s infectious enthusiasm. She was the same age as Brett yet seemed older. Helena wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even if it was in a whisper behind her hand to Brett most of the time. They got along very well, and in fact, found their tastes in clothes were similar. Helena was very honest, too, so if Brett didn’t look just perfect in a dress, she would tell Brett to save her money and take it off.

  Brett bought five new dresses, and several pairs of soft shoes to go with them. Three of the dresses were for every day, and two were evening gowns, more suitable for formal occasions.

  Once done, Helena suggested they have a late lunch at one of her favorite cafés. The atmosphere proved pleasant, just right for a day of shopping.

  Over lunch, the women chatted, and Helena wasted no time bringing up Lord Brandon.

  “Well, what do you think of him?” Helena sat back and folded her arms.

  “Of who?” Brett said coyly, knowing who she spoke of, and smiled.

  “Why of Lord Brandon, of course! You two were the reason so many tongues were wagging at the reception.” Helena laughed.

  “I'd hoped the wagging tongues would mind their own business, but I see I was naive. What did they say?” Brett sighed.

  “That no one's ever seen Lord Brandon so smitten!” Helena’s eyes sparkled as she reached over and squeezed Brett’s hand.

  Brett didn’t want to get too excited about it, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, really? Well, if anyone who knew me were there, I’m sure they would have said the exact same thing.” Brett smiled even wider.

  “Then it’s true, you are both in love?” Helena held her breath, and her blonde hair bobbed softly with her nodding.

  “I’ve never been in love.” Brett shrugged.

  “Never?” Helena looked shocked as Brett shook her head.

  “I don’t know if it’s love. Really, it’s far too soon, isn’t it? However, I have to admit, I find most of my time is spent thinking about him. I’ve never really daydreamed about a man before, Helena.” She rested her elbow on the table, put her chin on her hand, and sighed. “Was it the same way for you and Lord Stuart?”

  “From what his friends tell me, he was insufferable. He would go on and on about my qualities and attributes so badly his friends started to avoid him.” She giggled, obviously pleased with the story. “I, on the other hand, was all reticence and propriety.” Helena looked at Brett waiting to see if she bought it, but Brett just shook her head and laughed.

  “There is no way you were ‘reticent,’ Helena. You have too exuberant a personality to be prim and proper. I think you giggled at inappropriate moments and made everyone crazy with your sighing,” Brett teased.

  “Who told you?” Helena looked shocked, but Brett knew it was only pretense.

  “How did you know he was the one?” Brett asked softly.

  “He was the first thing I thought of in the morning, the last thing at night, and all through the day. I closed my eyes and saw his face,” Helena said as she recounted her experience. “But,” she lowered her voice so no one could hear, “I had these truly wicked dreams about him and me, if you understand. Some were even in the middle of the day!” Then she laughed out loud and took a final bite of her salad.

  Brett nodded. She’d felt the same way and this morning she couldn’t resist satisfying her body’s need as she imagined Stephen pleasuring her.

  Could it really be love? Had she fallen so hard and so fast? Or was it just lust?

  And what was she going to do about it?

   •●• 

  A few days later, at nine in the morning, the console in the library of the Ambassador’s Residence rang. James answered it.

  “This is Lady Helena Stuart, is Miss Butler at home?” The woman on the screen was pale and beautiful, and recognizing her name and rank, James bowed slightly.

  “No, milady, she is at the Military Hospital this morning.”

  “Oh is she having her hearing aid replaced?”

  “No, milady, she is doing service work this morning.” His kept his voice flat and dull as befitted his station.

  “Service work?” Her head tilted to the side in question.

  “She visits the ill and injured in the mornings,” James explained.

  “Every morning?” Lady Stuart’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “No, milady, only when she has no duties here to attend to. She is expected to return at noon today.”

  “At the hospital, you say? Perhaps I could catch her there?”

  James nodded. “If you ask at the front desk, they should be able to point you in her direction, mil
ady.”

  Lady Stuart nodded her thanks, and the connection was broken.

  James’s eyebrows rose. Lady Helena Stuart. Cousin to the queen herself. Brett certainly made some high-placed friends. He chuckled and shook his head.

  He hadn’t thought she’d fit in here at all.

