A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (54 page)

They quickly dressed and left for the stables immediately afterward. On the walk over, they talked no more of jealousy. Martin was in high spirits, excited to have his very own horse.

“I had to share Bonnie with another boy, a butler-in-training, you see, Sir, and there were some little ones who rode her as well, although she was quite ill-tempered and not very good with children. I never imagined I would have a horse all to myself, Sir, and I never imagined I’d have such a
good
horse.”

“Of course you have to have a good horse, Martin; she needs to keep up with Marigold. We’ll go riding a lot,” Henry told him. “We’ll take her out just as soon as Jerry says she’s ready.”

Partita was as pretty a horse as Henry remembered, and Martin seemed delighted with her anew. He went into the stall with her and petted her all over, feeding her bits of carrot and whispering in her ears. The stable slaves were all excited, as well; she was felt to be a very fine horse, every bit the equal of the family’s own horses. Arthur, the younger of the Blackwells’ two grooms, was to be her caretaker on a daily basis, and he was delighted with her, easily as excited about her presence in the stables as Martin was.

Martin took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and set about brushing Partita down under Jerry’s supervision. Arthur stood by watching, as well, arms crossed over his chest. Martin did not seem to resent the scrutiny, though Henry felt that in his place he would have felt a little insulted—which was laughable, since Henry actually would have no business trying to groom a horse and would very much need guidance from the slaves. It was good, though, that Jerry felt so possessive of and interested in the animals under his care, and Martin, who appeared quite competent to Henry’s eyes, seemed grateful for Jerry’s tutelage.

Henry slipped into Marigold’s stall next door and fed her some carrots and spoke quietly to her about how they’d go for a ride tomorrow if Jerry agreed Partita was sufficiently settled and could be ridden.

They stayed at the stables until near time for the slaves’ dinner back at the Blackwell house. Jerry intended to stay in the stables with Partita, keeping an eye on her while she acclimated, but Arthur walked to the house with them. Arthur had a great many things to say about Partita and directed his remarks mostly to Martin, which made Henry feel somewhat left out.

At the house, the slaves went directly down for their meal and Henry went up to his room alone. He languished there, impatient and full of longing, waiting for Martin to join him. He thought about Martin’s jealousy and, although he had not enjoyed the behavior, he did like that Martin felt possessive of him, that Martin felt a little ownership. He could think of nothing he’d like more than to really belong to his beautiful boy, for both of them to feel that to be the truth.

Martin returned to dress him, still excited about Partita and even more affectionate than usual. He put Henry’s cufflinks into his cuffs and kissed his hands, every one of his fingertips and his ticklish palms, and Henry buried his hands in Martin’s hair, the skin of his fingers still tingling from the touch of Martin’s lips, and drew him close for a deep, passionate kiss.

Martin broke away, shaky and breathing hard. “I wish we could be bad, Sir. I wish I could make you late.”

“So do it,” Henry suggested eagerly. “Make me late.”

“Mr. Tim would have my hide, Sir,” Martin said, shaking his head regretfully. “But when we’re adults, Sir, when you have your own household, we’ll be late whenever we want.”

Henry made it downstairs in ample time, his cock only half-hard at the memory of Martin’s mouth on his own. Dinner was uneventful, although Father did acknowledge Partita’s arrival.

“Your Martin’s horse arrived today, yes?”

“Yes, sir. She’s settling in and we’ll go riding tomorrow. I really do appreciate you getting her for Martin, sir. He’s very happy with her.”

Father directed his next words above Henry’s head. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes, Sir. I’m
very
pleased with her, Sir,” Martin assured him.

Turning his attention back to Henry, Father said, “That’s a very expensive horse, son. Show your appreciation by riding, why don’t you? That’s what horses are for.”

“Yes, sir. Of course we will.”

