A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (65 page)

All Louis’ cousins
were
boring. Henry elbowed him.
“Say, let’s find some girls to dance with.”

Henry danced every tune until the dinner break. He danced
with girls he knew from the ball, and girls he remembered from Jesse’s party,
and then just whichever girls looked like they’d enjoy a turn around the floor,
and he was always aware of where Martin was in the room, and whether Martin
watched him. He couldn’t stop imagining Martin in a necktie shaking his hand,
saying his name was Durant, and going to his knees. Or maybe it would be Henry
on his knees instead. His fevered thoughts were all of Martin, but as he danced
with well-bred young ladies and made distracted small talk, he was able to
pretend that his pink cheeks were a result of his exertions and not his
arousal.

Many of the girls Henry danced with had lovely things to say
about his skills as a dance partner, as well as his reputation as a true
gentleman, which he did not think he’d previously had, and he suspected this
overwhelmingly favorable estimation of his character was somehow Abigail’s
doing.

He danced with Abigail again, and she was frisky and
proprietary and full of compliments for him, but now definitely seemed to want
him more as a handsome pet than for any romantic purpose. He liked that she
wanted to be friends, though he wasn’t exactly sure what a friendship with a
girl would entail; he rather suspected that she would dictate the parameters
and inform him of his duties.

During the last waltz before the break, Henry had Cora stand
on his boots and danced her around at the edge of the floor, out of the way of
the grown dancers but still part of the party. She was giddy and delighted, and
Henry felt confident he had given her a ballroom memory to rival his own. He
thought it was possible that for those few minutes she had preferred his
attention to Martin’s.

Seeking companionship for the meal, Henry gravitated toward
his school friends, joined by Jesse and the other Lawton boys.

It was a buffet of finger foods, just as Jesse had had, and
with many of the same menu items, including the Angels on Horseback Henry had
watched Jesse feed Russ from his hand. There would likely be none of that here;
thankfully, Jesse had been true to his promise and was friendly but not fawning
with Russ.

But Henry, feeling suddenly, stubbornly brave, held out his
plate and said, “Martin, do you want some of mine?”

“Sir?” Martin, who had been turning back to the buffet for a
plate of his own, cocked his head, confused.

“Angels on Horseback,” Henry said. “You like them, don’t
you? Eat some off my plate. I’ve got plenty. Eat anything you want. We can get
more, right?”

“Y-yes, Sir, of course.” Martin gave him a tentative smile
that grew broader by the second. He selected a salmon croquette from Henry’s
plate and brought it to his mouth.

Louis said, “Henry, what are you
doing
?”

Henry shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Sharing a plate. It’s
not so strange. My mother’s people do it, don’t we, Jesse?” His voice was
perhaps a little unsteady, but for once he felt confident, and he didn’t blush.

Jesse laughed and offered his plate to Russ. “We’ve always
done it. My friends do it, too.”

“You all know my father sits down with his companion,” Henry
said. “I understand he’s infamous for that.” No one said anything, but there
were nods and shrugs of acknowledgment.

Charles laughed, loud and sudden, and said, “Why not? Here,
Si. Come eat.” Simon smiled fondly at his master and took the plate from his
hands before selecting a canapé.

The Lawton boys, quite accustomed to this behavior at their
own gatherings, were happy to revert to their usual habits. The Algonquin boys
looked at Henry and then at Charles, and began to tentatively offer plates to
their own companions, darting glances around to see who else in their group
dared, or which other party guests might be noticing and forming opinions.

At Henry’s side, Louis grumbled, but said, “Here, then,
Peter,” and thrust the plate at him.

Martin said, “Let me hold the plate, Sir,” in a low voice,
easing it from Henry’s hands. “It won’t do for you to hold it.”

“Oh, of course not,” Henry said, flustered, as he
relinquished it.

“I say, what are you fellows doing?” The questioner clapped
Henry on the shoulder, and he turned to see Frank Howard from his quadrille
set. “Eating with slaves like that…is that something you do at your school? I
must say, it’s a bit peculiar.” He seemed doubtful but not necessarily disapproving.

Henry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had used up
all his bravery and talk for the moment. He did not know what to say.

“Oh, everyone does it at Algonquin,” Charles said airily.
His lie, smooth as silk, went unchallenged by any of his classmates. “It’s such
a small school, we’ve developed rather elitist habits, I suppose.”

“Elitist?” Frank looked quizzical. “That’s not very nice, is
it?”

“I guess I mean
exclusive
,” Charles said. “We have
our own way of doing things. It’s like a club. An exclusive club.” He shrugged
and popped a deviled egg into his mouth, and then he winked at Henry, smirking
conspiratorially as he chewed.

