A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (10 page)

“Of course not, Sir,” Martin agreed. “The only man I can imagine arguing with Mr. Tim is your father himself.”

“Well, then Timothy took me back upstairs, and I cried and sulked and was horrid to Nurse and Timothy both, but eventually I fell asleep.” Henry paused and sipped his punch. “So that was my first ball,” he said eventually. “And that was the last time I saw Reggie.” Henry tried to shake off the slight bitterness that accompanied his good memories of the Blackwell ball. The dancing taking place in front of him at this very moment was every bit as exciting, and now he was old enough to participate, if he could find a partner.

Martin leaned close. “When you’re an adult, Sir, you can have parties whenever you like.”

“We’ll have a ball every month,” Henry decided.

Louis was on the dance floor with one of his sister's friends in his arms. Louis seemed to be muscling his way through the dance, jaw clenched, hurling himself forward and dragging the girl in his wake. The girls must have felt obligated to dance with their hostess' brother because Louis had partner after partner despite his demonstrated lack of skill. Charles and Albert both took a few turns around the dance floor, as did some of the college boys, but most of the dancers were of the Briggs parents' generation.

“Did you want to dance, Sir?”

“What?”

“You're tapping your foot, Sir.” Martin pointed, smiling.

How wonderful it would be if he could dance with Martin! He'd get the opportunity in the spring, when they were rehearsing the quadrille for the Metropolitan Ball, but that would only be practice; the actual quadrille at the Ball would be danced with girls. He wished he could dance with Martin here and now, as real partners.

“You should dance, Sir,” Martin insisted. “Ask Miss Briggs, Sir; she's been catching her breath and I'm sure she's ready to go again.”

Louis’ older sister Susannah stood between two of her friends, their carefully coiffed heads inclining this way and that as they talked. Susannah was a beauty, despite what Louis thought. Like all of the Briggs children except for dark little Louis, she took after their mother, with honeyed hair and amber eyes, and she had a trim and graceful figure. Henry had danced with her when they were children, so the prospect wasn't too daunting.

He wasn't drunk, exactly, but the alcohol was making him confident. “All right. I will.” He took a step toward Susannah, then remembered. “Stay here, Martin, all right? Stay away from James.”

Martin grinned, happy that Henry was going to dance. “Yes, Sir. Have fun.”

Susannah didn't look
un
happy to see him approach, which seemed a good sign. It had been awhile since they'd spoken, perhaps; Susannah had to tilt her head to look up at him. “Oh, hello, Henry. I didn't know you were here.”

“I'm here,” Henry affirmed. “Hello, Susannah. Would you like to dance?”

Susannah thought on it a moment. “Hmm. If recollection serves me well, you're a decent enough dancer.”

“I believe so. I may be a bit rusty.”

“All right, then, I'll do it. Don't make me sorry I said yes!” She took Henry's arm and let him lead her to the floor.

They danced a fast waltz. Susannah was a good partner, responsive and quick. After that dance she said, “Another, then?” and so they did.

“You
are
good at this,” she said happily. “Say, Henry, won't you dance with my friend? Miss Blankenship, with the dark curls and purple dress. She's the only one of my friends who isn't getting married and she's feeling sorry for herself. Dancing with a handsome young man will make her feel better, I'm sure.”

Henry blushed at being described as “handsome” by this sisterly figure, but he liked the compliment well enough. “It’d be my pleasure. Take me to her and I'll ask.”

Miss Blankenship was agreeable, and Miss Curtis after her, and Miss Farnsworth after that. Henry escorted Miss Farnsworth off the floor to stand with Susannah and the others and looked for Martin in the crowd.

“Sir.” A hand tapping his shoulder. “I brought this for you.”

Henry turned around and Martin was there with a cup of cider.

“I thought it would be more refreshing than punch, Sir, but I can go back if you'd prefer—”

“Thank you, Martin. This is perfect.” He drained the cup and Martin immediately went for another.

For these older girls, Henry seemed to represent something less than a man, though more than a boy. They were not looking upon him as a potential suitor, but something akin to an opposite-sex companion, perhaps, and he was more than happy with that. He didn't want them flirting with him, making him uncomfortable. He just wanted to enjoy the dance.

Victor and Wendell approached, eyeing the women. Victor gave Henry a pleading smile. “Henry! Care to introduce us to your friends?”