After the meal, the family went upstairs and settled in the parlor. On Sunday, Mother had not come down to dinner and so there had been no reading, but tonight Pearl picked up
Cherie
and opened its covers, clearing her throat with a look of determination, as if she were steeling herself to get through the chapter. Whether of his own volition or on Timothy’s recommendation, tonight Father paid attention to the reading. Poor chambermaid Cherie’s breasts were being fondled by her master’s rake of a son.

“What
is
this?” Father demanded, interrupting Pearl. “What is this filth?”

Pearl colored and lowered her head, ashamed. “Th-this is Mrs. Blackwell’s selection, Sir—”

“Louisa, what are you
thinking
?”

Mother bestirred herself, her eyes unfocused and movements groggy. “Hiram?”

“This book is being read to your
son
, Louisa. Do you actually think this is appropriate? Good god, woman, have you become completely unhinged?”

Mother struggled to sit up very straight. “I’ll thank you kindly not to speak to me in such a way! Haranguing me in front of Henry!”

Henry wished very much that he could leave the room. He didn’t like being the object of both parents’ arguments at all.

“This stops now,” Father said. “Pearl, you’ll choose a new book. One that you can read without embarrassment. That one should be burned.” He stood and turned to Timothy. “We’ll go downstairs directly.” To Henry, he said, “You’ll have to entertain yourself tonight, son.”

“Goodnight Father.” Henry stood as his father left the room. “Goodnight, Mother.” Mother said nothing in reply, and he could not be sure she had heard him.

Although his parents’ clash had been unpleasant to witness, Henry was happy to have the rest of the evening to spend in privacy with Martin.

Martin hung up Henry’s dinner jacket. “Do you want to talk about what happened, Sir?”

Henry didn’t really want to, but perhaps Martin did. “It was a stupid book,” Henry said. “I can’t imagine what my mother was thinking.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat and handed it to Martin.

“Do you think, Sir,” Martin offered tentatively, “that Miss Pearl might have said something to your mother earlier? Before she started reading the book, even?”

“What do you mean?” Henry held his arms out for Martin to remove his cufflinks.

“Just that Miss Pearl surely knew what a terrible book it was and could have tried to dissuade Mrs. Blackwell from choosing that one.” He hesitated, lip caught between his teeth. “It’s just—if I thought you were making a terrible choice, Sir, it would be my duty to try to help you make a different one.”

Henry felt a little defensive on behalf of Pearl, who he had loved all his life, and was prepared to simply tell Martin he was wrong, but made himself think on it a moment longer. It was true that Pearl never stood up to Mother, and it was also true that Mother was usually in no condition to make decisions, good or bad.

“I suppose,” Henry agreed reluctantly, although he did not really want to grant Martin license to second-guess him. “It certainly would have saved us all a lot of embarrassment if she had intervened.”

“Offering counsel
is
one of a companion’s jobs, you know, Sir, but I can’t really blame Miss Pearl. It’s hard to stand up to a master, after all.”

“I’ll just have to try not to make stupid decisions, then,” Henry told him. “I simply won’t put you in the position of having to stand up to me.” He blushed a little, thinking of his ill-advised drunkenness at James’ party.

Martin said, “I’m sure you’ll do your best, Sir,” and Henry suspected he was thinking of the same thing.

Henry got into bed naked while Martin dealt with the laundry. When Martin returned, he stripped off his pajamas and climbed on top of Henry, petting and kissing him, so flatteringly expressive of his fondness. Having a boy,
this
boy in particular, be so enamored of him was Henry’s dream come true and he reveled in it, abandoning himself utterly to the joy of it.

“Tell me again, Sir,” Martin breathed, rocking his hips as he rode Henry’s cock. “Tell me that I’m the only one for you.”

Henry shuddered, his hands clamped on Martin’s thighs. “It’s you, Martin, I swear. It’s only you.” When he came, it was with the conviction that Martin was singular, unique, one of a kind, and the only one for Henry. Upon hearing Henry’s cries, Martin came, too, gasping Henry’s name and spurting hot spunk onto his belly.

