A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (20 page)

Family hour was spent with Pearl reading selections from various of the magazines that Mother took. Pearl seemed wary of choosing the wrong thing to read and had yet to commit to a book in the two weeks since being told to burn
Cherie
. They heard an essay about bird-watching, a poem about the glories of farm life, and a dialogue between husband and wife that was meant to be humorous but was instead a little embarrassing. Henry sighed and tried not to fidget, hoping each reading would be the last of the evening.

Finally given his leave, after a last article regarding the participation of women competitors in the recent summer Olympics, Henry kissed his mother’s cheek and hurried back to his room. Martin undressed him and took their laundry downstairs and returned with a small cigar box that he’d obtained from Dora. Henry put his poppet in the box and Martin seemed to finally be at ease about the disposition of the talisman.

“My ass is a little tender, Sir,” Martin said, “Is it all right if we don’t make love again tonight?”

Henry suspected Martin was actually more uncomfortable than merely tender; he rarely asked to be exempt from sex. “Of course it’s fine. I’m tired out anyway.” Henry drew him close and kissed the side of his head.

“I could suck your cock if you’d like, Sir.”

Henry shook his head and drew Martin closer. “I don’t need you to do that. But Martin—” he didn’t know how to put this exactly “—there’s something you can do for me.”

“Of course, Sir. What is it?”

“I don’t want you to call me sir anymore, at least not when we’re alone. I’ve asked you before, and I know you forget, but please
try
to remember. It’s important to me.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Si—
Henry
. I will try harder, I promise.”

“I want you to talk to me like you’d talk to Billy or…or Tom, or Peter. You don’t even need to use my name. Just talk to me like one boy to another, please.”

“I’m sorry, Henry. My training—”

“I know it’s what you’re supposed to do, Martin, but, well…it hurts my feelings. I feel this closeness with you, but you’re so formal with me.”

This information seemed distressing to Martin. “I’m so sorry, Henry! It’s not like that at all! I also feel very close to you!” He looked up at Henry with an expression of earnest concern. “I-if you want me to speak to you without honorifics…I-I’ll try to remember. I’ll try very hard. I want to make you happy, Henry, more than anything!”

Henry kissed his forehead, pleased. “It’ll make me happy, I promise.”

“But outside of your bedroom…I should still call you Sir, don’t you think?”

Henry had to concede this was wisest. “Yes, I suppose that would be best. We’ll keep it just between us.”

“Henry? W-would you be a little patient with me? Until I get used to doing it your way?”

“Of course.” Henry kissed him again and was gratified when Martin nestled closer still. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“I want to make you happy,” Martin repeated, the Sir almost audible but left unsaid, and Henry appreciated Martin’s effort.

He suddenly remembered something. “Hey. Louis and the rest of my friends are going to that dance hall tonight, and maybe some of your friends are going, too.”

“Did you change your mind,
Si
—?” Martin caught himself before sounding the ‘r.’ “Did you want to go after all?”

Henry laughed. “No. Not at all. I’ll just be interested to know how it went.”

Martin seemed as though he was about to speak and Henry waited expectantly, but then Martin said nothing.

“What were you going to say?”

“Oh…”

“Just tell me.”

“I was just thinking…Mr. Brand’s chambermaid was punished today. We were all talking about it in school yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right. That’s really too bad.” Henry did not like to think about punishment. “Let’s think about something else,” He ran his hands over Martin’s smooth, unscarred back and fell asleep to jumbled thoughts of poppets and talismans and slick spendings glistening on Martin’s skin.

On Sunday, Martin woke Henry with a simple, “Good morning,” and Henry, delighted, pulled him into the bed and entreated him to speak extemporaneously, to say anything at all so long as he voiced no honorifics. Laughing, Martin speculated haltingly about their friends’ visit to the working-class dance hall the prior evening, with frequent glances at Henry’s face, as if to ascertain whether Henry was still enjoying the informal speech.

“Do you think,” he asked, eyeing Henry, “that Mr. Briggs would fare better if he didn’t dance? I couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Briggs is not a very graceful dancer.”

Henry recalled the grim spectacle of Louis hauling his sister’s friends around the Briggs ballroom.

“Not at all like you, Si—” Martin stopped himself. “Not like you. You’re very elegant.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Henry told him. He also liked that Martin would share this criticism of Louis. It bespoke trust.

Henry’s fingers went to the placket of Martin’s trousers.

“Your breakfast is waiting,” Martin said, though he didn’t attempt to stay Henry’s hands.

“It can wait a little longer.”

“You dislike cold eggs,” Martin reminded him, though he shifted to make it easier for Henry to take hold of his cock.

“I’ll bet you can come fast,” Henry suggested. “They won’t get too cold if you come fast.” He got up on his knees, got in position. “Keep talking, all right?” He bent over Martin’s cock, licked the head.

