A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (4 page)

Martin wasn’t so sure he agreed. If Alice remained fixated on Henry, she might prove an excellent wife. She had loved him in her childish way as long as she’d lived, after all. She might be willing to excuse some fairly egregious faults in a husband if that husband happened to be Henry, and Martin would not discount that advantage. Martin remained very aware that there were more than a few wealthy matrons with male attendants devoted to their needs, and Henry’s wife, whoever she might be, could certainly be one of their number.

He would not, however, suggest this in front of Mr. Briggs.

Peter pointed out that it was lunchtime, and Henry made the bold suggestion that Martin and Peter might eat lunch at the table with him and Mr. Briggs, a prospect which Mr. Briggs and Peter both seemed to find very disconcerting.

“Martin eats with me practically every day,” Henry said, discounting the last many weeks of separate meals, as well as feigning an unconcern Martin was confident he didn’t feel. “You know my father always eats with Timothy.”

“But Henry, your father is…” Mr. Briggs’ voice trailed off; he was unwilling to repeat what other people said about Mr. Blackwell.

“He’s very rich and powerful, is what he is,” Henry pointed out. “Peter’s missed his own lunch, hasn’t he?” Henry cocked his head, waiting for an answer; Mr. Briggs was not forthcoming. “If you don’t want them to eat with us, I’ll take Martin home to eat there. I don’t want him missing his lunch just because you won’t eat with a slave.”

Martin felt a surge of pride, glad that Henry was his master. He was generous and thoughtful, making extravagant gestures for Martin’s comfort and convenience. It was evidence that he thought highly of Martin, that he valued his company.

“You really sit at the table with him?” Mr. Briggs asked, seeming quite suspicious that Henry was trying to trick him. “You eat like…
friends
?”

“Isn’t Peter your friend?” Henry demanded. “He does
everything
for you, Louis. How is that not a friend?”

Mr. Briggs crumpled a little, weakening. “Henry, I’ve never…” His voice trailed off; he did not say what he’d never done.

“I’m never going to make Martin go without a meal just because feeding him might make someone uncomfortable,” Henry declared. “It’s not just because of my…my feelings for him, but because he’s a
person
, after all. Slaves are people.”

“I know that,” Mr. Briggs said crankily. “That’s
obvious
, Henry.”

Henry said, “We’ve all four of us sat in my room and eaten cake together bunches of times. What difference is it to sit at a table?”

Mr. Briggs seemed conflicted. “Look, Henry, I see your point, but
my
dad doesn’t do it that way, and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I tried to start something here. The other slaves wouldn’t like it, either.”

Henry thought about this, eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his nose. “We can all go to my house, then,” he decided, reiterating, “I don’t want Martin to go hungry.”

Mr. Briggs sighed. “I can see you’re not going to take no for an answer.”

Henry unfolded himself upright and held his hand out to Martin. “You can say no if you want,” Henry told Mr. Briggs, “but I’m going home to eat in any case.”

Martin took the offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet, and Henry gave his fingers a squeeze before letting go.

Mr. Briggs stood, too, with a put-upon sigh. “Fine. Your cook is better than ours, anyway,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, Peter. Let’s give this a try.”

They went down the street to the Blackwell house, and Martin hurried downstairs to let Cook know there were guests to feed. Cook was delighted to know that Henry had made up with both Martin and Mr. Briggs, and to celebrate sent up chocolate cupcakes made from the batter left over from Martin’s birthday cake.

Henry bade Mr. Briggs and Peter sit across from him. Martin and Peter filled plates for their masters and themselves, and all sat down to eat.

His attention seemingly entirely on his plate, Henry slid his foot across the carpet, his boot making solid contact with Martin’s, and Martin was startled and jumped in his seat. Mr. Briggs raised a questioning eyebrow, but Martin studiously avoided looking at him, and Henry did the same. Martin responded by returning the pressure, his knee against Henry’s. Henry smiled, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, though he kept his eyes on his plate. He rubbed his knee against Martin’s, and Martin had never thought his knees particularly sensitive, but as Henry made these insistent moves, all the hairs stood up on his skin, and the weave of his trousers felt pleasantly rough, and his cock was stiffening against the placket of his drawers. He drew a sharp, shocked breath and choked on a bite of ham-and-olive sandwich; he coughed, his face heating with embarrassment. He reached for his glass and gulped lemonade.