Martin folded over into Henry’s embrace. “I’m sorry I was so bad today, Sir,” he whispered. “I’m going to be a good slave for you, Sir, I promise. I’m going to deserve all the good things you’ve given me.”

Henry ran his hands over Martin’s back, his shoulder blades and his ribs. “You’re already the
best
slave,” he insisted. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

After Martin cleaned them both up, he got back into bed and curled against Henry’s side. He fell asleep quickly, his breath moist against Henry’s skin. Henry lay awake awhile longer, stroking Martin’s hair and considering his own good fortune. As vexing as it had been, Martin’s jealousy
meant
something. The tender feelings weren’t all on Henry’s side. He slept and dreamed that he offered handfuls of lemon drops to the horses while Martin, nude and beautifully erect, read to them from
Cherie
.

Tuesday they hurried home after school, turning down an invitation from Louis to go to the arcade, so that they might go riding. They wore nearly identical costumes but for the collar on Henry’s shirt and his striped tie. Each wore a Norfolk jacket, waistcoat, and riding breeches all in fine black wool, along with paddock boots and gaiters in sturdy black leather.

“You’re very handsome, Sir,” Martin remarked. He straightened Henry’s tie and gave him a finalizing pat.

“So are you.” Henry gave him a quick kiss.

They walked over to the stables where Jerry had two saddles for Martin to try. The first was put on Partita’s back and Martin mounted her. Jerry fussed about, adjusting straps and stirrup length until he was satisfied.

“This seems fine to me, Jerry,” Martin told him. “A good fit, I think.”

Jerry frowned, unconvinced. “We’ll try the other anyway,” he said.

They did, proving that the first one had been best. While Martin was slowly riding Partita up and down the street in front of the stables, Marigold was saddled and brought out for Henry.

“Shall we go, then?” Henry asked from atop Marigold’s back.

“Please, Sir,” Martin said happily. They wheeled around and rode west, toward the entrance to the park.

Jerry had cautioned them that Partita was unused to city traffic but thankfully she didn’t seem bothered by either carriage or omnibus, nor was she unduly startled by any of the many pedestrians whose paths they crossed. They entered the park at the usual corner and made their way west on the bridle trail at an easy pace.

“How is she?” Henry asked.

“Lovely, Sir.” Martin leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck. “You should try her.”

“Not today,” Henry said. “Another time. You enjoy her today.” For his largesse, he was rewarded with a brilliant, grateful smile. Henry thought a moment about what the horse might mean for their social life. “I know Peter doesn’t have a horse and never will, thanks to Louis, but what about the rest? Do your friends have horses?”

“Some of them do, Sir, but not all, and none have a horse like this!” Partita received another affectionate pat. “She’s really special, Sir, I don’t think you realize.”

It was only what Martin deserved, Henry thought. “Let’s speed up,” he suggested, and gave Marigold’s sides a squeeze with his knees.

They put Partita through her paces: trot, canter and, lastly, a wild gallop around the top of the reservoir, Martin whooping with glee. In the doing, he lost his hair tie and his hair fell all about his shoulders in a tangle, and Henry wanted very much to kiss him. He brought Marigold close enough that his leg rubbed against Martin’s gaiter-clad shin and told him how he felt. “The way you look right now, Martin, how happy you are…I wish I could kiss you.”

Martin looked very pleased but shook his head. “You know you can’t, Sir.”

“It’s a big park,” Henry pointed out. “I’ll bet we could find someplace private enough.”

Martin rolled his eyes and gave his head another doubtful shake. “Not today, Sir. We can’t go poking about in the forest. This is only her first day out. I don’t want to stress her.”

“I guess Jerry would kill you if you did anything to upset that horse,” Henry said, laughing. “I always feel like I’m borrowing Marigold from him, and that he lends her only grudgingly.”

“He’s very devoted to the animals. Everyone in the stables is, Sir.”

“Better than the alternative, I suppose. Shall we head back?” Henry nudged Marigold into a trot and Martin followed close behind.