The Ambassador's Daughter

by Theodora Lane

  “I thought you were going to wear one of your new gowns.” He frowned at her.

  “I know. But it’s just not me. Besides, I like this suit much better. It has fringe.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed. Once the men saw her in this outfit, they’d run away from her, not toward her.

  “No matter what you’re wearing, you’re beautiful. But I suspect you’ve got your head set on causing a stir.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. At five feet seven inches, Brett wasn’t short, but her father stood six feet two inches and towered over her.

  She laughed. “Now, Dad. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “Right. You not take a different path?” He snorted, knowing her too well, but his eyes twinkled with what she knew to be love and genuine fondness.

  He stepped up to the table and looked down at the gifts, and the lightness in his eyes vanished. She knew in his mind, he was with her mother reliving some moment mirroring this one.

  Brett wanted to reach out to him, give him a hug, but she held back. Her father had never been weak, but he seemed lost at times, especially at this new role of ambassador.

  How could a man whose strategies and daring won the space battle against the Ottoman Empire of Euphrates Prime not be able to make his way through a receiving line? Battle tactics and command and personnel decisions, he could handle.

  Receptions were another matter.

  Brett’s mother guided him through those, telling him who each person was, leaning in to give him insights on the current administrations of the planets where they’d been assigned. Even letting him know through her considerable women’s network who might vote his way or who might stand against him in matters of policy.

  Her mother’s shoes looked enormous.

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever get the hang of all this. Mom was so…flawless.” Brett shrugged. “She was raised for it.”

  “Your mother could handle anyone and anything. You’re a lot like her, honey. You just can’t see it.”

  “I’ll never match her grace and elegance, not to mention her impeccable manners or her ability to hold her tongue.” Brett flashed him a wicked grin.

  Butler grinned back. “She was a true Earth blue blood. Her father almost choked when she chose a career soldier to marry.”

  “Who became a general and one of the most decorated heroes of the Jihad Wars.” Brett jerked her chin up. She knew he hated being called a hero and felt he’d only done what he’d been honor bound to do, but she was so proud of him.

  “Your mother was just as comfortable dealing with admirals and generals as she was the Daughters of the Republic or the people she worked with at the homeless shelters,” he said. “She kept me in line.” For a moment, love, remembrance, and loss flickered in his eyes.

  How can I be her daughter?

  She touched the commlink disguised as a bracelet and signaled James to come in.

  A moment later, James entered the library. “The cars are ready, sir.”

  “Thank you, James. You’ll be riding with Brett.”

  “Of course, sir.” He nodded and picked up the large gift-wrapped box and the long wooden case, both presents for the king and his queen, and carried them to the waiting car.

  Butler, now in his role of ambassador, extended his arm to Brett. She took it, and together they walked through the large marble-floored foyer and out the double doors of the ambassador’s residence.

  Two large hover cars waited under the portico. The first driver, an ensign, saluted Butler. He opened the door for Brett and then returned to take his position behind the steering console to program in their destination. One of the many routes to the palace appeared on the screen. For security, his counterpart in the following car would travel a different, randomly chosen route.

  Butler waited until Brett settled in the back of the car next to the gifts.

  “Clear screen, please, ensign,” he ordered. The young soldier pressed a button and the windows’ heavy dark tint faded to clear, and Brett’s heart did a quick double beat. For a horrible moment, she was back in the car on Alpha V, staring at the back of her dead driver’s head.

  James climbed in the seat next to the driver, her father closed the door and signaled for the driver to go on, and she was back in the here and now. She adjusted her hair to cover her ear, then sank back against the cushioned seat.

  •●•

  Butler watched as the most precious thing in his life drove off like a moving target in an old-time shooting arcade. His heart rose into his throat as he watched the vehicle turn a corner and disappear. Ears straining, he listened for any sounds out of place.

  Like mortar or small arms fire.

  With a soft whine of the air jets, the next vehicle floated up and settled at the curb. With a last look at the street, Butler slid into the back, and the door closed.

