A Foreign Affair by Evelyn Richardson Page A

Devereux?”
    Helena blinked rapidly. “Yes . . . yes I am. It is just that I was remembering all those poor men I tried to help. We set up beds in one of the outbuildings of the schloss for the wounded and the sick, and we tried to care for them as best we could, but it is all such a waste—fine healthy young men destroyed in an instant, men who . . .”
    She shook her head, swallowed hard, and continued. “If I were a man, I could do something to stop it all, but as a woman, I am forced to stay quietly at home and do nothing, nothing! And I hate it. I loathe being useless!”
    “But you were not useless. You did something.” The fierceness of her tone had made Brett see with a blinding clarity how frustrating it must be for a woman as passionate and energetic as Miss Devereux to be confined to the female role as a decorative fixture in men’s lives. It even made him see why his mother and sisters clung to their duties as they did. Perhaps they were not so different from him as he had thought. They too wished to live productive lives, to make the world better, but their choices were far more limited than his. “Believe me. Miss Devereux, if you had ever been wounded, exhausted, hungry, and discouraged as I have, you would know that being given safety, shelter, food, and comfort is no small thing. It is everything, in fact. And it is the compassion of those like you who offer those things that bring back thoughts of home, thoughts that keep one alive, keep one fighting, that give us hope that we are better than savages or animals.” Gently he covered the hand that lay on his arm with his own.
    Helena looked up into blue eyes that were dark with sympathy, and a sadness that touched the very core of her being. Who would have thought that this man who possessed the charm to impress her mother, could understand so well the feelings of the daughter. She was silent for a long time, mesmerized by the look in his eyes and the comforting warmth of his hand on hers. She wanted to thank him, to tell him that his words had given meaning to her life, had reassured her that there was value in what she had tried to do, but nothing would come out.
    A burst of applause broke the spell.
    “Yes, Franz, I agree with you, they may celebrate peace now, but who knows how long it will last?”
    The voice of the man next to Helena echoed her thoughts exactly. Glancing over her shoulder, she could just make out the angular features of the speaker, a young man of medium height and build and an aristocratic bearing who appeared to be scrutinizing the major intently.
    “To my way of thinking, it all depends on the English,” Franz replied. “It all depends on how strong they are. For if it were not for them, who knows that Napoleon would not still be the master of Europe.”
    The aristocratic young man moved slightly forward. “And what do you think of our celebrations. Major?” He bowed to Brett and addressed him in English, but with a heavy German accent. “It is a pity we could not honor our British warriors here today as well, but there are so few on this side of the Atlantic. One hears that all the heroes of the Peninsula have been shipped off to America to fight the colonials. In fact, I am surprised to see you here. Major . . .”
    “Stanford. Lord Brett Stanford, at your service, sir. And you are correct, I was . . .”
    “Ahem.” A pointed cough and a squeeze on his arm reminded Brett that he was not alone. “Ah, do forgive me, this is Miss Devereux.”
    “Delighted.” Clicking his heels punctiliously, the young man bowed to Helena. “Augustus von Stieglitz, also at your service. We are indeed fortunate to have an English young lady at our celebrations. I do hope that you are enjoying herself.”
    “Miss Devereux is here with her mother, who . . .”
    “Is a great friend of Lady Castlereagh,” Helena interjected quickly. “And I am enjoying the ceremonies immensely. They are indeed impressive, but I am afraid I find