A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (5 page)

“You never talk about him,” Will noted, “but it’s obvious you’re close.”

Was it obvious? How much so?

“We
do
like each other,” Martin allowed tentatively.

“You know who’s
really
close with his master…” Peter began, and Martin was grateful for the redirection.

“Allen,” Will said without hesitation.

“Really?” Peter seemed surprised. “I was going to say Simon, but Allen, too?”

“
Everyone
knows about Simon,” Julian remarked, his tone implying this was dull news.

Will shrugged. “Allen hasn’t told me details, but he and Mr. Hollingsworth are…well, they’re pretty enamored of one another. They’re at least as lovey-dovey as Simon and Mr. Ross.”

Martin actually knew this already, because the Orpheus boys all knew each other’s secrets, and then Tom told them to Martin, too, so he was well aware that Mr. Hollingsworth liked to be on the receiving end of Allen’s expert fucking. Tom had also confirmed that Simon and Mr. Ross were completely intimate, though Mr. Ross was not in love with Simon, or at least not exclusively. As for Miles, he was ever-fretful that Mr. Brand did not desire him more, and of course poor Tom was lonely and fixated on inappropriate partners.

Martin did not share any of this, however. He did not want Tom to be in trouble with the rest of the Orpheus boys for breaking their confidences.

“Where’s Miles?” Martin asked, wanting to get off the subject of secrets.

“He went to the toilets,” Julian said. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about Orpheus fellows when he gets back.”

“No one likes it when their childhood friends are gossiped about, I suppose,” Peter said. He grinned and punched Will, who had grown up with him at Endymion, in the arm.

Just as Miles walked up, a loud, sharp whistle cut through the noise of the arcade.

Will’s back straightened alert. “I think that’s Mr. Spence. Let’s go see what they need, shall we?”

If Henry ever whistled for Martin like he was a dog, Martin would come running, of course, but Henry would never do such a thing. Henry treated Martin as a friend, as a person with rights, a person with likes and dislikes. If Martin’s friends minded being summoned like faithful animals, they never said so, but having known different treatment, Martin was quite sure he would find it insulting. Really, Henry had spoiled him. These last few sullen weeks were a definite aberration.

The masters were bored of the arcade and wanted to go for ice cream. At the ice cream parlor, Martin stood behind Henry’s chair with his strawberry ice cream and thoughtfully licked caramel sauce off his spoon. He’d always enjoyed being allowed to sit down with Henry for meals and treats, and he certainly hadn’t thought he’d be asked to do so with these other young masters present, but he could admit that he wanted to be asked. He wanted more now. He expected more. He liked being treated as a friend, an equal. When it was appropriate, of course. When it was possible.

Henry laughed at something one of the others said and pushed his empty dish away from him. His joyful face was so handsome that Martin wanted to bend over and hug him from behind, but there were so many reasons he couldn’t do that. It
was
unfair, and he did understand Henry’s desire to find a place where their love would be accepted and allowed, but Martin balked at the idea of voluntarily living a life restricted to a few queer blocks, a paltry few sordid streets, when the entire city was Henry’s by right. Martin
was
a snob, and he liked that the Blackwell name would open doors everywhere—Henry could walk through them, and Martin would be right behind him, serving with loyalty and devotion. Neither his own true nature nor Henry’s was anyone’s business, after all. Besides, it wasn’t as though they were in any position to reshape society to their own liking. Even powerful Mr. Blackwell wasn’t capable of forcing such dramatic change.

Despite his indulgence in transgressive romance and dirty games, Martin was a cautious person, a conservative slave, fond of both traditions and the status quo whenever he stepped outside Henry’s bedroom. As soon as Martin had understood that Henry intended to run away, there was never any question that he would leave word for Mr. Blackwell. Regardless of what Henry thought, Martin had been quite sure Henry was not ready to leave home—and neither was he. For Martin, who had not even fully explored the city, the idea of traveling to an entirely different part of the country—and then pretending to be free once he got there—had been a terrifying prospect.

Running away had seemed fraught with peril. Henry’s safety was paramount; he was infinitely precious to Martin, but certainly Henry’s parents cared what happened to him, too, as did most of the other Blackwell slaves, and responsibility for him weighed heavily on Martin. Not only was there the risk of physical harm, but Martin had also worried about the damage to Henry’s reputation should Mr. Blackwell have to resort to police involvement to bring him home. Even as he was packing his case to leave the Blackwell house, Martin had been determined that Henry should end up back under his father’s roof. They were ill-equipped for independence, and not meant to be on their own, not yet.