   •●• 

  Brett waited patiently for the soldier to chew and swallow his mouthful of breakfast porridge. He swallowed and smiled at her, indicating he was ready for the next spoonful. She carefully brought the spoon to his mouth. His mouth closed around it, taking the food from it, and she slowly removed the spoon.

  “Before long, those casts will be off and you can start to feed yourself. I know this isn’t how you’d like to be eating, but it’s better than drinking all your meals through a straw.” Brett smiled encouragingly at the man in the hospital bed.

  The sergeant, a man of about forty, with just-graying hair at the temples cut short in the military style, smiled back. He’d been injured in a training accident when a cadet mishandled a vehicle they were riding in and crashed. The cadet was unhurt, but the sergeant riding in the passenger side was thrown out and sustained two broken arms. He was unable to do anything for himself right now, and when Brett first suggested he let her feed him, he refused her in no uncertain terms. After a week of eating all his meals through a straw, he relented.

  “Yes it is, milady. You are most kind to do this for me. I look forward to getting somewhat of a solid meal occasionally. Sometimes when Nurse Miriam is on night duty, she feeds me my dinner.” He smiled shyly, and Brett wondered if Nurse Miriam knew how he felt about her. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the sergeant speak fondly of the pretty young nurse. “She has arranged her work schedule to evenings lately, so I’ve been eating more frequently.” He looked very pleased the nurse gave him so much consideration.

  “It was very kind of her, Sergeant. Perhaps she has more than a professional interest in you?” Brett broke a small piece of bacon and put it in his mouth. He chewed properly before he spoke again, and she could see the light in his eyes as he thought about the comment.

  “She has the advantage of me right now, but when I get these off,” he moved his arms slightly, “I’ll be able to get on equal footing with her.”

  “And once you have equal footing, what are your plans, Sergeant? A frontal assault or a covert ops mission?” Brett teased him.

  “I’ve always found in dealing with the enemy, a frontal assault is best. Up front and open, it is.” He looked at her earnestly.

  “Well, speaking as one of the enemy, we appreciate it.” She nodded her approval, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and then offered him a sip of milk to wash it down.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Brett turned to see who it was. Lady Helena Stuart stood in the doorway.

  “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

  “Helena. What a surprise to see you here.” Brett rose from her chair beside the bed.

  “Don’t stop on my account, Brett, please continue.”

  “I’m done, milady, couldn’t eat another bite. Thank you.” The sergeant nodded, and Brett wiped his mouth and rolled the tray table away from him. She placed the call button back into his hand and gave his pillow a final fluff.

  “See you later, Sergeant.” She nodded to him curtly, in lieu of a salute, which he couldn’t return, and he nodded back.

  Brett stepped into the hall to join her new friend.

  “Is something wrong with your husband?” Brett’s eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

  “No, Brett, I came in search of you.” The women walked down the corridor.

  “Me? Whatever for?” Why would Helena be looking for her?

  “Originally I called to ask you to lunch. But when your man told me you were at the hospital doing ‘service work’ I was very curious as to what it entailed. So, seeking to satisfy my curiosity, I came here to see firsthand.” She linked her arm in Brett’s as they strolled.

  “Don’t the ladies of your social group do service work? Perhaps you call it something different. Charity work, maybe?”

  “No, we don’t do anything like it at all.”

  Brett stopped, looked at her friend, and frowned.

  “Nothing? You do no work in the service of those less fortunate?”

  Helena gazed back at her earnestly. “No, nothing. And I was so struck with the idea of what you were doing I wanted to come and speak with you right away.” She began to walk again, and when they came to a sitting area, she led the way to a couch, and the two women sat side by side.

  “I have felt for some time now we women are too used to being insignificant. Surely we must have more value than looking good on the ends of our husbands’ arms and keeping house?” Her eyes lit up, and her face became animated as she spoke. “So, when I heard what you were doing, it struck me this is exactly what I have been looking for, to make a difference.”

  “Believe me, it does make a difference in the lives of the soldiers you touch with kindness. Most of these men are far from home and family, and any kindness is most welcome.” Brett paused, trying to decide how to phrase her words. “I was raised to understand as part of the upper social strata I was fortunate enough to be born into, service to those less fortunate was not only expected, but required. I’m puzzled to find there is no such philosophy here on New Commonwealth.”

  “Unfortunately, service to others isn’t a part of our culture.” She shook her head. “It embarrasses me to admit it.”

