A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (23 page)

“Very dashing,” Father said gruffly with a curt nod of
approval.

They had champagne to commemorate Henry’s first ball, and
while they ate Mother chattered about her brothers’ turns at their balls, how
handsome they’d been, and how popular. “Girls loved Reggie, especially,” Mother
said. “He was always such a good dancer, and such a gentleman. At balls, he
would go around the room dancing with all the plain girls, the girls the other
boys would avoid.” She sipped her champagne, then continued. “It’s an admirable
strategy, Henry. It’s not
these
girls you’ll marry, but their younger
sisters, and how much better to have a reputation for being generous and kind
than snobbish and shallow.”

Henry thought that Reggie, like himself, was willing to
dance with unattractive girls because he didn’t care about the looks of girls
in any case, but certainly there might have been kindness in it, too.

Father looked very much as if he wanted to say something
about Reggie and girls, but instead he simply regarded Mother with a steady
stare until she finished speaking, at which point he gave a slight shake of his
head and turned back to his paperwork.

After dinner, they went upstairs to collect the last few
items to complete their costumes, watches and gloves and handkerchiefs. They
carried their hats downstairs and Henry waited in the hall while Martin went to
fetch Abigail’s flowers. Father and Mother and Timothy and Pearl came to wait
with him.

“Timothy wants to take a photograph of you,” Father said.
“To mark the occasion.”

Henry was pleased and surprised. “I didn’t know you had a
camera, Timothy.”

“Just a Brownie, Sir. It’s fairly new to me,” Timothy told
him. “I’m far from expert in its use.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“We could wait for Martin, Sir, unless you’d prefer to be
photographed alone.”

Henry definitely wanted Martin in the picture. “No, we
should wait for him. It’s his first ball, too, after all.”

Martin came down the hall with a light step. He looked so
handsome, the colors of his hair and skin so vivid against the severe black and
white of his costume, as he presented the purple bouquet for Henry to admire.
It made Henry think of a wedding, a wedding with two grooms, and he felt his
cheeks grow hot at the very notion.

“Isn’t it lovely, Sir?”

Henry, full of admiration for Martin himself, wanted to
gush, but all he said was, “Very nice.”

Mother held the flowers while Henry and Martin posed in the
blue parlor, which all believed to have the best lighting. Timothy had them
stand together, turned slightly toward one another, their arms just touching.

“You look so stiff,” Mother said, her brow furrowed. “Why
don’t you put your arms around one another? Let’s see how that looks.”

They stood with their arms about each other’s waists while
Henry blushed and his pulse pounded.

“Much better,” Mother said approvingly. “Such handsome boys,
don’t you think, Hiram?”

“Hmph,” was all Father said.

They stood unnaturally still while Timothy took the shot.

Paul and Billy were both waiting in the hall, Billy with
Henry’s coat and Paul with Martin’s, and then handed them their hats and
gloves. Martin took the flowers from Mother. The sounds of the horses and
carriage on the forecourt carried through the front door. Mother rose up on her
toes to kiss Henry on the cheek and she patted Martin’s forearm, asking him to
take care of her boy. Father shook Henry’s hand and told him to enjoy himself,
then got out his billfold and handed Henry a few bills.

In the carriage, Martin dared to give Henry’s arm a little
squeeze. “Are you excited, Sir?”

“Nervous,” Henry admitted. He clutched Martin’s hand as the
carriage began to move. “I do want to dance, but I don’t want to be flirted
with.”

“You can handle the flirting, Sir,” Martin said confidently,
gently taking his hand back. “You did so well with Miss DeWitt’s advances these
last weeks.”

“You realize she wants there to be a romance between you and
her Helena, don’t you?”

Martin shrugged. “I believe Helena already has a beau, Sir.
Stuart mentioned it to me in passing. She’s not interested in me, I’m quite
sure of it, and you know she has nothing to interest me.”

It was a relief to Henry that Helena might be reluctant, as
well. “I wish I could dance with you tonight,” Henry said wistfully.

“I want you to have fun anyway, Sir,” Martin insisted. “Make
the best of the situation, Sir.” He leaned close, his mouth at Henry’s ear, his
breath a tickle raising the hairs on Henry’s neck. “Can you do that for me,
Henry?”

