A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (21 page)

“No, it’s not.”

“Louis knows, too,” Henry said. “It was his brother who made us watch.”

“Then the three of us must be the only ones who know how horrible it is,” Joshua said. “Well, and Miles, too.” He was quiet a moment. “It’s all my fault. She’s going to have terrible scars.”

Henry did not know what to say to this. He agreed, after all: it was Joshua’s fault. He said nothing but stood at Joshua’s side until the bell.

After school, heading for the omnibus stop, Henry turned and asked the slaves, “How’s Miles doing?”

“He’s very upset, Sir,” Peter told him.

“He and Simon are close, Sir,” Martin said, “and Simon is trying very hard to help.”

“Miles thinks it’s his fault, Sir,” Peter said. “He thinks that if he’d tried harder to dissuade Mr. Brand he might have been successful.”

“So he thought it was a bad idea?” asked Louis.

“Oh, yes, Sir, of course!” Martin said. “Any slave would think it was a bad idea.”

“Except for this one girl,” Peter pointed out, then added, “Sirs.”

“He also thinks it’s his fault because maybe he wasn’t giving Mr. Brand enough satisfaction, Sir,” Martin said. “That he could have shown more enthusiasm or used better technique and this all might have been avoided.”

“You’ve all told him that he’s crazy, right?” Henry asked, looking back and forth between their faces. “It’s all Joshua’s fault, obviously!”

Martin and Peter did not look as sure.

“But maybe, Sir…” Peter suggested. “Maybe he
could
have done more.”

“Maybe he
could
have tried harder to convince Mr. Brand not to have sex with her, Sir,” Martin said.

“But it was all still Joshua’s decision,” Henry insisted. “Miles isn’t in control of Joshua.”

“I-if it was you, Sir,” Martin said, “I would have to try everything in my power to convince you not to make a mistake. If you make a mistake, Sir, then so do I.”

“It’s Miles’ fault, too, Sir,” Peter said earnestly. “And he feels terrible for the girl.”

“Well, of course he would,” Henry assured him. Their willingness to accept responsibility for a master’s errors was baffling. “But it wasn’t his fault.”

“I don’t know, Henry,” Louis said. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s a little bit Miles’ fault.”

Henry shook his head, a little disgusted with all of them. “How do you figure?”

Louis shrugged. “Martin’s right. They’re supposed to stop us from making mistakes.”

“They can’t actually do that, though. Could Peter seriously stop you from doing something stupid if you really wanted to do it?”

Louis didn’t bother to answer. The omnibus pulled up and they boarded.

They didn’t talk anymore about the whipping on the crowded omnibus, and Louis seemed to have lost interest in the subject when they got off at the stop near Henry’s house.

“Think about the dance hall, Henry. I know you don’t like that Miss Flannery, but there are loads of other pretty girls there, and I’m sure you’d be able to get one just as wild as Bridget if you’d only show up.”

“I’ll think about it,” Henry said, though he wouldn’t. They parted at Henry’s gate and Louis gave Henry a jaunty wave as he walked off.

They went inside and gave their coats to Paul.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” Paul said to Henry. He turned to Martin and said, “Cook asked me to tell you that she’s made cookies.”

“What kind?” Henry asked eagerly.

“I believe they’re peanut, Sir,” Paul told him. “I haven’t had any myself as yet.”

“Shall I go get you some, Sir, and meet you upstairs?” Martin asked.

“Yes, that sounds perfect,” Henry said happily. “Thank you for telling us, Paul.”

“You’re quite welcome, Sir.”

Henry went upstairs and shed his school jacket onto an armchair, then sprawled out on the bed awaiting his cookies.

Martin knocked, a light tap, before opening the door and slipping inside with a stacked plate. He grinned at Henry. “They
are
peanut, Henry. I ate one down in the kitchen and they’re delicious.”

Henry sat up. “Bring them over here, then!” He held out his hands, making grasping motions, excited for the treat.

Martin laughed at him but came to join him on the bed, setting the plate down between them.

