A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (48 page)

At Sunday dinner, Mother seemed more alert than usual, and Henry caught a glimpse of what she’d been like on her good days when he was little, what she might have been like when Father first laid eyes on her. She smiled at Henry across the table.

“Darling Henry.” Mother's voice came out rough, as if she hadn't used it in awhile. She cleared her throat and said, “Oh, darling, you’re getting so tall. I think you’ll be taller than your father before you’re done growing.”

“I might be, Mother,” Henry said to be agreeable. He had no real opinion on the matter. He would or wouldn’t be.

“You don’t take after my people in that regard,” she continued, “but you seem a Wilton in all other respects.”

Father looked up from his plate and fixed her with a steady stare, waiting to see where she was going with this line of talk.

“Wilton men are always so handsome, so graceful, and such good dancers, too. You remind me so much of Reggie, darling,” she said. “Do you remember your Uncle Reggie?”

Henry did indeed. In Reggie’s presence, Mother had been another person entirely, a vivacious creature with flashing eyes and a sense of humor. The siblings had been close all their lives, and only Reggie had ever seemed able to lift her melancholy, but Reggie left abruptly when Henry was just 7, plunging Mother back into a black depression from which she had never really emerged again. Henry understood that Reggie had been living outside the United States all this time—France, perhaps, or Greece? It had always been hurtful that Reggie had simply left without saying goodbye, and that he had never written to Henry, not even so much as a postcard.

“Of course I do,” Henry assured her. “I loved Uncle Reggie.” He darted a quick glance at Father to see how he would react to this; Father’s gaze did not waver from Mother’s face, so Henry felt emboldened to add, “I’ve missed him. Do you ever hear from him at all?”

Mother gave him a grateful and loving smile; it transformed her into a marvelous stranger. “I do, darling. I’ve just had word, in fact. He’ll be with us at Christmas!”

Father coughed and seemed to be choking; Timothy stepped forward and bent to confer with him, but bowed away gracefully as Father got his breathing under control.

“What’s he doing back in the country, Louisa?” Father’s voice was sharp, suspicious. “Why is he here?”

“Well, you know his friend died, that Mr. Ellsworth, and now there’s nothing keeping him in Italy. He thought he’d come home at long last.”

“He has everything he needs in Italy,” Father said. “He’s provided for handsomely. What will he do for money here, do you think?”

“Oh, Hiram, can’t we discuss this later? Surely something can be worked out! I’ve missed him so, and I know he’s missed me. He was gone for all of Henry’s growing up, and he loved Henry so dearly! He’s never even met Cora!”

This was the most Henry had heard out of his mother in ages. Just the fact of her speaking at length like this was remarkable, but the actual news she had to impart was exciting, too. Uncle Reggie!

Father frowned at his plate. “You know I don’t care for Reggie. I don’t want my children influenced by his example.”

“Reggie isn't harming anyone, Hiram. He's only trying to be happy.” She put down her fork and let her hand fall heavily to her lap. “Besides, Henry is nearly grown, Hiram, and entirely under
your
influence. If he’s not turning out as you’d like, you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

Henry froze, horrified by her words. He knew he wasn’t turning out as Father wanted. He looked down at his napkin in his lap and felt his face grow hot with crimson shame.

“You’re making the boy uncomfortable with this talk,” Father said gruffly. “He’s turning out fine.”

Fine
. That wasn’t a
positive
assessment, per se, but it wasn’t overtly negative, at least.

“Say you’ll talk to Reggie,” Mother urged. “Hear him out. He just wants to come home, Hiram.”

Father made a noncommittal grunt.

The family hour was tense, all members of the group sullen and feeling wronged by the others. Mother sighed and fretted with the edges of her shawl, her dramatic exhalations interrupting Pearl’s reading.
Best Intentions
ended with a wedding, of course, and Henry was not at all surprised. He’d guessed there’d be a wedding from the first page.

Paying only the barest mind to the story, Henry considered the return of his Uncle Reggie. It was exciting news, to be sure, but upsetting, as well. Nine years without a word! Would he even remember Henry? Would he even care how much Henry had missed him?

In the bedroom, conflicted and emotional, he grabbed Martin and pushed him down on the bed, half-undressed. He fucked him from behind, pounding hard, almost frenzied, and then put him on his back and fucked him face-to-face, now more slowly and looking into his beautiful, calm eyes. He felt like he might cry, and Martin was ever-so-tender with him, kissing him and stroking his hair as they moved together. Afterward, he lay with his head on Martin’s chest while Martin petted his hair.

“Henry, you’ve only ever told me a little about your Uncle Reggie. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking now?”

“I don’t really know what to say. I loved him a lot. I know my father never liked him. Reggie was always different than other people, and I loved that about him. Now that I’m older, I’m quite positive he’s some sort of fairy and obviously Father disapproved of him on that account. But Father didn’t have to put up with him for very long. I’ve told you he left when I was just little. He never even said goodbye.”

“Why do you think he’s a fairy?”