“Yes.” Henry felt a new resolve. He could have fun anyway,
and perhaps Martin could, as well. “If you’ll do the same.”

They were pulling up before the DeWitt house, just a few
blocks from the Blackwells. Martin climbed down from the carriage and then handed
Henry down to stand beside him. “You look very handsome, Sir,” he said in an
intimate tone, giving Henry a smile meant for him alone.

As they approached the front door, it opened for them. “Good
evening, Sir.” The DeWitts’ butler ushered them inside. After their hats and
coats were taken, they went into the formal parlor where Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt
awaited them. The DeWitts both had flaxen hair and blue eyes, like their
children, and looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. Their
slaves, standing discreetly behind them, were also Nordic in appearance. Now it
made more sense to Henry that the DeWitt twins had chosen for themselves
blond-haired, blue-eyed slaves that looked more related than not. He did not,
of course, say any such thing.

The DeWitts, having a horse in the race, so to speak, would
be attending the ball themselves—all of the girls’ parents would—with the
fathers presenting the girls, but fewer of the boys’ families would feel the
need to be there. It wasn’t really done. The Rosses, who fretted over and
coddled Charles, would be attending, but Henry didn’t think any of his other
friends’ parents would make an appearance. Mrs. DeWitt was wearing a very
low-cut peacock blue dress pinned about with silk flowers and her hair was twisted
into an elaborate updo. When Mrs. DeWitt gave Henry her hand, she also gave him
a saucy look, much as her daughter might, and Henry was flustered.

Mr. DeWitt inquired about some aspects of Mr. Blackwell’s
business, and of course Henry knew nothing about Father’s interests, but he
managed to speak on them in an uninformed way for some pointless minutes to
fill up time. When at last Henry had said all the nonsense he could say, there
was a brief lull in conversation and Mr. DeWitt beckoned to his slave and
whispered a few words. The slave left the room at a brisk pace.

“Just checking on Abbie,” Mr. DeWitt said cheerfully.

“Such lovely flowers,” said Mrs. DeWitt. “Do step forward,
boy, so that I can see them better.”

Martin moved to stand at Henry’s side with the bouquet, and
Henry again thought of a wedding with two grooms.

“Could you have known that purple is simply Abbie’s favorite
color?” asked Mrs. DeWitt. “She’ll be
thrilled
.”

“I did
not
know, ma’am,” Henry admitted, wishing
they’d gone with yellow after all. “But I’m very pleased I made a good choice.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Mrs. DeWitt repeated.

There were sounds in the hall and the girls appeared, first
Helena in a dark grey dress that showed off her shoulders, and then Abigail in
white, of course. The dress seemed in good taste, albeit low-cut, and quite
flattering to her figure. She wore three strands of pearls close about her
throat and a trio of ostrich plumes in her upswept hair. She looked overall
quite glamorous.

“You look lovely, Miss DeWitt,” Henry said, as it was
required of him and was not untrue besides.

“Oh, Abbie!” cried her mother, “You look like a bride!”

“
Mother!
” Abigail blushed furiously and glared
daggers at Mrs. DeWitt.

Henry gave her the flowers and she loved them, declaring
purple her favorite color, just as her mother had claimed. Mr. DeWitt, who
considered himself an enthusiastic amateur photographer, posed them together
with Abigail seated holding her bouquet, Henry standing behind and to the side
of her chair, and their slaves behind him. Once again, Henry held still for the
shot, hoping he didn’t look too uncomfortable.

Everyone put on their coats in the hall, including the elder
DeWitts, who would be following them to the ball in the family carriage.
Abigail’s cloak was of a very pale mauve velvet trimmed in white fur and was
complimented nicely by the purple flowers. Henry put Abigail into the Blackwell
carriage, then Martin handed Henry up, where he sat awkwardly blushing at
Abigail’s side, trying to keep his shoulder from bumping her. Martin gave
Helena a hand and then climbed in after her. He gave Henry a very professional
smile and then leaned to whisper something to Helena, no doubt a compliment.

Henry cleared his throat. “I’m glad you like the flowers.”