The cookie was everything Henry could have hoped for, sweet and salty, crisp on the edges and chewy in the middle, and crunchy with chopped nuts. Henry ate it with his eyes closed and Martin laughed. Henry opened his eyes, wondering what was so funny.

“I love how much you love food, Henry.”

Henry felt like a simpleton, so easily pleased, and his face grew hot.

“Oh, please don’t be ashamed!” Martin begged, clearly sorry to have laughed. “You give yourself over to your pleasures with such abandon. I do love to see it.” He seemed very sincere, and Henry was somewhat mollified.

Henry took another cookie and Martin took one, too.

“Can I ask you something, Martin?”

“Of course.”

“This girl getting whipped…does it make you more afraid you’ll end up punished somehow?”

Martin frowned down at his half-eaten cookie. “Well…yes, it does. I worry that we’ll be caught doing all the things we aren’t supposed to do, that someone will walk in and find us kissing or, even worse, see you with my cock in your mouth. If Mr. Brand and his chambermaid hadn’t been seen, she wouldn’t have been punished, after all.”

“We always lock the door.”

“We
are
careful, Henry, but there’s always a chance.”

“I don’t think you’d be punished for any of that, anyway, Martin. It’s all
my
fault, after all.”

“That’s not true, though, Henry. I
want
to do it. I encourage you. I’m definitely responsible.”

“Well, can you at least agree that we’re both responsible, then? None of this would have started if I didn’t want you, you know.”

Martin shrugged assent, his mouth full of cookie.

“And you know I’m not going to do anything stupid for you to get blamed for, right? I’m not going to fuck a chambermaid. For one thing, they’re a bunch of
girls
, and they’re also older than me. Katie’s the youngest and she must be 18 or 19, right?”

“She’s 18.”

“Well, whatever,” Henry said, with an impatient wave of his hand. “I don’t want to have inappropriate relations with any of the other slaves in our house or any other house. And we’ll always lock the door.
Always
. I want to keep you safe, Martin. I want you to
feel
safe.”

“I just worry what your father would think if he found out. I worry about how mad he’d be. You see, Miles is lucky he wasn’t also whipped. Miles told us that Mr. Brand Senior was considering punishing him, too, because he didn’t stop your Mr. Brand from ending up in bed with the girl.”

Henry thought this was a completely perverse idea and was glad that Joshua’s father had reconsidered. “My father wouldn’t even think of it,” he said with confidence, though in truth it was just a feeling he had.

“But I’m betraying his trust,” Martin fretted, “every time I kiss you.”

“The way you’re talking now, it sounds like maybe you want a way out of our…our involvement. Our affair. Whatever you want to call it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back against the headboard glowering. “If you don’t want me anymore, just say so, Martin.”

Martin hurried to lean close, to put his hand on Henry’s arm. “No, please, that’s not it. How could you think that, Henry? I’d rather be whipped than give up what we have!”

“Don’t even talk like that,” Henry told him. “You’re never going to be whipped. I’d take you and run away before I’d let that happen.”

“But you might not have a say,” Martin said gently. “We’re just boys, after all, and decisions are made for us.”

Henry was perhaps giving himself more credit than he deserved when he told Martin that, “I’d figure something out. I’d never let you be punished.”

Martin crawled across the bed to sit beside Henry and put his head on his shoulder, and Henry slipped an arm around his back. “Everything’s going to be all right,” Henry said, inclining his head to kiss Martin’s hair. “We’re not going to be found out. No one will be punished.”

“You’ll protect me, Henry? You’ll keep me safe, like you said?”

“I will. I’ll do my best,” Henry promised, almost sure that his best would be enough.

Henry couldn’t be certain, of course, but it seemed likely that all of his friends, with their well-established families, had grown up with some knowledge of the existence of Hetaeria, even if they didn’t know it by that name. He wanted to ask what the others knew, to add to his own body of knowledge, but he hesitated to ask the group at large at school. He worried that such questions might make some of the snootier boys look down on him for being an ignorant nouveau riche upstart whose family didn’t know how to manage slaves, and, in the wake of the fortune-telling debacle, he didn’t want to give those boys any more ammunition.