“Oh, all sorts of reasons. Like, certain mannerisms he had…he didn’t behave like a woman, by any means, but he didn’t act like other men, either. He was very charming, of course, and he’s a Wilton, so he was very handsome, and he wore the most beautiful clothes. You also have to consider the kinds of things he was interested in, and the kinds of things he
wasn’t
interested in. He was so kind and loving and unashamed of it. He loved wine and hated cigars. He loved art and music and dancing. He always brought beautiful flowers when he visited. He loved women, but not romantically. He loved their clothes, and their hair, and their manners, but he never had a sweetheart, and apparently girls were crazy about him. He doted on his slave. He had a lot of gentlemen friends who were ‘sensitive’ types. I didn’t see all this myself, of course; I was only a child. Some of this I picked up from hearing Pearl and my mother talking.”

“He sounds lovely.”

“He was,” Henry agreed.

“You missed him a lot, didn’t you?” Martin kissed the top of his head.

“He paid more attention to me than any of the other adults, so I definitely noticed when he stopped coming. Mother seemed to just give up entirely after he was gone. They were always very close, you see.”

“Your poor mother.” Martin had a great deal more empathy for Mother than Henry did. “Poor you, Henry. Poor little boy.” He smoothed Henry’s hair back from his forehead. “It’s good then, isn’t it, that you’ll have a chance to talk with him again at Christmas?”

“I’m feeling a bit angry with him, actually,” Henry admitted. “Not a single letter in nine years.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons, Henry. Try not to judge him too harshly before you’ve had a chance to talk with him.”

When Henry was very young, the entire house had been decorated for Christmas, but since there would be no guests to see the festive display, only the family rooms were decorated nowadays. There was a Christmas tree set up in the upstairs parlor festooned with garlands of glass baubles. Father had got an electrician in to put electric bulbs on it, and they reflected off of the tinsel to spangle the room with lozenges of light.

When the family gathered after dinner on Christmas Eve, Cora was brought down from the nursery to open her presents. She brought the bedraggled and cracked Baby Ann with her so that the doll might renew her acquaintance with Martin and, to a lesser extent, Henry. Father and Mother seemed slightly unbelieving that this broken and grubby baby was Cora’s very favorite, exhibiting a sort of baffled cordiality as Cora made the introductions. Cora’s presents were the same every year, it seemed: she would get a new doll, a new tea set, and a new dress she’d be expected to wear to the Christmas gathering on the morrow. She did not seem to mind the invariability of her gifts, and sat on the floor at Henry’s feet and played happily with the new doll, making it drink pretend tea and pay tribute to Baby Ann.

“Henry, you be this new girl,” Cora said, shoving the new doll at him.

Henry took the doll gingerly. She had black ringlets, huge blue eyes, a fussy pink silk dress. “What’s her name?”

Cora thought a moment. “Brindle.”

“Really?” Henry wasn’t sure, but he thought that was an animal color.

“Yes,
Brindle
,” Cora said firmly. She arranged Baby Ann on her back on the floor and, in a high-pitched, slightly spooky voice, said, “Brindle, I need your help.”

Henry had never tried to imitate a female voice in all his life thus far, and he was not any good at it now, this first time. “What is it, Ann?”

“
Baby
Ann,” Cora insisted.

Henry cleared his throat and tried again. “What is it, Baby Ann? How can I help you?”

“Bring me some tea, Brindle.”

Henry had to get down on the carpet to make Brindle carry a teacup to Baby Ann’s imaginary sickbed. Baby Ann then required Brindle to hold the cup while she drank.

“Is Brindle Baby Ann’s slave? I thought Baby Ann already had a slave,” Henry said.

“Baby Ann’s a princess,” Cora explained. “She has lots of slaves.”

“Oh, she’s a princess? What country is she from?”

“
America
,” Cora said, rolling her eyes as if Henry was being especially slow-witted. And then, in Baby Ann’s sinister, petulant timbre, she said, “Brindle, tell me a story.”

Henry only knew adventure stories. In his terrible Brindle voice, he asked, “Would you like to hear a pirate story?”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.” She looked up, past Henry. “Martin, do you know any stories?”

“Miss?”

“Will you play with me, Martin? Henry isn’t doing it right.”

Henry was somewhat offended that his efforts were being discounted so decisively and casually, but he didn’t want to play dolls anymore, either.

Nurse stepped in. “Miss,” she said, “won’t you show your brother and Martin how well you can entertain yourself?”

“But they’re right here!” Cora protested. “I shouldn’t have to play by myself.”

“Leave the boys alone,” Father said, and that was that.

Henry didn’t receive any presents but he was not upset by this; he had not received presents in several years, though Father often suggested options when the family came together. Henry was perfectly happy with this state of affairs; all of his needs were met quite extravagantly, and he desired for nothing.

“Take yourself to Hamilton’s if you like,” Father suggested. “Put some things on account. Let Timothy know so he can tell them to expect you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Henry liked the idea of a new suit and perhaps some patterned waistcoats, which made him wonder if he might be able to convince Martin to wear a waistcoat a little fancier than the plain black he wore every day. Probably not. Outside of the bedroom, Martin was a stickler for protocol and rules.

Cora kissed everyone goodnight and the party dispersed. Henry and Martin went back to Henry’s rooms and had sleepy sex, and Henry thought that Martin was the best present he’d ever had.