  “Clear screen,” he ordered. Anyone who looked inside could see the Ambassador of Old Earth rode alone.

  He'd learned the lesson the hard way.

  Chapter Two

  Captain Stephen Brandon eyed the beautiful women passing either alone or on the arm of some man and shrugged. Another boring reception. Another night of his life wasted. Another crop of young women paraded before him and the other unmarried aristocrats in hopes of making a marriage match.

  His cousin, Captain Johann Stuart, nudged him with an elbow. “Angela Walvers looks excellent tonight, Stephen,” Johann remarked as a beautiful young woman strolled past.

  “Yes. We parted company several years ago.” Stephen nodded at her, and she nodded back. He'd no idea how he managed to stay on such good terms with his former lovers, but he did. If he were honest, he would have said he’d never been very important to them in the first place. Or maybe they’d just gotten tired of his interest in his career and moved on to more amiable suitors.

  “A mutual decision, no doubt.” Johann grinned.

  “Hers, actually. I should have...” He only had himself to blame. And his reputation as a perpetual bachelor, although a very eligible one, only added fuel to the fire.

  Another woman floated by. “Her?” Johann dropped his voice to a whisper.

  “Married.”

  “What about…” He tilted his head in the direction of a tall brunette.

  “A previous encounter. Very brief.” Yes, she’d taken him to her bed and then refused to take his calls. He’d gotten the message soon enough; no sense in being a fool over it.

  Two women strolled past in matching gowns. Twins.

  “Now, I know for a fact…” Johann lifted his hand.

  “Two years ago.” Stephen sighed. He’d escorted them as a favor to his mother, Lady Diane Brandon, but he knew it was another of her attempts to see him wed.

  “Both of them?”

  “Not at once! Good Lord, cousin.” Stephen gasped. Johann just shrugged.

  A distinguished older woman walked past and gave Stephen a slow seductive smile. Johann’s eyebrow rose as he shot his cousin a glance.

  “The duchess?” Stephen snorted. “I have no intentions of being shot in her bed. Duke Marshfield is jealous to a fault and a very good shot with a pistol.”

  There was no need for such dishonor to his family’s name. Both Stephen and Johann were second cousins to Queen Beatrice herself. Being shot in a lover’s quarrel wouldn’t sit well with his mother or his grandfather, Duke Alistair Brandon.

  Johann remarked, “Not a very good selection, is it, cousin? You’re going to be hard-pressed to find a partner tonight you have not already danced with.” He smiled at the goad.

  “It’s not so much the lack of partners. If I wanted, there would be plenty. It’s the lack of feeling,” he said. “Women these days are not afraid to take a lover at court. In fact, I sometimes wonder if the whole court revolves around supplying lovers for the aristocracy.” He chuckled.

  “Don’t complain, cousin, you’ve had your share. And some of mine too.” He motioned with his wine glass.

  “And yet, you are the
one married and starting a family, while I am still unattached. Alone. The very bane of my grandfather’s existence and a disappointment to my mother.”

  “It’s a problem of your own making, cousin. You’ve sequestered yourself in that damn dingy, small cube of yours at HQ. Come out to dinner with Helena and me this week. We’ll go to the officers’ club.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Stephen said, knowing he’d find some way of backing out. The women he met at the club bored him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but of late, all their inane small talk merely grated on his nerves, and he thought most of the women silly and empty-headed. At least, they acted as if they were.

  “Face it. Even though you try to hide it, you’re a romantic, Stephen. It could be taken as a fault, you know. Why not just let your family hire the marriage broker and arrange something if you feel so desperate?” Johann bowed at a passing couple and then sipped his drink.

  Stephen winced. “Arranged? Has it come to that? Is there no hope of love for me?” He watched with a pang of envy another passing couple who stared into each other’s eyes as if they were the only people in the large ballroom.

