War Of Honor

For the most part, Manticoran social mores were far more relaxed than those of Grayson. Indeed, those of the capital planet itself were more liberal than those of Honor's native Sphinx. Normally, the idea that an affair between two consenting adults was the business of anyone besides the two adults concerned would have been laughable. Normally.

But not in this case. Not for Steadholder Harrington, who also had to concern herself with the sensibilities of her Grayson subjects and how Grayson public opinion would rebound against her. And through her, against Protector Benjamin and his beleaguered efforts to maintain Grayson's military preparedness in the face of the Star Kingdom's effective abandonment of the Manticoran Alliance. Her earlier relationship with Paul had been hard enough for Grayson to swallow, but at least if they'd never married, neither of them had been married to someone else, either.

White Haven was, and that was the second prong of the threat, for Lady Emily Alexander, Countess White Haven, was one of the most beloved public figures in the entire Star Kingdom.

Once one of Manticore's most beautiful and talented HD actresses, she'd been confined to a life support chair following an air car accident since before Honor's third standard birthday, yet Emily Alexander had refused to let her life end. The accident had crippled her physically, but the damage hadn't affected the brilliance of mind and strength of will which had propelled her to the very top of her vocation. The surgeons had managed to salvage enough of her motor control centers to give her almost full use of one hand and arm and almost normal speech, although the regulation of her involuntary muscles depended entirely upon her life support chair. It wasn't much. Indeed, it was pathetically little, but small as it was, she had made it enough.

Unable to take the stage again, she'd become a producer and writer, a poet who was also a brilliant historian and the semi-official biographer of the House of Winton. And along with her stature as the great tragic heroine of Manticore, the beloved example who challenged and inspired an entire kingdom with the proof of how much could be overcome by sheer, dauntless courage, had come the great romantic story of her marriage to Hamish Alexander. Of the devotion and love which had survived almost six T-decades of confinement to her chair. Many men would have sought the dissolution of their marriages, however gently and on however generous terms, so that they could remarry, but Hamish had rejected any suggestion that he might have done so.

There'd been whispers of occasional discreet liaisons between him and registered courtesans, over the years, but such relationships were fully accepted—even regarded as therapeutic—on Manticore. Gryphon and Sphinx were less convinced of that, each for its own reasons, but the capital planet was far more . . . sophisticated in that regard.

Yet there was a universe of difference between occasionally patronizing a registered professional courtesan, particularly when one's spouse was a complete invalid, and entering upon an affair with a non professional. And that was especially true for Hamish and Emily Alexander, who were Second Reformation Roman Catholics and who'd married monogamously, for better or for worse, until death parted them. Both of them took their marriage vows seriously, and even if they hadn't, the depth of Hamish Alexander's love for his wife was something not even his most bitter personal or political enemy would have dared to doubt.

Until now. Until Honor.

She raised her face from Nimitz's fur and stared at William, unable even to look at Hamish, and her pain only grew as she realized at last what William had been thinking. He'd been wondering if the story Hayes was about to publish might be true, and she knew why.

Because it should have been. Because if she'd had the courage to tell Hamish what she felt, they would have become lovers. Whether that would have constituted a betrayal in Lady Emily's eyes or not, Honor didn't know . . . and it wouldn't have mattered. And that, she realized, was the true reason she'd politely declined every invitation to visit the Alexander family seat at White Haven, despite the closeness of their working political relationship. Because that was Emily's place, the home she never left. The place where she belonged with Hamish, and which Honor's very presence would somehow have violated. And because as long as she'd never herself met Emily, Honor could pretend she had never transgressed against her, even in her heart of hearts.

And that was the most bitter irony of all. She had no idea if the people who'd fed Hayes the story for his savage gossip column in the Landing Tattler believed their allegations. But while there'd been no physical violation of Hamish's marriage to Emily, she knew both of them had wanted there to be one. Neither would ever have admitted it to the other, but now they would stand accused of the very thing both had been determined would never happen, and any effort to refute the allegations would only make it worse.

It was absurd, a tiny corner of her brain told her. Every right of privacy should have protected her and Hamish, even if they had been lovers. And it didn't matter. Even here in the Star Kingdom, no more damaging scandal could have been devised, not given the iconic stature of Lady Emily and her husband, because William was right. The very people most likely to share Honor's personal values and support her political views would be the ones most revolted by her "betrayal" of such a beloved public figure, and what made it damaging in Manticore would make it devastating on Grayson.

The fact that their personal lives had nothing to do with their accomplishments or judgement as naval officers would mean nothing. The idea that their feelings for one another did somehow prejudice their thinking would be suggested, however indirectly, by someone. She knew it would. And ridiculous as the charge would be, it would stick. But that wasn't the real purpose of the attack. The real purpose was to divert the debate from a discussion of the dangers of Janacek's proposals to the personal character of the man and woman who had become his most effective naval critics. The Government wouldn't have to refute their arguments this time. Not if it could force them to expend all of their energy and moral capital defending themselves against such sensational charges.

And if High Ridge and his cronies could discredit them on this issue, they could be discredited on any issue. . . .

"Who passed the rumors to Hayes?" she asked, and the levelness of her voice astonished her.

"Does it matter?" William replied.

"Yes," she said, and her voice was no longer merely level and the soft, sibilant snarl of Nimitz's fury sounded behind it. "It does."

William looked at her in alarm, and what he saw in her chocolate-dark eyes turned alarm to fear.

"I don't know for certain," he told her after a moment. "And if I did, I don't think I'd tell you."

"I can find out for myself." Her tone was a soprano dagger, and she felt an icy purpose sweep through her. "I found out who bought Paul Tankersley's murder," she told the brother of the man she loved. "And I can find the scum responsible for this."

"No, you can't," William said urgently, then shook his head sharply. "I mean, of course you can, but what good would it do?" He stared at her in raw appeal. "Your duel with Young almost destroyed you, Honor! If you found out who was behind this, and you challenged him, it would be ten times worse—far more destructive than the rumors themselves! You'd be finished as a political figure here in the Star Kingdom, whatever happened. And that doesn't even consider the question of how many people would believe the stories had to be true for you to take such action."