“They’re perfect. I couldn’t have chosen better myself. I do
appreciate your taste, Mr. Blackwell. I believe we are quite simpatico.” She
smiled up at him, and Henry realized suddenly that she really did like him, she
really did believe they were simpatico, and despite all her teasing, she was
sincere in her desire for his regard. He should try to feel flattered by her
attentions.

“Your family’s carriage is quite nice,” Abigail said,
running her white-gloved hand over the tufted leather. “Nicer than ours. Is it
new?”

“Not terribly,” Henry told her. “We’ve had it a year or so.”
They continued to chat about mundane things for the rest of the ride to the
hotel where the ball was being held.

There was a line of carriages in the street before the
hotel, all waiting to drop off young ball-goers. At last it was their turn.
Jack halted the carriage beneath the porte-cochere and Martin got down,
followed by Helena, and then Henry, who took Abigail’s hand as she descended.

Inside the hotel, all was pandemonium. They were directed to
the ladies’ dressing room and escorted the girls there before bidding them
adieu. Next, they went to the men’s cloakroom to rid themselves of their hats
and coats. They then returned to the hall outside the ladies’ dressing room to
loiter waiting for the girls to emerge.

Freddie approached with Tom in his wake. “Hello, Henry.”

“Hello, Freddie. Who’s here besides us?” Henry noted that
Tom came immediately to Martin’s side and began murmuring in his ear. Tom also
looked very striking in formal dress with his mark covered.

“Albert and Josh are over here,” Freddie told him with a
jerk of his chin. “Come on, we can wait with them.”

All the friends stood together, their group growing larger
by the minute. Louis appeared, and Henry was worried Louis would be angry with
him again—or still—but Louis was in good humor. He punched Henry in the arm and
gave him a quick peek at the tiny flask that James had loaned him before hiding
it again in the pocket in the tail of his coat. Gordon arrived with Julian,
Charles with Simon, Jeremy with Raymond.

Albert asked, “Is my sister bossing you around yet?”

Henry laughed. “No, she’s fine. We’re getting along, I
think.”

“She’s been asking me so many questions about you,” Albert
noted. “Don’t worry—I haven’t told her much, but that’s partly because I don’t
know anything. I feel a little embarrassed that we don’t know each other
better. I mean, I’ve been going to school with you most of my life.”

Henry felt his cheeks grow hot. He really didn’t know what
he could tell Albert about himself without giving too much away.

“I
do
know you get embarrassed easily,” Albert said
with a laugh, and Henry gave a bashful chuckle in reply.

More of Henry’s friends joined the group. Looking around,
Henry saw Adam Pettibone skulking around by himself, notable for his lack of
companion. The few boys from their school that Henry wasn’t friendly with were
no longer friendly with Adam, either. He seemed quite friendless in the world,
but Henry certainly didn’t feel sorry for him.

The parents collected in their own groups in the hall,
mostly ignoring the young escorts. For the purposes of this party, Henry and
his friends were essentially nothing more than accessories to their debuting
daughters. Henry spotted Mr. DeWitt and his lookalike slave but did not see any
need to approach him. Mr. DeWitt, like all the other fathers, was interested in
a mature husband for his daughter, not some callow youth, and likely wouldn’t
want to waste his breath on Henry. Besides, Henry had exhausted all his small
talk during their conversation at the DeWitt home.

When they emerged from the dressing room, the girls would
form a receiving line in the reception room where they would greet pillars of
the community and, of course, distinguished bachelors in search of wives. Henry
and his friends all agreed that they need not participate in this particular
formality, thinking it very boring to watch people shake hands for an hour. And
anyway, although they had not been forbidden the privilege, no one was asking
them to do it.

Louis sipped from his tiny flask and nudged Henry with his
elbow. “Want some?”

Henry took it and hunched over it, surreptitiously tilting
it back. A pleasant warmth spread through his chest. Louis had not passed it to
Peter, so he thought he probably should not offer it to Martin, though he
disliked leaving Martin out. This was
their
ball, and Martin should
enjoy it to the fullest extent possible.

Eventually, the girls came forth, like a foaming tide of
chiffon and silk, and the effect of all the girls in white dresses milling
amongst the men’s black suits was very dramatic and attractive. Girls found
their fathers and were led into the reception room, and soon there were only
boys and hotel employees left in the corridor.