The amount of money Henry had taken might have lasted a regular person several years, but a young man such as Henry would likely have gone through it in a matter of months, and when the money ran out, they’d have had to find work. Martin certainly wasn’t afraid of work, but he’d have had to do it in the guise of a free man, and the idea of living a life of complete subterfuge was daunting. He hated to admit it, but he’d doubted Henry’s ability to get and keep a job, as well. Martin was quite sure that their life in a new city would not have been the gay frolic Henry had imagined.

Mr. Spence pointed his spoon at Henry and then Mr. Briggs. “I’m glad you two are friends again.”

“What was the problem, anyway?” asked Mr. Lovejoy.

Mr. Briggs attempted to deflect the question entirely. “Oh, it was nothing. It was just stupid. We’re fine now, though.”

Mr. Brand, who clearly thought he knew what the problem was, said, “Did you hear? Abigail DeWitt is going to marry some fellow called Calvert after she finishes school.”

Mr. Briggs scowled. Henry shrugged and said, “Good for her.”

Miles leaned over Mr. Brand and whispered in his ear; Mr. Brand said, “We’ve got to go, I guess. I’m expected at my grandmother’s for dinner, and she sits down to table early.”

“Old people do that,” remarked Mr. Lovejoy.

Mr. Spence asked, “Will your cousin be there? Whatsername…Julia?”

Mr. Brand laughed as he stood up from the table. “No, it’s Juliette, but yes, she’ll be there.”

The rest of the masters stood. Martin pushed in Henry’s chair and made brief eye contact with him; Henry smiled, his cheeks pinking. Martin felt soft and helpless, overflowing with affection. He needed to touch Henry, put his hands on him, and dared to briskly brush the shoulders of Henry’s jacket and smooth his lapels.

“Henry always looks good,” Mr. Briggs said gruffly. “Stop fussing, will you?”

“It’s fine, Louis,” Henry said. “He’s just doing his job.”

Mr. Briggs snorted but said nothing more, and they all left the shop.

On the omnibus back uptown, standing together in the aisle, Peter said to the others, “Oh, say, did you know? It’s Martin’s birthday.”

Will grinned at Martin. “I didn’t know. Happy Birthday, Martin.”

“Happy Birthday,” echoed Miles and Julian.

“Will your house do anything special for you?” Will asked.

“I’ll have a cake, and I got to pick the dinner menu,” Martin told them. He did not mention that Henry would be coming to his party.

At the omnibus stop near the Blackwell house, Martin and Peter got off with Henry and Mr. Briggs. Miles, Julian and Will called out cheerful birthday wishes and waved out the omnibus windows as it pulled away from the curb.

Mr. Briggs turned to Henry. “Say, did you get Martin a present?”

Henry reddened. “Um, well…it’s private.”

Mr. Briggs laughed and jabbed Henry with his elbow. “Oh, Henry,” he sighed, seeming very fond. “I think I get the gist.”

They stopped at the Blackwell gate. “I’m glad we can be friends again,” Mr. Briggs said. “I’m sorry I was such a bastard. If Martin makes you happy, I want you to be happy with him.”

“Thank you. He
does
make me happy.”

“I’ve got to go home, because I promised Robbie and Teddy I’d let them look at my baseball cards before dinner.”

“Oh, sure. I do still have those cards you sent over by accident, you know. Do you want them now?”

“Nah, that’s all right. I’m already late. I’ll get them Saturday.” Mr. Briggs held out his hand and Henry took it. Mr. Briggs gave it a hard shake, then pulled Henry into a stiff embrace, thumping him on the back. “I’m glad to have my best friend again.”

“Me, too.”

Peter squeezed Martin’s hand and murmured, “See you Saturday,” in his ear.

Billy opened the front door for Henry and Martin and took their hats. “Sir? Mrs. Blackwell would like to see you. She’s in the blue parlor with Mr. Phipps.”

“Oh, sure,” Henry said. “Thanks, Billy.”

As they brushed past, Billy grinned at Martin and nodded at Henry’s back, raising a questioning eyebrow. Martin returned an acknowledging smile and felt his cheeks grow hot; he expected he would be subject to some merciless teasing in the near future. However, it was worth putting up with any amount of teasing to be close with Henry again.