“Are you all right?” Henry did not look concerned; rather, he was amused.

“Yes, Sir.” Martin gave Henry’s ankle a little kick. “I think I was just eating too quickly.”

Mr. Briggs narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously, but Martin was very careful to appear as innocent and blameless as possible, and Henry did the same.

Martin scarcely gave any attention to Mr. Briggs or Peter, and when the meal was over had no real impression of whether or not they’d enjoyed sitting down together after all. Martin had been entirely focused on this newly-bold Henry who made practical, meaningful stabs at equality and played titillating under-table games. He was glad Henry had made up with his friend, but he wished Mr. Briggs and Peter would go home. He wanted to show Henry how he felt about various of the things Henry had done and said today, and in order to do that he needed privacy. He needed Henry all to himself.

But Mr. Briggs suggested they all go to the arcade, and Henry agreed, and Martin held his tongue and reconciled himself to sociability until such time as Mr. Briggs and Henry tired of each other’s company. Henry had, after all, been accustomed to speaking with Mr. Briggs nearly every day of the last twelve years, so this lapse in their friendship had been significant, and repair of the rift would require some mutual effort.

As they boarded the omnibus, Henry whispered, “You could sit down with me if you wanted,” but Martin gave a little shake of his head and stood in the aisle while Mr. Briggs took the seat at Henry’s side. He appreciated this chivalrous, assertive Henry who wanted to put Martin first, but going along with all of Henry’s ideas would get them in trouble—again—and he was quite sure it would be too much for Mr. Briggs’ sensibilities.

Downtown, Henry and Mr. Briggs were pleased to find Mr. Lovejoy, Mr. Brand and Mr. Spence already at the arcade with Julian, Miles and Will. Henry gave Martin a handful of coins, assuring him he could have more if he required, and was led away by Mr. Briggs to try his hand at the strength testers with their friends.

Martin was always happy to see Miles; Miles was charming and fun to be with, but he was also professional and dedicated, which Martin appreciated in his fellow slaves. Miles was a Superior boy from Orpheus, a House where such things were taken seriously. He was also fond of Will, who was friendly and charming, as well as good-natured and enthusiastic about his work. Martin liked Julian well enough, but he didn’t respect him. He certainly did think less of Julian since learning that he avoided serving Mr. Lovejoy as completely as he ought, and he also thought less of Hyperion, Julian’s House, for putting a boy who disliked sex with men up for sale as a companion. He made an effort to mask his feelings of superiority—but he always had it in the back of his mind that
he
was a Ganymede boy, perfectly suited to his role, who would never shirk his duty. When Henry was buying slaves for his own household, Martin would see to it that all the men came from Ganymede.

As he plugged pennies into the peep shows, Martin was very aware that they were just blocks from the neighborhood of the Calamus, that they could walk for less than five minutes and be at the Venetian and the Fleur-de-Lys Café and the dreadful shop where Henry had insisted on buying him such flashy clothes. Here, in such close proximity to the scene of their brief foray into debauchery, he wondered if Henry was thinking of the Calamus, too.

While he and Peter turned the cranks of the Mutoscopes side by side, he considered, not for the first time, whether there were any circumstances under which he might have
wanted
to run away. He did not think there were any, actually. Martin appreciated living in the Blackwells’ grand, well-appointed house, especially now that Mrs. Blackwell was bringing the look of the place up to date. Henry feared his father and thought the worst of him, but Martin thought Mr. Blackwell quite tolerant. He was gruff and businesslike and had little patience for Henry’s sensitivities and shortcomings; however, it seemed obvious to Martin that Mr. Blackwell cared a great deal for his son and wanted him to be happy, even if he never bothered to say as much.

