A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (53 page)

Alex was still haranguing Martin, his expression gleefully
mean. “You’ve got no right to act so stuck-up when your master is just some
know-nothing new-money trash. Your people are nothing but—”

David said, “Oh, Jesus Christ,” and wheeled his horse
around. “Alex…”

Martin looked furious, his lips pressed in a bloodless line
and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Shut up,” he snapped. “Shut your
fucking mouth.”

Henry reined Marigold to a halt, surprised at Martin’s
vehemence. He had never heard Martin use ‘fuck’ in that way before, had never
heard him use it to
curse
.

In a cold, tight voice, Martin said, “
Don’t
you talk
that way about Mr. Blackwell or his family.”

David said, “Alex, shut up. Leave Martin alone.” He reached
out and took Alex’s arm and gave him a firm shake. Alex threw off David’s hand
but stopped talking.

David turned to Henry. “Sorry about that.” He conferred a
moment with Alex in low voices, and it was plain from the way Alex was waving
his hands around that he was still crackling with contrary energy.

Martin seemed very angry still, and Henry wanted to go to
him, and he knew he should do so for the sake of appearances, but he didn’t
know what to say. He wasn’t so sure Alex was wrong, after all. He walked
Marigold back towards the slaves and Martin saw him coming and brought Partita
forward so that they met in the middle.

They sat on their horses without speaking for a few seconds,
and at last Henry cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

Martin seemed annoyed and kept his eyes averted when he
said, “Of course I’m all right, Sir. It was just words from someone whose
opinion doesn’t matter.”

“He upset you, though.”

“I should be in better control of myself, Sir.” Martin
shrugged, still seething.

“Well, thank you for sticking up for me,” Henry tried.

Martin’s eyes flicked to Henry’s face. “I would do
anything
for you, Sir. You know this.” Martin seemed angrier still, and Henry felt quite
sure that Martin was now mad at him as well as Alex.

David had finished his conversation with Alex. Sounding
disheartened, he turned to his friends and said, “Fellows, I think it’s better
if Alex and I just go now.”

Smirking Alex looked as though he was getting exactly what
he wanted.

“This isn’t acceptable behavior,” Daniel said. “You know
that, David.”

“Do what your father wants,” Victor said, frowning at Alex.
“It’ll be better in the long run.”

David did not reply, but merely raised a hand in a backward
wave as he rode away down the path with Alex at his side.

“Why is he even hesitating to return him to Nereus?” Daniel
asked, shaking his head.

“Seriously,” Victor said. “How can he have any sort of
feelings for that crazy brat?”

“Seriously,” Henry echoed, though in fact he could imagine
that David might feel very deeply for Alex, and that no matter how Alex
disappointed him, he might still long for his companionship.

They got in a good gallop around the top of the reservoir
and then made their leisurely way back to the park gates. They all said their
goodbyes at the street where the Blackwells had their stables, and Henry and
Martin delivered their horses into the care of the grooms.

They were walking back toward home in a tense silence when
Martin asked, “Are you going to return
me
, Sir?” in a low, worried tone.

“What? No! Why would you think that?” He knew the answer,
though.

Martin said nothing for several long seconds. He kept his
head down as he said, “Mr. Maxwell is unhappy with Alex, Sir, and you’re
unhappy with me.”

“It’s not the same.” Henry shook his head. “Alex is crazy,
and you’re…” He didn’t know what Martin was. He didn’t know what he thought
Martin’s problem might be. He wasn’t sorry enough. He didn’t love Henry enough.
He didn’t trust Henry enough. Whatever Martin’s problem was, though, Henry no
longer wanted to be rid of him over it.

“It’s not the same,” Henry said again.

They were silent for the rest of the walk home.

“Rise and shine, Sir.”

Martin said it in such a soft voice, barely a whisper, that
Henry almost didn’t hear it. He’d thought he hadn’t heard it since they’d been
brought home from the Calamus, but perhaps that was only because he hadn’t been
listening hard enough. It reminded him of so many good mornings, days when he’d
pulled Martin down into the bed with him and ravished him, and the memories
made him smile—at least at first.

He went down to breakfast and found Mother having tea in the
breakfast room. She smiled when they came in, and Henry was amazed anew at the
transformation the promised return of Reggie had wrought, at the charm and
liveliness of her expression.

“Good morning, darlings,” she said. “Be sure to have a
scone, Henry. They’re absolutely scrumptious.”

Since shortly after including Martin in the party planning,
Mother had also begun including him in the list of people she called ‘darling,’
and Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He could understand the urge to
call Martin something sweet, though he’d never done so. He’d never had a pet
name for Martin, unless calling him Mr. Durant counted.

While Martin prepared Henry’s plate, Mother had a progress
report about the party Saturday. They’d hired a band recommended by Martin’s
violin teacher and they’d had the piano tuner in to see to the Blackwell
instrument so that all would be in readiness.

“I understand your Martin is a wonderful musician, darling,”
Mother said. “His teacher, Mr. Jackson, gives him such high marks. You should
have him play for the family, Henry; I’m sure we’d all enjoy it.”

