A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (49 page)

On Christmas morning, Henry woke to Martin’s hand on his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Henry.”

“Merry Christmas.” He pulled Martin down into the bed and kissed him. “How much time do we have?”

“Not much,” Martin admitted. “I let you sleep longer than usual. We’ll be wanted downstairs directly for your breakfast.”

Henry nuzzled his neck and squeezed his ass with both hands. “I’ll give you a present later, then,” he promised.

Martin laughed. “I’m counting on it.”

Henry showered and was shaved and dressed in his bottle-green suit with a red paisley tie.

Martin smoothed the shoulders of Henry’s jacket, straightened his lapels, and said, “You look very festive.”

Down in the breakfast room, Father was in a foul mood, finding fault with everything. Father disliked visiting the Wiltons and had discouraged Henry from becoming any closer to his Wilton cousins, but Christmas was the one day a year Father could not avoid interacting with his wife’s family.

“Merry Christmas, Father,” Henry said hopefully. “Merry Christmas, Mother.” He sat in the chair Martin held out for him.

“Henry.” Father said in reply. He looked Henry up and down and frowned at the green suit.

“Henry, darling.” Mother seemed almost happy; surely it was the prospect of seeing Reggie again. “You look very handsome.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

They had baked eggs with cheese and herbs, ham, sausage, pancakes with apple-cinnamon compote, raisin toast with butter and jam, and spice cake. Henry had two cups of milky coffee. Mother sipped her tea and ate nothing. Father, complaining of the substandard fare that would be offered in Gilbert Wilton’s house, ate large portions of everything.

The Wiltons sent their Clarence around—as well they ought, Father pointed out, since he’d purchased it for them—as the entire Blackwell entourage numbered eight people and each carriage could only comfortably seat four. Henry and Cora rode together in the Wilton carriage, with its unfamiliar green leather upholstery and fringed curtains, along with Martin and Nurse. At Cora’s request, Henry allowed her to sit beside Martin while he sat with Nurse.

Cora chattered to Martin, adoring and shyly flirtatious, and Henry watched, amused. Cora could certainly do worse in terms of a first love. Martin would be careful with her heart. Then, with a pang of guilt, Henry thought of Alice Briggs. He should be nicer to her. She was just a little girl, after all.

“That was so kind of you to play with Little Miss last night, Sir,” Nurse said in a low voice, patting Henry’s arm. “Baby Ann can be quite the tyrant.”

“Why that doll?” Henry asked. “She has so many that are prettier, including the new one.”

“I don’t know, Sir. Even before her accident, Baby Ann wasn’t Little Miss’ prettiest doll. I don’t think pretty has anything to do with it.”

They sat in silence a moment listening to Martin and Cora chat, then Nurse said, “I’ve meant to say, Sir, that your Martin seems very happy in your service.”

Henry flushed, pleased, and said, “I’m glad to hear you think so. I think we’re both happy.”

“I think now you have a friend who understands you, Sir,” Nurse said blandly, as if she didn’t notice how her words intensified Henry’s blush. She gave Henry’s arm a little squeeze and shake. “It’s the friendship I’ve always dreamed of for you, Sir, even if it is with a slave.”

Henry swallowed hard, so embarrassed he could scarcely speak, but he had to respond. “Well, the slaves have always cared for me the most anyway,” he said with a shrug, forced casualness. “It’s possible it’ll always be that way, don’t you think?”

“Someday you’ll have a wife who’ll love you, Sir,” Nurse said, but she did not sound particularly convinced that this was the sort of love Henry would find fulfilling.

The Wilton house was twenty blocks south of the Blackwells’ more fashionable neighborhood, in what
had
been very fashionable territory a century past. There were a few old families living here still, but it was now a thoroughly bourgeois district. The Wiltons were a bit snobbish about their long-standing residency, though to Henry their outdated address just seemed to show how far they’d come down in the world.

Henry liked his Wilton cousins quite well. Bette and Jesse both had the Wilton dark good looks and were lively young people with wide-ranging interests—really, they were exactly the types that Father claimed he wanted Henry to know but, because they were Wiltons, Father had instead told Henry to keep his distance.