  Why had he never found “the one” when all around him, men, regardless of looks, position, or fortune, managed to find brides? When he was in his twenties, he’d been as free as a lark and happy to play the role of the playboy. Since his thirties arrived, he’d settled down to his duties, not only to his work, but to his family. And having his grandfather nipping at his heels like one of his hunting hounds, pressing him to pick a woman and get the hell on with it, didn’t help.

  He looked down his body’s six-foot length and made a mental inventory. Uniform clean and pressed. Check. Boots shined. Check. White gloves clean. Check. His sidearm left behind. No weapons, not even their ceremonial swords, were allowed in the palace, except for the ones the royal guards carried.

  “Cousin, you have everything—rank, honor, and title. Well, for your grandfather’s sake, not duke too soon. You have money and a career. Don’t be so greedy,” Johann chided him.

  “Greed, is that what you call it? Just so, I’d give it all up for a woman who looks at me the way Helena looks at you.” He glanced over to where Helena stood chatting with a friend of hers.

  “Well, if you don’t find a wife soon, cousin, the duke will have your head on a platter.” Johann knew the pressure the duke put on Stephen and reveled in it.

  “Maybe I should take the duchess up, if only to have her duke shoot me. Might be easier than dealing with Grandfather. Disappointing him seems to be my lot in life these days.” Stephen shook his head and finished off his wine.

  “Still having his ‘gatherings’ at Brandon House?”

  Stephen nodded as he exchanged the empty glass for a full one from a passing tray carried by one of the servants.

  “You are still his favorite topic, yes?”

  “Oh, yes. He frequently discusses my lack of a wife and his lack of grandchildren with his old friends. I’m getting used to their pitying looks as they leave. I try to make it a point never to visit on those nights, but he will insist I appear for dinners.”

  “I can just imagine. The stories they must tell. Do you realize with any luck we’ll never have those tales to tell? Good God, the Jihad Wars.” Johann shivered. “Your grandfather’s exploits alone could fill a book.”

  “Yes. I grew up hearing those as bedtime stories. Pretty gruesome, actually. Gave me some context about Father and how he died, though. Mother never really talked about it.” Stephen sipped his wine.

  “He died a hero, Stephen,” Johann said softly.

  “A hero I barely remember.” A pang of guilt struck him. How do I live up to his legacy?

  Johann gave him a steady hand on his shoulder, meant to reassure.

  “Do you think in time, it will be us sitting around the table at Brandon House?” Stephen asked Johann.

  “No doubt. We’ll spend our time reliving our glory days and talking about our sons, daughters, and grandchildren.” Johann laughed. Stephen winced.

  Did he find solace in the thought or dread? And what would he have to offer to his circle?

   •●• 

  “Now, Brett. Let’s knock ’em dead,” Ambassador Jonathan Butler whispered into his daughter’s right ear. She tucked her long black hair behind her ear, a recent habit she'd picked up in order to hear him better.

  “Right, sir. Weapons locked and loaded.” She reached out to straighten his red ascot and run her hand down the lapel of his suit. The black tails looked good on him. The man was built to wear a uniform, and it didn’t matter which one, formal or military.

  “You present the gifts, Brett. You know I hate those sort of things.”

  “I’d planned on it.”

  “It’s only fair after all. You selected them.” He touched her chin with the back of his hand and winked. “I would have brought them something awful, like a stuffed buffalo head.”

  “Not the one on the wall of the library back home? He’s your favorite! You wouldn’t have parted with Old Bill, would you?”

  “And give up great-great-great Grandfather’s trophy? Not for all the ambassadorships in the galaxy.” He shook his head.

  “It’s time to go in.” Brett motioned to the servant who was waiting for them to enter the ballroom.

  “Right. Damn the torpedoes,” he intoned in her ear.

  “Full speed ahead,” she answered as they stepped through the carved double doors and into the Grand Ballroom.

   •●• 

  “Good Lord, Brandon, who is this?” Johann leaned over to his cousin.

  Stephen looked up. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood in the doorway on the arm of an older man, the ambassador from Earth, if he recognized the insignia on the sash correctly.