Henry shrugged as he chewed and swallowed a mouthful of
potato hash. “If you’d like. He can play anytime you want.”

“Very well,” Mother said happily. “Martin, darling, what
about after dinner tonight? During the family hour?”

“Yes, of course, Ma’am. That would be fine. Is there
anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

“You choose, darling. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“As you wish, Ma’am.” Martin was smiling when he brought
Henry his plate, then returned to the sideboard to prepare his coffee.

As Henry began to eat, Mother said, “Pearl tells me that
your cousin is coming for lunch today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I so wish you and Jesse had grown up together.” Mother
sighed. “Well, you’re friends now, and I suppose that’s what matters.”

Henry also wished they had grown up together. He wished
Mother had stood up to Father more and insisted on letting Henry know the
Wiltons better. He also wished he’d known how easy it was going to be to get
Father to let him have the Wiltons, that all he’d needed to do was let Father
see that he wanted them. He hated to admit it, but his formidable father might
be…kind?

“Yes,” Henry agreed. “That’s all that matters.”

For the hours between breakfast and lunch, Henry lolled on
his bed and read and daydreamed and listened to Martin play his violin. He was
playing dance tunes, probably trying out music to play for Mother after dinner.
Henry hoped that he would reserve the partita—or at least the
chaconne
—for
Henry, but he wasn’t willing to ask that he do so for fear of revealing how
much the music meant to him.

At quarter to twelve, Martin stopped playing, and Henry
heard the latches of his violin case click as he put the instrument away. A few
moments later, Martin appeared in the doorway.

“Sir? May I tidy your room before your cousin arrives?”

“Oh, er, of course. Go ahead.”

Henry pretended to be reading his book, but secretly he was
watching Martin bustle about the room nudging objects into position and
clearing off surfaces. The maids kept everything scrupulously clean, so there
really wasn’t anything for Martin to do, but Henry understood that going
through the motions made him feel better.

“Is there anything I might do for you before Mr. Wilton
arrives, Sir?” Martin stood at the bedside, his hands behind his back, head
cocked.

Henry blushed to think what Martin might be offering. “No.
Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Very well, Sir. I’ll just be in my room until I’m needed.”

Henry was tempted to call him back, to coax him to sit on
the bed within arm’s reach so that Henry might look at him, and might even dare
to touch his hand. It was horrible that he’d once had such freedom to touch
Martin’s body and now had nothing, nothing at all. But Martin turned and
retreated into his own room, and Henry did nothing to stop him.

There was a knock at the door and Martin hurried to answer
it. Billy said, “Mr. Wilton is here for Mr. Blackwell. Shall I bring him up?”

Martin looked at Henry for confirmation, and Henry gave him
a nod. “Yes, please. Thank you, Billy.”

A few minutes later, lively voices could be heard in the
hall and Billy knocked again. Martin opened the door to Jesse and Russ
chattering excitedly.

“Mr. Wilton is here for Mr. Blackwell,” Billy said quite
unnecessarily.

Henry got up from the bed and tugged his clothing into
place.

“Henry!” Jesse quickly crossed the room and enveloped Henry
in a hug, and Henry watched over Jesse’s shoulder as Russ and Martin exchanged
a similarly warm greeting.

“Your house is so big! I’ve been by it so many times, of course,
but it seems even bigger on the inside.”

“It
is
big,” Henry agreed, embarrassed by the excess.

“I can see why Reggie wants to redecorate your room,
though,” Jesse said, looking around Henry’s room with an assessing eye. “It’s a
bit old-timey, isn’t it?”

Henry didn’t think his room was
that
bad. “My mother
just had a bunch of the downstairs rooms redecorated for the party,” Henry told
him. “The last time anything else was decorated around here was before I was
born.”

“You should show me the whole house,” Jesse said excitedly.
“How many rooms are there, anyway?”

Henry blinked. “I…I don’t know.” He’d never even wondered.

“Say,” Jesse said. “What happened to Martin’s hair? It
looked so nice long.”

“Oh.” Henry felt the heat rise up from his collar to color his
face. “I had it cut.”

“Well, obviously!” Jesse laughed. “But
why
?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Henry mumbled, averting his blushing
face. He should have anticipated this line of questioning. Despite his resolve
and sense of relief at the idea of confessing everything to Jesse just a few
days prior, he now found he was wavering on the point of whether or not to tell
Jesse anything after all. “Are you hungry? I can show you around after we eat.”

They went down to the breakfast room and found that Cook had
sent up six kinds of sandwiches, potato salad, ambrosia salad, raspberry
lemonade and a strawberry layer cake.

“This looks amazing!” Jesse was full of enthusiasm and
turned to Henry, excited and avid. “Where do you want us to sit?”

“Uh…” Henry hadn’t thought this through. Jesse was going to
want to let Russ sit down at the table with him, and he would expect Henry—as
originator of this trend—to do the same with Martin. “You can sit there,” Henry
said, pointing. “Right across from me. That’s where my mother usually sits. And
you—” he turned to Martin and gave him a significant look “—will sit where you
always do.”

Martin beamed at him. “Yes, Sir. Of course. May I prepare a
plate for you?”