Mrs. Blackwell was sitting on a settee in the blue parlor with elegant Mr. Phipps at her side. The decorator was blond, grey-eyed, tall and slender, and very well-dressed, with everything he wore being in fine taste. Martin had had occasion to spend time with Mr. Phipps and his handsome slave Drew while helping Mrs. Blackwell and Miss Pearl with the party plans, and he found him to be charming and gentle, friendly and unassuming. Mrs. Blackwell was very fond of him, and it seemed quite obvious that she wished to make a match between her brother and Mr. Phipps upon Mr. Wilton’s return from Italy.

“Hello, Mother. Hello, Mr. Phipps.”

Mrs. Blackwell looked up from some fabric samples arrayed across the lap of her skirt. She gave Henry a brilliant, genuine smile, and it was easy to imagine how beautiful she had been as a young, healthy woman. “Darlings! You’re home!”

“Mr. Blackwell. Good afternoon.” Mr. Phipps had a soft Southern accent, and Drew had one, too; they were originally from St. Louis.

Henry went to kiss his mother’s offered cheek. “Is that another new dress?” It was mauve-and-cream-striped, cut in the latest style. “It’s very becoming.”

“Oh, thank you, Henry. I suppose it
is
new. Were you out with friends?”

“I went to the arcade with Louis and we ran into some fellows we know there.”

“It’s good you’re getting along with Louis again,” she said. “I just wanted to get your opinions on a few things for your party.”

Miss Pearl flipped through the pages of a notebook and handed it to Mrs. Blackwell.

Mrs. Blackwell scooted closer to Mr. Phipps to make room and patted the settee at her hip. “Sit down here, darling. I just want to check with you about the menu for the buffet…”

Henry perched precariously on the edge of the settee at his mother’s side. While Mrs. Blackwell chattered at Henry about the foods chosen for his party, Martin let his mind drift.

He thought back on everything he and Henry had said to each other last night. He thought back on everything Henry had hoped would happen when they’d run off. Martin felt sure it would make Henry happy if he would take more for himself, ask for more things, be more selfish. He could hold Henry to his claims of wanting to live as equals. As they’d discussed, he could assert his opinions when Henry needed to make decisions. When Henry annoyed him, he could show it. He could be more sarcastic when it suited. Henry had never really wanted sex that Martin didn’t want, too, but if he ever
did
, Martin could say no. He could assert his genuine preferences in small ways, and doing so would please Henry, and everyone knew that pleasing a master in any capacity constituted good service.

Of course, pleasing someone you loved with all your heart constituted a satisfaction beyond any level of service.

Martin was glad he’d taken the risk of telling Henry how angry he’d been, and how hurt. Upon telling Henry he’d considered leaving, Henry had immediately understood how serious things had been. Martin hadn’t
wanted
to run off on his own, but he hadn’t known if he’d be able to continue as Henry’s companion with such an unbearable coldness and distance between them. He’d felt he would have done anything to be close with Henry again, but for so long Henry had refused Martin the opportunity to make amends.

Over the weeks, he’d fretted endlessly about whether he’d made the right decisions, and he’d felt he deserved Henry’s anger even as he’d been sure he’d done the right thing in seeing Henry safely returned home. That Henry had believed his own actions were necessary to keep Martin safe was a sad irony.

Now that they’d reconciled, Martin felt as though he was finally able to let out a breath he’d been holding ever since they’d run away. Now it seemed safe to relax into the comfort of Henry’s love, let go of strife, be happy again, and this was a profound and momentous relief. All along, he’d wished and hoped for this, and he’d stayed as strong as he was able, but the uncertainty had been very difficult to contend with.

He really wouldn’t go through it again.

Drew and Miss Pearl beckoned him to join them by the sideboard and asked him questions about his role in planning the party, the details of which were all quite settled and well-known to Miss Pearl, so he was suspicious of her questions.

Lowering her voice and putting her hand on his sleeve, Miss Pearl said, “Well, Martin! You and Young Sir seem to be getting along very nicely today. It’s quite refreshing.”

Martin liked Miss Pearl a great deal, but he wasn’t going to discuss Henry’s personal business with her if he could avoid it. “It’s kind of you to notice, Miss Pearl. Mr. Blackwell and I
have
had a pleasant day,” he allowed, feeling his face grow warm as he thought of all he was omitting.