Over the years, Father had made sure Henry knew that everything he saw in the Wilton house had been paid for with Blackwell money. Father had been bailing Uncle Gilbert out for over twenty years now, ever since marrying Mother, and seemed to expect to continue to do so far into the future. Uncle Gilbert had, of course, destroyed the Wilton family business, and he had done no better with any of the ventures he’d embarked upon after his spectacular failure with the mercantile empire. Eventually, Father had given him a well-paid job at Blackwell Industries where he had no real power and could do no serious harm.

Despite his professional failures, Uncle Gilbert seemed a happy man. He and Aunt Virginia got along very well and they were loving with and supportive of their children to a degree that made Henry quite envious. Not only were the four of them a cozy unit, but they regularly met and socialized with numerous additional Wilton relatives, the children and grandchildren of Grandfather Wilton’s brothers, many of whom would make an appearance at the Christmas gathering. Henry certainly would have liked to have been closer to the Wilton side of the family. It would have been nice, also, to have at least a few Blackwell cousins, but if any such people existed, Father had long since cut ties with them.

At the Wilton house, there was a wreath on the door with a big red bow, and the front hall was garlanded with evergreen boughs. The house smelled of pine and spices and roasting meats. Aunt Virginia came to greet them and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Henry before spiriting Mother away to a place of honor in the formal parlor where she might “rest” and wait for Reggie to return from his morning calls.

Uncle Gilbert shook Henry’s hand and suggested he might join Bette and Jesse upstairs. “They’re in the music room,” he told him. “Do you remember where that is?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Henry headed for the stairs with Martin at his back. Over his shoulder, he said to Martin, “Jesse’s a year older, and goes to school uptown. He wants to be a writer or an artist of some kind. Bette must be 20 now. She’s not getting married just yet; she goes to college at Bryn Mawr.”

“Very good, Sir.”

Someone was playing the piano. The door to the music room stood open. Henry gave it a little rap with his knuckles and pushed it wide.

Bette sat on the piano bench, picking out a song, her slave Vera at her side. Jesse sat sideways in an armchair, his long legs draped over the arm. His slave Russ sat on the floor before the chair, eyes closed, his head tilted back and resting on Jesse’s hip. Jesse’s hand lay across the front of Russ’ throat, casually possessive. Henry was startled and somewhat titillated by this display of intimacy. Neither he nor any of his friends would dare be so openly affectionate with a slave. Jesse had only had Russ a few months at last Christmas, and they had not seemed nearly so at ease with one another at that time.

All four looked up at Henry and Martin.

“Oh, hello, Henry,” Bette said, smiling. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too.” Henry went to her and kissed her cheek.

“I forgot you’d have a slave of your own this year,” Jesse said, swinging his legs around to put his feet on the floor. Although Jesse was older than Henry, he looked younger, slim and boyish, with glossy black hair falling in his eyes and a quick smile. He was handsome, to be sure, and, with a little frisson of jealousy, Henry wondered if Martin would think so, too. Jesse nodded at Martin. “Very nice. Ganymede, of course?” When Father had purchased companions for the cousins, he’d insisted that they come from the Houses he favored.

“Yes, he’s Ganymede,” Henry agreed. “This is Martin.”

“At your service, Sir. Miss.” Martin gave each of the cousins a little bow.

Jesse stood up and stretched, and he gave Russ a hand up, as well. “I’ve found that the Ganymede boys really are better trained than the others. Don’t you think so, too?”

Henry had not paid enough attention to have an informed opinion, but there was no need to let Jesse know that. “Much better,” he agreed.

Jesse came forward to have a look at Martin. “Say, you’re only a year apart, aren’t you?” Jesse asked Russ. “Do you know one another, then?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Russ, smiling at Martin. “Martin was one of the top boys in his year.”

“Top boy, eh?” Jesse grinned at Martin, sensing his embarrassment. “Russ was a middle boy, maybe, weren’t you, sport?” Russ laughed and didn’t deny it. “I’m lucky to have him, though. Your father did me a good turn.” Jesse gave Henry’s arm an affectionate squeeze, as if Henry had had some hand in the matter. Henry was always a bit disconcerted by the amount of touching the Wiltons engaged in—he didn’t
dis
like it, but he didn’t know how to respond to it, either.

“Why don’t we clear out and let the girls play in peace?” Jesse suggested. “We’ll go to my room.”

Henry followed Jesse down the hall, the slaves already talking in low voices at his back. Slaves always seemed able to establish camaraderie with one another on a moment’s acquaintance, and Henry wished that the knack of it was taught to free boys, as well.

