A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (6 page)

Miss Pearl seemed perfectly aware he was obfuscating. “Well, it’s simply marvelous to see your smiling faces,” she said, giving him another pat. “You’re both lovely boys, and you bring Mrs. Blackwell so much joy.”

“Thank you. That’s nice to hear.” He did think this was probably true. It went without saying that Mrs. Blackwell loved Henry, but she had also doted on Martin throughout all the weeks of party planning, eliciting his opinions and complimenting his taste and, of course, calling him ‘darling.’ Unlike Henry, Martin had no reason to mistrust her, nor did he retreat into baffled sullenness when she tried to charm him. Martin understood Henry’s reticence and suspicion, but he was willing to give Mrs. Blackwell the benefit of the doubt. He felt she was trying hard to be a part of her children’s lives, as much as her health permitted.

When Henry was done talking with his mother, Martin followed him upstairs and into his bedroom, where they locked the door and stood looking at one another a long moment.

“Be close to me,” Henry suggested, leading him to the bed. They took off their boots and shrugged their jackets to the floor and then stretched out side by side on top of the coverlet.

Henry took Martin’s hand. “I’ve missed this,” he said. He rolled to push his nose against Martin’s neck. “Smelling your smells.” He slipped his hand inside the open neck of Martin’s shirt and traced his collarbone. “Feeling your warmth.” He pulled Martin to him, and they entwined themselves, shedding their waistcoats in the process, along with Henry’s necktie and collar.

“It doesn’t always have to turn into sex,” Henry murmured, his breath damp against Martin’s throat. “I just like touching you. I missed it so much.”

“Touch me as much as you want,” Martin suggested as Henry shifted closer. They fit together so well, halves of a whole. He’d missed Henry’s smells, too, and his sleek, feverish body. He’d missed Henry’s touch, his reverence and strength. He’d missed it all so much, and he’d refused to allow himself to think it was lost to him forever, because he’d been sure that without it he wouldn’t be able to go on.

But it was over now, and they were together, loving and close, having a nap.

Martin was nearly asleep when he became aware of tiny movements of Henry’s shoulders, his body hunching as he breathed in lurching gasps. Henry’s hands tightened on Martin’s back and he buried his face against Martin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled. “I shouldn’t—” He didn’t finish saying what he ought not to do, but clung more desperately.

“Henry?” Martin rubbed his back soothingly. “Are you crying?”

“Oh…” Henry groaned, almost angry, not wanting to admit it. “I just feel so terrible for everything I put you through.” He sniffed wetly and wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

Martin kissed his cheek. He didn’t mind, he supposed, that Henry felt badly about how he’d treated him, but he didn’t need Henry to be so full of self-recrimination and angst, not to the point of tears. Frankly, he didn’t wish to be put in the position of having to repeatedly comfort Henry for his upset over his own horrible behavior.

“You’ll be good to me from now on,” he reminded him. “We’re going to be good to each other.”

“I want—” Henry began, with a hitch in his voice. “I want to have been so much kinder.” He shuddered in Martin’s arms.

“Well, we can’t go back,” Martin pointed out. “We can only go forward. You can make different choices from now on.” He gave Henry a little shake. “All you have to do is follow through on the things you’ve said you’ll do, Henry. Be kind. Let me help you make decisions. Love me.”

“Okay,” Henry said, talking himself down. “Okay, you’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m sorry I’m being a baby.”

“You’re not a baby,” Martin told him, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “You just feel things very deeply.”

“I thought you’d never loved me,” Henry admitted in a low voice, seeming almost ashamed. “I didn’t understand—” He sighed again. “I didn’t know anything.”

Martin thought a moment, and then it occurred to him. “Henry? Did you ever have a serious disagreement with anyone before? Did you ever fight with Mr. Briggs before this time? Or maybe your father? Anyone at all?”

Henry was quiet a moment. “Hmm. I…I don’t know? I don’t think so.” He thought a few more seconds. “Oh, well, Adam Pettibone, of course.”

But Adam Pettibone was Henry’s
enemy
, and they’d never be resolving their differences. “But no arguments with a friend?” Martin asked. “A fight where you didn’t talk for awhile?”

“I guess not,” Henry said. “It was just Louis, then you, basically at the same time. Nothing before that. Is that weird?”