  “I have no idea. The new ambassador’s wife?” Stephen asked. Breathe, boy.

  “Lucky bastard.” Johann looked closer. “No, I see a family resemblance. The man must be her father.”

  “God, I hope so. I’ll slit my throat if she’s married to him.” Stephen searched for a place to put down his drink. He found an empty tray on a stand and left his glass there. Taking a quick look at himself in the reflective glass of the garden doors, he tried to get the lock of hair always falling over his brow to stay put.

  It seemed his hair did not intend to humor him in his moment of need.

  Turning back to the crowd and taking his place at Johann’s side, Stephen watched the young woman and the ambassador make their way toward the ceremony hall, stopping every now and then to speak to various people.

  “Stop her, cousin. Introduce us, in the name of God and my grandfather,” Stephen whispered hoarsely.

  “Practically no difference there.” Johann snorted. “You’re pathetic, cousin. The first fresh pretty face you see in a year, and you’re falling over yourself to get to her. Look around, man. You’re not the only one.” Johann motioned with his drink around the ballroom. Conversation in the room halted as everyone turned and stared at the pair.

  “Good Lord! Has she no sense of propriety?” Helena joined her husband to stand at his elbow. “What is she wearing?”

  Stephen took his gaze off the stranger’s face and looked at her clothes. The suit she wore looked like some sort of leather, black and white with silver buttons. Long fringe ran down the underarms and across the back of her long fitted jacket and dangled from the hem of her knee length riding skirt to the tops of her boots. Her black-tooled boots were trimmed in silver on the toes and heels.

  Stephen’s face broke into a wide grin. “A riding skirt and boots, I believe.”

  “Good Lord,” Helena said with a gasp. “To meet the king and queen?”

  The young woman pulled her waist-length black hair back on one side and held it in place with a silver and turquoise jeweled comb. The other side fell loose. The color of the turquoise matched perfectly her blue-green eyes.

  “Well, she’s like no one I’ve ever seen,�
�� Johann admitted.

  “She’s so exotic,” Stephen murmured. “So very off world.”

  “She’ll never fit in here. She’s doomed,” Helena declared, and everyone nodded.

  “Then, we must save her.” Stephen stepped forward.

  Chapter Three

  “I see the ambassador from Century IV. I need to speak with him,” Butler told Brett.

  “Go to work, sir. I’m sure the tariff vote will go your way.” Her father headed off to corner the poor ambassador, leaving her alone.

  When she turned around a handsome man stood in front of her with another man, just as good looking, behind him. The officers wore their dress uniforms: black trousers, gold piping, red jackets with gold epaulets, and gleaming black riding boots. Next to the last man stood one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen in a glorious gown.

  Backups. She recognized the frozen look of uncertainty in their eyes.

  And from the expectant look on the first officer’s face, he must be their leader. She’d see what he said before she dispatched him.

  Brett stood waiting, head cocked, eyebrows up. The young man swallowed and stuck out his hand.

  “Good evening, miss. I’d like to welcome you to New Commonwealth.” Straight white teeth flashed in a killer smile. With dimples. Oh, he’d broken a few hearts, no doubt.

  She looked him up and down. His smile faded. She hoped her cool glance made it clear she wasn’t impressed.

  “Good evening.” Taking his gloved hand, she gave it a firm shake. His large hand swallowed hers, but he had a gentle touch.

  Intending to move on, some unseen force pressed their hands together, forcing her to take a longer look at this man. Tall, broad shouldered but lean, his thick, dark brown hair cut high on the sides and longer on top matched his brown eyes. Deep brown eyes with long, dark lashes.

  He was altogether the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Still, Brett never gave up an advantage. Never. She held her disinterested gaze despite the smile threatening to spread over her face.

  He looked into her eyes, his head tilted to the side just a little, studying her as if she were the answer to a question. When he finally released her hand, despite all her resolve, she found herself wishing for it back.