  “Being so wrapped up in the military, I don’t understand why not. These are Commonwealth men. Your husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers! Your kindness is so needed here, in almost every room. They’re terribly short-staffed, and having someone to do the little things which don’t get done is like an extravagant gift.” Brett wanted to shake the woman, but tempered her anger and her words in order not to offend Helena.

  “It's why I wanted to ask you if you would help me form a group, a guild perhaps, of women to do service work here at the hospital.”

  “I think it's a brilliant idea. Just brilliant! There’s so much needs to be done.”

  “I’ll leave you to finish your time here, and I will return home and set up the meeting. I’m sure I can insure we have at least twenty women willing to volunteer their time and effort to this cause.” She gave Brett a quick hug then left.

  Brett smiled after her, and then went to the next soldier on her list.

   •●• 

  Lord Stephen Brandon arrived outside Brandon House, where his grandfather lived alone. It was a large stone mansion with two floors, a main building, and east and west wings. His mother and he had lived in the east wing but moved out after his entrance into the academy, she taking a flat nearby, and he in the academy barracks. He'd grown up in this house, and one day it would be his in his role as Duke.

  He didn’t want to think about it. The old man gone seemed impossible, but life never seemed to stop, did it? He'd depended on his grandfather after his father’s death. As patriarch of the family, he’d ruled with a gloved fist, firm, but soft to the touch.

  Duke Alistair Brandon rose to the rank of colonel, worked at Military Headquarters as a weapons master, and even trained officers for a time. Still called on to give his opinions on some of the new weapons being devised, he lived in a sort of semiretirement. At seventy, he was sharp as ever, his eyes saw the pros and cons, and his mind could wade through them to reach the truth.

  The loss of Stephen’s father hit both of them hard, and they’d clung to each other during Stephen’s youth. Each gave the other a connection with Lord Marston Brandon, his grandfather’s only son and heir.

  Now, Stephen was the only son and heir. He planned to change it, and soon.

  The man at the front double doors opened one side and gave Stephen a sharp bow. His grandfather kept several men on staff: a driver, his cook, and two servant girls. Even with Stephen and his mother gone, Duke Brandon kept a busy house. He en
tertained his old cronies, Stephen and his mother visited often, and even research men with new weapons specs to show him were constantly in and out of the house.

  Stephen stood in the foyer and pulled off his white gloves, slapped them into his hat, and laid it on the large, round ebony table standing in the center. A large fresh flower arrangement sat in the center of it but, other than the vase, the house never really seemed to change. There was comfort in sameness.

  “Where is he, Blalock?” Stephen asked the man who entered the foyer. Blalock was his grandfather’s batman for as long as he could remember and was the epitome of the trusted family retainer. In his black uniform and white gloves, he stood only five and a half feet, lean of build, with a sharp beak of a nose and an eagle’s eye for anything out of place.

  “In the library, milord.”

  Stephen sauntered into the library and found his grandfather seated at his desk pouring over some weapons specs on the console. The duke grunted his hello, held up a hand to signal him to wait, then finished his scan and hit the off button.

  “Good, boy, you’re on time.” The “for once” was left unsaid.

  “Yes, sir, how are you?” Stephen hitched one hip onto the desk, swinging his leg back and forth, waiting to be chased off. They played the same game every time Stephen visited. He would be impertinent, and his grandfather would be irritated. Although, most of the time, it wasn’t so much a game as reality.

  “I’m fine, but I’m concerned about you, boy.” The duke leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and ran his critical gaze over Stephen. “I want to talk to you about this girl, Miss Butler. What are your intentions toward her?”

  “Isn’t that her father’s line, sir?” Stephen smirked at his grandfather.

  “It will be, don’t worry, but for now, it’s mine. Answer, please, in ten words or less, preferably.” His steely blue eyes peered at Stephen from under his brows, gray like his still-thick hair.

  “I plan to marry her, sir. Concise enough, even for you?” Stephen chuckled.

  “Good. She’s the best thing you’ve ever seen, I’ll wager. Don’t blow this, son, we need an heir. Your good looks won’t last forever. Who’ll want to marry an aging bachelor? The marriage broker alone will bankrupt us.” He sneered at his grandson, who flinched under the harsh truth of his words.