“I wouldn’t say
weird
,” Martin said. “In some ways, it’s fortunate, I think. But most people have had a hurtful fight before they’re grown. No one likes learning such lessons, of course, but sometimes it makes it easier to face another difficult situation.”

“Did you ever have a fight like that?”

Martin thought about what he might say. “Do you remember Charlie, my friend growing up?”

“Yes, he shared with Stuart, right?”

“Yes, that’s him. Well, Charlie really cared for me. He went to a lot of effort for me, and did many kind things, and tried to take care of me. And I liked spending time with him, and we had a lot of fun together, but when I had a choice, I preferred to spend my time with Richard or even Georgie.”

“By ‘time’ you mean sex, right?” Henry asked with a rueful chuckle.

“Not always,” Martin said. “I don’t think we were having as much sex as you imagine, Henry.” He snorted and messed Henry’s hair up, and then began to smooth it back again. “Anyway, Charlie got jealous of the others and accused me of being a tease, which was a very serious insult back on the farm.”

“I would imagine so.”

“He said I was conniving and cruel. I said I’d never asked him to do anything for me and that his kindnesses put me under no obligation. Which they did not.”

“No,” Henry agreed. “He was trying to woo you, obviously, but you didn’t have to respond.”

“We all did nice things for our friends,” Martin said. “I knew Charlie wanted more from me, but I also thought I’d made my feelings clear.”

“Were Richard and Georgie especially nice to you, too? I can see how Charlie would be upset if he was nicer than them. Not—” he hurried to say, “—that that would put you under any obligation.”

“Richard was very chivalrous and devoted—as you’ve been.”

“I’m going to be that way from now on,” Henry put in.

“I’m sure you will.” Martin pressed a quick kiss to the part in Henry’s hair. “Georgie had to deal with Noah’s jealousies, so he wasn’t paying me as much attention as the others, but I liked him a lot anyway. My feelings weren’t based on who put on the best show of caring for me.”

“No, of course not.”

“Charlie decided he wouldn’t have anything to do with me until I apologized, but I hadn’t done anything to apologize for. It was awkward, since we were living in the same room, but we didn’t talk for…oh, at least a month. It was very difficult, because I did love him.”

“When did this happen?”

“Just a little bit before Richard died. Charlie finally realized he was in the wrong and came to apologize to me, and we’d only recently made up when Richard got sick. And afterward, Charlie was a very good friend to me, and he understood that he’d never be first in my heart, and he was reconciled to that, so we were able to enjoy each other’s company until auction day.”

Henry thought about this a short time. “It’s not so different from what happened with us. That there were hurt feelings and misunderstandings, I mean.”

Martin shrugged. “Not
so
different,” he agreed. “But because I’d had this experience with Charlie, I had hope that you and I could resolve our differences—because I’d done it before, see? And you never had that experience.”

He felt a great deal of sympathy for Henry, so ill-equipped to deal with overwhelming, unfamiliar feelings of loss and betrayal. Poor Henry had existed like a fragile specimen in a very sturdy cage until Martin came along and opened the door, exposing him to all the myriad consequences of living, good and bad. His poor, gentle Henry, sheltered and easily hurt. He would do what he could to help Henry grow tougher and wiser, because Henry needed that, but he hoped Henry would never lose his sweetness.

Henry sighed and burrowed closer, his arms tightening around Martin’s back. “I never want to fight with you again. Or Louis. With anyone who matters to me.”

“I don’t want you to, either,” Martin said. “Do you want to sleep a little? I’ll set an alarm.”

When they woke, it was nearly time for the slaves’ dinner. Henry was excited, full of rowdy energy. As Martin retied his necktie, he said, “Do you think anyone will mind I’m there?”

Martin shook his head. “I already told you, it doesn’t matter what they think.” He snugged the knot against Henry’s collar. “But actually, no, I don’t think they’ll mind at all. Most of them appreciate that a master could be so interested in a slave.”

He would not tell Henry, because he would die of embarrassment—and probably refuse to attend Martin’s birthday—but the Blackwell slaves were all aware that he and Henry were more intimate than they ought to be. Martin had suspected this to be the case from early in their affair, but hadn’t known it for certain until they’d been brought home.