It seemed best to just ask Louis, but, again, Henry didn’t want to ask in front of the slaves for fear of causing strife between Martin and Peter. Henry would have to wait for a moment alone with Louis, though those had been few and far between in the months since they’d gotten their slaves.

Wednesday after school, Louis invited himself into Henry’s house, Henry having mentioned that Martin had brought him some of the slaves’ sugar cookies as an after-school treat the afternoon prior.

“Our cook never makes cookies,” Louis complained. “You’re lucky. Be a good friend and share.”

“I can’t guarantee there’ll be any left,” Henry cautioned him. “There are a
lot
of people eating them, after all.”

Louis shrugged, unconcerned. “She’ll have made
something
,” he pointed out. “Whatever it is, I’ll eat it.”

They all handed their coats over to Paul in the front hall and then Martin led Peter down to the kitchen in search of baked goods while Henry and Louis climbed the stairs to Henry’s room. Halfway up the staircase, Henry realized he had found his opportunity.

“So, Louis, I was wondering…” he began, his hand on the doorknob to his bedroom. “Do you know anything about the slaves’ beliefs? I guess it’s not exactly a religion, but—”

Louis rolled his eyes and interrupted him. “Oh, all those superstitions and the weird things they do,” he said, passing through the doorway. “Yeah, of course I know about it. Everyone knows about it.” He looked at Henry, remembering who he was talking to. “Oh, you’re just learning about it?”

“Yeah,” Henry admitted. “I found out because of Martin, of course. He showed me some of his talismans—”

“It’s harmless,” Louis said with a shrug of disinterest. “Just ignore it like everyone else does.”

“Well, see, I don’t
want
to ignore it,” Henry said insistently. “I think it’s interesting.”

Louis cast a doubtful eye on his friend. “It’s just nonsense, though, Henry. It’s okay if they want to believe crazy things so long as it doesn’t interfere with doing their work, or at least that’s what my dad says.”

Clearly, Louis was not of like mind with Henry on this topic, but Henry forged on regardless. “I think it’s nice how they look out for each other, and how their friendships are so important. Some of the talismans are really beautiful, too. Have you seen any of Peter’s?”

“I don’t talk to Peter about any of that,” Louis said firmly. “The talismans are kind of witchy. They give me the creeps.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Why are you interested, anyway?”

Henry heard footsteps in the hall and, rather disappointed in Louis’ response, decided to drop the subject. Martin and Peter entered, each with a tray, Martin carrying glasses of milk and Peter bearing generous squares of banana cake with vanilla icing. They all sat down on the floor before the fire and ate.

“This isn’t even your family’s dessert, is it?” Louis asked. “This is what your
slaves
get.”

“Well, the slaves and me,” Henry said, taking another bite of cake. “My parents want fancier cakes for our dessert.”

“You’re spoiled,” Louis said, a hint of envy in his tone. “Peter, do you even get desserts?”

“Not like this, Sir.” Peter smiled at Martin. “The slaves here are lucky.”

Henry ate his cake and wished he could talk to the slaves about Hetaeria alone, without Louis listening in and disapproving. He wondered if maybe he could go down to the slaves’ mess sometime—during their dinner, maybe—and ask them questions, but feared that his continued prying might get some of the others upset with Martin all over again. He was curious about so many things, though! He wondered about spells and curses, and whether slaves often tried spells on masters. He wondered if other masters were as interested as he was, or if they even participated. He thought of his poppet and wondered if slaves often made talismans for their masters.

Louis snapped his fingers under Henry’s nose. “Henry! Where are you, Henry?”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Henry felt heat rise from under his collar to wash over his face. “My mind was wandering, I guess.”

Martin looked at him quizzically, fork in his mouth, and made such an adorable picture that Henry felt bashful, his face growing even hotter.