Henry did not particularly want to mess up his platonic pleasures by introducing his friends' baser urges into the equation, but could see no way around it. He introduced the boys to the Misses Blankenship, Curtis and Farnsworth, and Wendell was successful in getting Miss Blankenship to agree to a dance. Victor didn't dare ask, merely chatting with the ladies a few minutes before turning to Henry.

“Thanks a lot, by the way,” Victor said with a hint of a sneer.

“For what?”

“All of our slaves had to have their fortunes told, thanks to you.”

Henry looked around, noticing that neither Will nor Ralph was anywhere near their masters.

“What's wrong with that?”

“You know how superstitious slaves are, Henry. They're all having fits now, thinking they're going to end up punished or dead. That gypsy takes her work way too seriously! I don’t know what she told Will, but he’s despondent and wants to be reassured now that I like him a little. What does he think, anyway? I wouldn’t have
bought
him if I didn’t like him!”

“I did think it was a little forbidding,” Henry admitted, the specter of his bad decision-making looming before him. “But you don’t know what she said? You didn’t go in with him?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” Victor said. “Now he won’t even tell me what question he asked. He’s practically too upset to talk. Really, Henry, if you’re going to do weird things with your slave, keep it between the two of you and try not to get the rest of our slaves interested.”

Freddie poked his head into the middle of their conversation. “Is this about the gypsy? Boy, Henry, I sure wish you hadn’t let Martin push Tom into getting his fortune told.”

Martin hadn’t
pushed
, Henry thought, but he let it pass. “Is Tom upset, too?”

“He’s
shaking
,” Freddie told him. “She told him that he’s going to be miserable, basically, and that he’s stuck in a terrible situation that he’ll never get out of…that’s
me
, isn’t it? And then she had the nerve to ask for a tip!” He shook his head, as if amazed at the gall of some people.

“Where are your slaves now?”

“They’re consoling each other in the game room,” Victor said. “Will was so nervous he was making
me
nervous. I’d rather be alone!”

Henry was tempted to send Martin to be with his friends and possibly help to calm them, but was afraid that James would find him wandering unprotected and take advantage. He turned and caught Martin’s eye; Martin gave him a weak smile, but was clearly affected by these stories of his friends’ distress.

Henry was opening his mouth to speak to Martin when Susannah approached with another of her friends in tow. “Henry, this is my friend Miss Hortensia Lee. Hortensia, this is Mr. Henry Blackwell, a friend of my family for many years now.”

Miss Lee was a black-haired girl with pretty blue eyes and a large mole by her nose, and of course Henry knew what Susannah wanted. “How nice to meet you, Miss Lee. Would you care to dance?”

“I'd be delighted, thank you, Mr. Blackwell.” She took his arm, and they were off.

Henry danced with every girl Susannah wanted him to dance with, and gradually more and more of his friends found their way to his side of the ballroom to talk to the young women, dance with them, or just be in their company. Although most of the boys remained annoyed with Henry over the gypsy situation, Henry was also inadvertently seen as suave by his classmates because of his ease with the ladies, which was certainly a nice side effect, though Henry was no more sophisticated than he'd ever been; he was simply not aroused to foolishness by the presence of women.

Henry sat out a dance so that he could catch his breath and found Martin waiting with a cup of cider and a cookie. While he ate and drank, Gordon caught sight of him and came hurrying over.

“Julian’s a mess, thanks to you,” Gordon told him irritably. “He’s all clumsy with nerves, and he spilled punch down the front of my jacket.” Gordon made an angry gesture towards the dark blotch along the front of his body. “He thinks he’s going to end up on the whipping post.”

“Well, tell him that’s not the case, then,” Henry said, also irritable. “It’s up to you to reassure him, isn’t it?”

Julian approached with a fresh cup of punch and a bereft expression and seemed very apologetic in offering the cup.

“Damn it, Julie, stop being scared of me,” Gordon snapped, frustrated.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Please, Sir—”

“Stop apologizing, Julie, please.” Gordon put his hand on Julian’s arm. “You’re not in trouble. I know it was an accident. Why would you have done it
on purpose
, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t have, Sir.” Julian shook his head adamantly.

“Here,” Gordon said, pushing the cup back into Julian’s hands. “
You
drink it. Maybe it’ll calm you down.”