At that time, the rest of the Blackwell slaves, Martin’s colleagues and friends, had realized immediately that something was wrong between Henry and himself. Just the fact of his shorn hair bespoke some great upheaval. He’d kept quiet, hoping to go unnoticed, but he was well-liked by the others, and they were concerned about him. Billy and Jerry, who’d always taken a special interest in him and teased him like brothers, were particularly gentle and solicitous. Billy had hugged him and murmured, “You’re broken-hearted, that’s plain, but anyone can see he is, too.” He understood then that everyone knew about Henry and himself, and they always had, but that was the first time anyone had spoken directly about it, and it had made him especially sad to feel it was already over.

About two weeks into his estrangement from Henry, Mr. Tim had taken him aside, asking him to stay behind as the others filed out after dinner. He’d asked Martin if Henry was treating him kindly, and Martin had not known how to answer. Mr. Tim suggested that Henry was making things hard for him, and again Martin had remained tight-lipped; he would not talk about Henry’s business. Mr. Tim reiterated that he and Mr. Blackwell both felt that Henry was perhaps excessively fond of Martin, but this was Henry’s nature, and there was little to be done about Henry’s intrinsic qualities. He noted that Henry would always need to be careful, discreet. He said that Henry was very fortunate to have a good boy like Martin looking after him.

Martin had embarrassed himself by crying at this assertion, hunched shoulders and shameful tears, and Mr. Tim had patted him kindly. Mr. Tim had said that Henry had always been a sensitive boy, a stubborn boy, and that it might take him time to get over his hurt feelings, but, “He cares for you very much, Martin, even if it doesn’t seem so now. He’ll come around in time.”

He’d further reminded Martin that Mr. Blackwell was very happy with him and his actions, that he felt Martin had been an excellent investment in Henry’s future and happiness, and that he appreciated all Martin had done for his son. Mr. Tim had assured Martin that Mr. Blackwell would not be entertaining any ideas about removing Martin from his position, selling him off, or exchanging him for some less-capable boy.

“Can you put up with it a little longer?” Mr. Tim had asked. “He’s being very unfair, I know, but if you can bear with it, I’m sure things will improve.”

He’d resolved to get through it. He’d wait, however long it took, and when Henry was ready to hear him, he’d be ready with an apology.

He was so happy Henry had apologized first.

He tugged Henry’s waistcoat into place and held his jacket for him to put on. Henry shrugged into it, then picked up Martin’s jacket from the foot of the bed.

“Here,” he said, holding it ready. “Let me do it for you.”

Martin balked at this for a fraction of a second, imagining the frowning faces of his Ganymede teachers scolding him for overstepping and not knowing his place. But it was a generous offer, sweet and loving, and just as he took pleasure in tending to Henry, perhaps Henry might enjoy looking after him a little bit. He smiled and put his arms into the sleeves.

“Thank you, Henry.”

Henry smoothed the jacket over Martin’s shoulders, passed his hands over the lapels. “You look very handsome,” he said.

Martin kissed him. “We both do. Are you ready to go down?”

To Martin’s happy surprise, Tom was there in the mess with most of the Blackwell slaves, as was Billy’s Jane from next door. Jerry and Arthur were pretending not to see Tom, and Tom was pretending he didn’t notice the snub.

Everyone was deferential with Henry, of course, as they should be, but his presence didn’t seem to be making anyone nervous, and Martin was glad Henry could be incorporated into the festivities without a fuss.

Mr. Tim was at the head of the room and he lifted his chin and called, “Sir? May I have a word?”

Henry looked at Martin, then back at Mr. Tim. “Of course, Timothy.”

Martin said, “If it’s all right, Sir, I’ll just go say hello to Tom while you talk to Mr. Tim.”

“Sure,” Henry said. “Say hello to your guests.”

Henry cut through the crowd to a chorus of
Good evening, Sir
s. Martin got his own chorus—
Happy Birthday
—as he made his way toward Tom, who came to meet him.

Tom reached for Martin’s hand and squeezed it. “Happy Birthday, Martin.”

“I’m so glad you’re here! What an unexpected pleasure!”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Tom said cheerfully, and Martin felt a little guilty that he hadn’t even considered attending Tom’s birthday dinner back in November.

Tom glanced toward where Mr. Tim was speaking with Henry. “I’m surprised to see Mr. Blackwell here,” Tom said. “I’m happy for you, though. It means you’ve reconciled with him, I hope?”