“We can play poker,” Jesse suggested. “You know how to play, right?”

They played for matchsticks. Jesse wasn’t much better than Henry, but he
was
better. Henry quickly lost all his matches, Martin and Russ building up larger and larger piles of sticks.

“Say, Martin,” Jesse said. “Do you like your long hair?”

“Sir?”

“Do you like it? Russ got sick of his, so I let him cut it, but now I wish I hadn’t.” Henry recalled that last Christmas Russ had had chestnut waves to the middle of his back, but now his hair was quite conventionally short.

“It got in my food, Sir,” Russ protested. “It’s much better now that it’s like this, really.”

“I-I do like it, Sir,” Martin said hesitantly. “I’m a bit vain, to tell the truth.”

Jesse laughed. “Imagine that, looking like you do.”

Henry bristled a little. Was Jesse flirting with Martin?

“How well did you two know one another at Ganymede?” Jesse asked.

“We were friendly, Sir,” Russ said. “We were different years, though, so we didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

“So you didn’t train together, then?” Jesse asked. “You don’t know each other
that
well.”

“No, Sir,” Martin said. “We were just friendly.”

“Maybe we can change that,” Jesse said blithely. “After dinner.”

Henry froze, horrified. He’d not anticipated this sort of interest from his cousin, and he was loath to spoil the good time they were having, but he wasn’t going to be willing to share Martin with either Jesse or Russ.

Jesse seemed quite unaware of Henry’s dismay. He began to tell Henry about his pen pal, a second cousin on his mother’s side, a girl called Elizabeth with whom he felt he was very much in love. He put down his cards so that he could show Henry a cabinet card of an elfin blonde holding a black kitten, and Henry agreed that she was very pretty.

“We’ll have obstacles to overcome, to be sure,” Jesse admitted. “I’m only two years older than her, and no one will think I’m mature enough to marry when she’s eligible.” He threw two matchsticks into the pot; Henry could plainly see that he had nothing in his hand, not even a pair.

“You’re so sure you’ll want to marry her?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jesse assured him. He discarded three cards and drew new ones that were no better. “And I’ll be even more sure in three years when she turns 18.” He bet again, cleaning himself out. “Oh, look, I’m out of matches now.”

They sat side-by-side with their backs against the footboard of Jesse’s bed and watched their slaves continue to play.

“So, Uncle Reggie’s back, you know. He got here Sunday late.” Jesse bumped Henry with his shoulder. “He’s the same old Reggie. Still wears crazy clothes. Still the most loving guy you could ever want to know.”

Henry often forgot that Reggie had belonged to other people, too, not just Mother and himself. “I’m a little nervous to see him,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to say to him, you know? I adored him, but then he just disappeared and I never heard from him again.”

Jesse snorted. “Well, he couldn’t exactly write to you, could he?”

“Why not?” Henry was genuinely baffled.

“Well, it
was
one of the conditions,” Jesse said, as if this were obvious. When he saw Henry’s confused face, his expression softened. “Oh. Oh dear. You didn’t know, then?” Jesse put his hand on Henry’s arm again and gave him a squeeze meant to be comforting. “I’m sorry, Henry, I thought you knew what happened.”

“Well, tell me. Please.”

“Oh, gee.” Jesse looked very much as if he wanted to be elsewhere. “Well, Reggie owed your father a lot of money, you see, and he had done some things that your father didn’t approve of, and so he panicked and ran off to Europe with Mr. Ellsworth. Once he was overseas, well…your father paid him to stay there.”

“Why would he do that?”

Jesse gave him such a tender, pitying look. “To keep him away from you, of course,” he said gently.

“Away from me?” Henry felt a terrible sinking in his gut. If this was true, then it was because of him that Uncle Reggie had disappeared. It was because of him, then, that Mother had been so miserable for the last nine years.

“It’s not your fault, Henry,” Jesse insisted, his hand still on Henry’s arm. “It was all your father’s doing. Your father isn’t a bad man, Henry, but he doesn’t trust people, and he went overboard. Anyone else would have seen that Reggie’s harmless.”

Henry was devastated. He felt so ashamed! It had all been to keep him from turning out like Reggie, he realized, and he’d gone and done so anyway. Everyone had been made unhappy for no reason.