“Yes, Sir.” Julian obediently sipped, keeping a wary eye on his master.

Through the crowd, Henry saw Charles with Simon, Charles’ arm around Simon’s shoulders, Charles whispering in Simon’s ear. Simon’s face was blotchy and red and it was clear he had been crying. Gordon went over and spoke with Charles and pointed at Henry, and Henry cringed.

“It isn’t fair you’re being blamed for what the gypsy told everyone, Sir,” Martin murmured. “If they didn’t want their slaves’ fortunes told, Sir, they shouldn’t have allowed it. I
am
worried about my friends, though. They’re all so unhappy!”

Charles came through the crush, towing Simon along by the wrist. “See here, Henry. See how upset he is?”

“Y-yes,” Henry admitted. “He looks very upset.” To Simon he said, “I’m sorry the fortune teller scared you. Was it really such bad news?”

Charles frowned and waved off Henry’s question. “He’s afraid of things changing,” Charles answered for him. “
Your
slave looks happy enough, though.”

Henry blushed, unsure of what he ought to say. He couldn’t help it that Martin wasn’t completely devastated by his fortune. Some of these other slaves were really being very silly. “She said that Martin’s fortune was good—for a
slave
fortune.”

Charles looked a little uncomfortable then. “Well, actually, she said the same thing about Simon, more or less.” He gave Simon a little nudge, “Buck up, will you, Si? See, Martin’s doing okay.”

Henry glanced at Martin, who clearly wanted to comfort his friend, and Henry gave him the nod to do so. Martin went to Simon’s side and began speaking to him in a low voice, an arm around his shoulders. Simon closed his eyes and listened, inclining his head in Martin’s direction.

“I forget how sensitive they can be to this kind of stuff,” Charles said. “I should have known better than to let him do it. It’s just that once they found out Martin had his fortune told, they all wanted to do it, too, and who wants to be the master who says no?”

“I really didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for everyone,” Henry said. “I just wanted to do something fun for Martin. I didn’t know it wouldn’t actually
be
fun!”

Albert approached, dragging Stuart behind him. “Tell him, Henry. Tell him the gypsy is a fake.”

“What?”

“It was
your
idea,” Albert pointed out. “It was your brilliant idea for slaves to have their fortunes told. He won’t listen to me, so tell him.”

Henry turned to Stuart. “I’m sorry that she scared you, Stuart. It’s just a game, you know; it’s not real. She can’t actually see your future.”

Stuart still did not look convinced, and it was possible that Henry was not being very convincing.

“You need to reassure him,” Henry insisted. “Why should Stuart trust me? You’re his master, after all.”

“Fine. I’m not going to have you whipped,” Albert said testily, giving Stuart’s shoulder a little shake. Stuart did not look convinced. “I
like
you, Stuart. You’re a
good
slave,” Albert tried, growing impatient.

“Are you promising me, Sir?” Stuart asked in a little voice. “Are you promising not to have me punished?”

“Well, don’t do anything I’d want to punish you for!” Albert said, reaching the end of his patience. “It’s as simple as that, Stuart. Just keep going as you’ve been going and we’ll be fine.”

Stuart’s eyes welled with tears and he made a high, mournful sound. Both Martin and Simon reached for him, pulling him into their huddle.

Albert shook his head at Henry, seriously annoyed. “Really, Henry, what were you thinking?”

“I guess I wasn’t,” Henry admitted. “I’m sorry, Albert. You’ve got to believe me that I’d never have done it if I’d known they’d all get so upset.”

“It really shows sometimes,” Albert said with a haughty sniff.

“What does?”

“That your family is new. Anyone else would have known better than to let slaves get their fortunes told.”

Henry bristled at this, but thought Albert was probably right.

Susannah brought another friend around for Henry to dance with, and he was grateful for the chance to get away from his blameful friends.

Henry danced enough to burn all the alcohol out of his system. Martin continued to supply him with cups of cider as he took breaks from the action. He leaned close as he handed Henry his cup and said, “You're a beautiful dancer, Sir,” and Henry flushed a deep crimson at the thought that Martin had admired something he'd done.

By midnight, Henry was pleasantly exhausted. Most of his friends were hopelessly inebriated or had slunk off with the college boys to swap slaves in the game room.