Martin did as Henry asked, though his conversation lacked coherence. He frequently lost the thread and was eventually reduced to saying nothing but Henry’s name over and over again. Henry was pleased because Martin had said all of it without voicing a single ‘sir.’

He went down to breakfast with the taste of Martin still in the back of his throat and ate his lukewarm eggs without complaint.

Louis invited Henry over after lunch and so he and Martin went, carrying umbrellas because it looked as though it might rain.

Louis was in a state of happy agitation. He and Miss O’Malley had had a wonderful time.

“I know she’s not pretty,” Louis said, “But I don’t mind at all. She likes me so much, Henry! Even surrounded by better-looking boys, she still only has eyes for me! She thinks I’m funny!” Louis was in raptures.

“I’m happy for you,” Henry said quite genuinely.

“We didn’t even dance,” Louis said happily. “We just stood in a corner and necked. She says that if I get a rubber, she’ll let me put it in.”

“Wow.” Henry was impressed. He had known Miss O’Malley was fast, but this was lightning speed! “Are you going to do it?”

“
Of course!
” Louis said, nearly shouting. “Why
wouldn’t
I? I’m going back next week. We all are, I think. Everyone had a good time, even the slaves.”

“Did everyone’s slaves go, too, then?”

“About half did. There were plenty of other slaves there for them to dance with. Next time, all the slaves will go, I think.”

“Was there any trouble?” Henry knew that his threshold for trouble was much lower than Louis’ and it would be easy for Louis to overlook or omit incidents that would seem significant to Henry. “Any fights?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, Ralph got into a punch-up with some other slave over a girl they both wanted to dance with, but otherwise everything went pretty smoothly. None of
us
had any trouble. By the way, your Miss Flannery didn’t miss you at all.”

“Oh?” Henry had forgotten all about Miss Flannery.

“She has some working-class beau who must be at least 20 years old and pretty handsome, too. She said to say hello to you, though.”

“That was nice of her,” Henry said. “If you see her again, give her my regards.”

“Sure,” Louis said, “If I remember. I might be busy with
my
Bridget and have my mind on other things.” He elbowed Henry and grinned. “By this time next week, I’ll have had sex, Henry! Can you believe it?”

“I guess so,” Henry said. “I mean, why not?” He really didn’t want to think too long on sex with a woman, but knew he should feign interest because a normal boy would do so. A normal boy would be jealous of Louis with his working-class tart. “Do you have a rubber already?”

“I can get one,” Louis said confidently. “There might even be one in James’ room if I just dig around a little.”

They discussed it further, whether Louis could just walk into a pharmacy and buy a rubber, or whether it might be better for Peter, who looked older, to do it for him. Louis suggested that Henry might do it, but Henry turned beet red and adamantly denied that such a thing would be possible. Louis conceded that Henry’s nervous blushing would negate any advantages conferred by his adult appearance.

They all four played poker for a couple of hours while Louis continued to dole out tidbits about the dance hall and the band that played there. Henry was tempted to ask Louis about slave beliefs, about Hetaeria and what he knew about it, but he didn’t want to ask in front of Peter and potentially have another slave upset with Martin. Eventually, it was time for Peter’s dinner and nearly time for Martin’s, so they took their leave.

“Congratulations,” Henry said to Louis, offering his hand while Patrick stood in readiness to open the door.

Louis took it with a broad grin. “Save it for next week.”

On Monday, Joshua was subdued and listless. He’d indeed been to see his chambermaid whipped on Saturday, and he seemed to have learned his lesson. He was tight-lipped before the first bell, but between Mr. Cobb’s and Mr. Granger’s classes, boys gathered around Joshua’s desk pressing for details.

Joshua looked around at the circle of his friends with tired, sad eyes and said, “What are you so excited about? It was
horrible
. It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I wasn’t even the one being punished.” He then put his head down on his desk and ignored all further questions, and kept his head down even as Mr. Granger came in and began his lecture.

At the lunch break, the slaves huddled around Miles, who had also had to witness the girl’s punishment. Whatever Miles told them affected them greatly. The slaves were always very physical with one another, especially when they were emotional, and now they touched one another to offer comfort. Martin held tightly to Tom’s hand, his other arm around Simon’s shoulders, and their faces were drawn and pale. Miles, at the center of a circle of his friends, appeared to be in tears.

Joshua had just finished yelling at Philip to leave him alone, but Henry felt compelled to approach him anyway, even though they weren’t close friends. Joshua leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at Henry as he came close.

“What do
you
want?”

Henry blushed and tentatively offered, “I-I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For you and Miles and the girl. I’m sorry it all turned out this way.”

Joshua’s jaw seemed to unclench a little. “Thank you,” he said.

“I’ve also seen slaves whipped,” Henry told him. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to me, too. It’s not just some wild story to tell your friends.”