The slaves brought plates to their masters and then got food
for themselves. It was wonderful to be sitting beside Martin again, even if it
was a lie of sorts.

Jesse ate enthusiastically, as well. “This is really good,”
he said, holding up a forkful of potato salad. “Tangy dressing.” He chewed it
and swallowed and said, “I’ve always wondered about your house, you know. I’ve
wondered what sort of food you ate. I’ve always been curious about you.”

“Why?” Henry did not think he was terribly interesting. In
fact, he knew he was not.

“You were mysterious. I only saw you once a year, and you
were so aloof.”

“I’m shy,” Henry insisted. “I’m not
aloof
.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, Henry.” Jesse ate a bite of
ambrosia salad. “Mmm…this is so good. Anyway, I’ve always known that your
family is very rich, and I imagined you lived a really opulent life. I passed
this house every day going to and from school, and it always looked like a
forbidding castle, and so that made you the lonely prince, of course.”

Henry was embarrassed by this description. “I’ve always had
a lot of friends,” he insisted.

“I’ve just always thought anyone living in a house this big
would feel lonely,” Jesse said. “But maybe I’m wrong.” He shrugged,
unconcerned. “Is it okay if I keep eating?”

“Of course. Russ can, too.”

Russ immediately got up and took his and Jesse’s plates to
the sideboard to be filled again.

“So is the house like you imagined?” Henry ate the last
corner of his last sandwich.

“Not really,” Jesse admitted. “Like I said about your
room…it’s a little old-fashioned. Nice and expensive, but not up-to-date. This
room, for instance—” he made a gesture that took in all of the dark, dowdy
breakfast room “—looks like a grandma’s house.”

Henry couldn’t disagree. “I’ll show you the rooms that have
been redone. They’re really nice now. Not at all like grandma rooms. Mother’s
going to start on the rest of the house after my party.”

Martin leaned in and said, “Do you want more, Sir?” and
Henry turned his head and Martin’s face was startlingly close to his own.

“Uh…” He felt the blush bloom in his cheeks. “Yes, please.”
He shoved his plate into Martin’s hands and his fork fell to the floor; Martin
brought him a new one from the sideboard when he returned with a full plate.

Henry ate another entire plate of food and drank two more
glasses of lemonade but felt he still had room for cake.

“Our cook makes really good cakes,” Henry said a little
pridefully, as Martin and Russ stood at the sideboard and Martin doled out
slices with a cake server. “My favorite is lemon, but this strawberry is really
nice, too.”

“I love cake,” Jesse said happily. “Any kind of cake,
really. Our cook makes only so-so cakes, but I love them all the same.”

The strawberry cake proved so popular with everyone that
second helpings were required.

Henry dreamily licked sugary icing from the tines of his
fork and had a hazy memory of doing the same in the past with Martin’s boot
touching his own under the table, and remembered feeling so close to him and so
secure in his love, and felt absolutely stricken that they were sitting here
side by side, yet so far apart.

“You look so sad.”

“What?” Henry jerked alert, blushing guiltily.

“For someone eating such delicious cake, you look really
sad.” Jesse gave him a fond smile and put down his fork. Seeming very
satisfied, he patted his belly. “I’m so full! Do you want to give me the tour
now, or should we all take a nap?”

Henry snorted. “If you really want a nap, we’ve got so many
empty bedrooms here that I could just give you one. We could put your name on
the door.”

Jesse laughed. “Why not? But show me the downstairs first.”

They first put their heads in at the butler’s pantry with
its neat shelves of glassware and outsized dumbwaiter, and then Henry took
Jesse through to the gloomy dining room with its long, polished table, dark
wallpaper and glittering chandeliers. From there, they passed through two
old-fashioned rooms that Henry didn’t know the use for—parlors of some sort—and
came to the redecorated blue parlor, with its geometrically-patterned carpet
and ballooning silk draperies, which Jesse agreed was quite lovely and modern.

“Did Aunt Louisa ask Uncle Reggie’s advice about the
colors?”

Henry shrugged. “I think she wrote to him, but she did hire
a decorator. Some society fellow.”

The second redecorated parlor was larger than the blue, and
Jesse was especially appreciative of its lavender-and-grey color scheme and the
touches of silver throughout.

“This seems very French,” Jesse said with authority, though
he had no more been to France than Henry had. “I can easily picture a girl in a
powdered wig with her bosoms coming out of her dress lounging on that
chaise
eating bonbons.” He sat down on the chaise and bounced a couple of times. “Not
bad,” he said admiringly, and Henry wondered for what purpose Jesse was making
this assessment but did not want to look stupid and so did not ask.

Martin and Russ hung back during this tour, speaking in low
voices, and Henry desperately wanted to know what they were saying. Were they
talking about him? They had spoken on the telephone a few times, he knew, so
that Martin could get addresses for Jesse’s friends, but he wondered if they’d
shared anything more personal during those calls. Had Martin told him the story
of the entire debacle? Was he telling him now?

Jesse wandered around the room touching things, his mood
upbeat. “If Aunt Louisa does the whole house like this, it will be quite the
showplace, don’t you think? That’ll be much more in keeping with what everyone
assumes when they see it from the outside.”