Martin knew Mr. Blackwell was kind at heart, believed it absolutely. Mr. Blackwell might have easily punished Martin—or sold him—for his part in Henry’s escapade. With Henry’s well-being as his priority, Martin had written the notes to Mr. Blackwell aware that he might be causing a great deal of trouble for himself. He felt that the fathers of some of his friends’ masters would be very willing to punish a companion for the deeds of a wayward son. However, Mr. Blackwell was a very practical person and wasn’t going to waste any time punishing Henry for a preference he could do nothing about, and neither would he punish Martin for serving his master’s particular needs, especially when Martin had been such a diligent protector of Henry’s best interests. Upon their return from the Calamus, Mr. Blackwell had invited Martin to sit in the chair before his desk, and had given him reassurances along these lines after listening to Martin’s halting recounting of their misadventure. Really, he was a very kind man in his brusque way, and always treated his slaves with generosity.

Mr. Blackwell hadn’t minced words, though. He maintained no illusions about Henry’s fitness to run his empire in the future, but surmised a grandson might prove to have the necessary ability. Mr. Blackwell had no expectation that Henry would ever achieve much academically, nor did he believe Henry would suddenly become bold, articulate and outspoken; rather, all Mr. Blackwell wanted was for Henry to marry and have children, a grandson who might pick up the mantle. He expected Martin’s cooperation in achieving this end, and since this was what Martin also wanted—Henry’s children—he could readily and honestly agree to help.

A wife just wouldn’t matter, and he would try to make Henry see this.

It wasn’t his first priority, but if he could, Martin thought he might try to get Henry to see his father in a more sympathetic light.

Peter, who had obeyed Mr. Briggs’ edict to keep his distance from Martin during his estrangement from Henry, nudged Martin with his shoulder, still bent over the peep show.

“Hey. I’m glad I can talk with you again.”

Martin nudged back, smiling. “Me, too.”

“So I think I know the whole story now, more or less…who else knows? Tom?”

“I told him some of it, and I think he’s guessed the rest,” Martin admitted, “but I’m doing my best to keep Mr. Blackwell’s secrets.”

“They’re also your secrets,” Peter pointed out. “You’re in love with him, too, aren’t you?”

Martin blushed happily. “Well, yes. Yes, I am.” He thought about it a moment and added, “Of course, there isn’t any problem with
me
being in love with
him
.”

“No, it’s useful,” Peter agreed. “That’s what they said at Endymion.”

“They said it at Ganymede, as well. You can do a better job if there’s love.”

Peter chuckled. “Well, I know I don’t do as good a job as you!”

Martin laughed, too. “You’ve always gotten along well with Mr. Briggs, though.”

“Oh, sure. We’re pals.” Peter shrugged. “We’re definitely not lovers! Now I understand why you’ve never complained about missing out on the parties.”

Martin blushed again as he said, “Oh, no, I don’t miss anything.”

Peter sidestepped and put a penny into the next machine, lowering his face to look through the viewing aperture. “You’ve been able to train him to do exactly what you like, I suppose.”

“Mr. Blackwell has excellent instincts,” Martin said primly, his face growing hotter still.

Peter looked at him and laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before. You’re every bit as red as him!”

Martin was sensitive to the suggestion that anyone might be making fun of Henry for his bashfulness, but he didn’t think Peter meant anything beyond friendly teasing. And Henry’s blushing certainly couldn’t be missed. Martin thought it very endearing, but hoped for Henry’s sake that he grew out of it a bit before he’d have to enter the business world.

Will appeared at Martin’s other shoulder, Julian at his side. “Mr. Blackwell certainly seems in a good mood today,” he remarked. “A nice change for you, I suppose.”

So everyone had seen how unhappy Henry was. Martin had been powerless to do anything about it, of course, but he still felt guilty, like he hadn’t been doing his job.

“Well, obviously he’s not fighting with Mr. Briggs anymore,” Martin said. “They’ve reconciled.”

Will looked at Martin, eyes narrowed. “But you’re getting along better with him, too, I think.”

Oh, this blushing! He
was
as bad as Henry! “What makes you think we weren’t getting along?”

Will snorted and gave his shoulder a little shove. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’ve been moping ever since you came back with short hair,” Julian noted. “Whatever you did, I’m glad he’s forgiven you.”

“What makes you think Martin did anything?” Peter asked, quick to defend his friend.

“We’re getting along fine,” Martin said firmly.

He hadn’t really told his friends anything about his adventure. He had suggested that Henry had argued with his father, hoping this would explain the haircut and Henry’s mood, and did his best to deflect any more probing questions. Only Tom had learned a little of the truth.