Henry gave a startled jerk and felt his cheeks redden.

“Well, all right then.” Frank seemed provisionally willing
to accept Charles’ assertion.

“We did it at Lawton, too,” put in Perry Whitman, though of
course he was not lying. “I think people do it at lots of schools, don’t they?
It’s not unusual.”

“
I’ve
never seen it done before,” Frank said. “I
don’t know what I think of it, to tell the truth. I suppose there’s no harm.”
He gestured toward his slave, a slight blond fellow, who stepped forward to
stand at his side. “What do you think, Bernie, do you want to give it a go?”

The slave blushed a pleased pink (he was, Henry noted, a
pretty little thing) and said, “Thank you, Sir. I don’t mind if I do,” and took
a croquette off his master’s plate.

Within a matter of minutes, all the young men in the room
were sharing plates with their slaves, except for a contingent from Powell Prep
who glared disapprovingly and turned up their noses at the practice.

Lip curled, Frank said, “Who cares about them? All those
Powell fellows are bastards anyway.”

Henry vaguely remembered hearing something to this effect
before, though he could not recall who’d expressed the opinion.

The young ladies were watchful and interested, but they were
more cautious about adopting this new approach to dining. Henry did note,
however, that Abigail and Helena ate from the same plate.

Henry had not expected that anyone other than Jesse would go
along with his idea, and he was pleasantly bemused by the success of his bold
venture. He had always thought himself quite socially insignificant, but now he
considered that it might be that he’d just never really tried to influence
anyone before. Plate-sharing had gone over well enough with his classmates that
he thought he might try to convince some of the especially-receptive fellows to
sit down with their slaves at the ice cream shop sometime.

Martin touched Henry’s sleeve. “Sir?”

“Yes?” They were close enough that Henry could smell Martin
again, breathing in the vetiver-scented air that was warmed by his skin.

“Would you like to say goodnight to your sister, Sir? I
think she’s saying goodnight to your mother just now.”

Across the room, Cora was beside Mother on the settee, arms
thrown around Mother’s neck. Mother looked uncomfortable but not unwilling,
patting Cora on the back and wishing her a
goodnight, darling
. Father,
who stood nearby with Timothy, crouched down somewhat ponderously, knees
popping, and submitted to a hug.

Leaving Father’s embrace, Cora turned and saw them. “Martin!
Henry!” She launched herself at Martin, and Martin bent to meet her. She hugged
him tightly enough to dislodge his glasses.

When she let go, she said, “Martin, Nurse says it was your
birthday, too.”

“Yes it was, Miss. My birthday was Thursday.” Martin stood
but let Cora keep his hand.

“That’s right. You’re older than Henry.”

“By just four days, Miss, so we’re almost the same age.”

“Did you have a party? With cake?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, Miss. Everyone said Happy
Birthday and I had chocolate cake.”

Cora looked as though she was deciding whether or not to
fuss about missing this cake. “Next year can I come to your birthday party,
Martin?”

Martin turned to look at Henry, eyebrows raised, unsure what
he should say.

“We’ll see,” said Henry, doing his best to sound
authoritative. Mother and Father looked on, somewhat nonplussed by this
evidence of their daughter’s fierce attachment to Martin.

Cora frowned at this, but made an obvious effort to set her
disappointment aside. “Well, Happy Birthday, Martin. I hope Henry got you a
nice present.”

Martin’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, well, yes he did, Miss. Your
brother is very generous.” He darted a glance at Henry and smiled.

Now Cora gave Henry her attention. “Happy Birthday to you,
too, Henry.” She held her arms open in expectation of a hug.

Henry was really past annoyance at Cora’s preference for
Martin. It was amusing, and entirely understandable. He bent and embraced her,
then swept her up in his arms for a dramatic squeeze. Cora shrieked with
delight and wrapped her legs around his waist like a monkey. He let her hold
on, giggling against his neck, until Mother said, “Henry, really, that’s quite
enough!”

Feet back on the ground, still giggling, Cora left the
reception room in good spirits, hand in hand with Nurse, calling back,
“Goodnight Martin! Goodnight Henry!” as they set off down the hall.

As if no one else could hear, and in a thoroughly conversational
tone, Father turned to Timothy, shaking his head, and said, “He’s an admirable
boy, without question, but I’ll be damned if I understand how he’s bewitched
both my children.”

“He’s a good boy, Sir,” Timothy said with a shrug. “They
could certainly do worse.”

Oh, this was mortifying in the extreme! Martin darted a
horrified glance at Henry, eyes wide, and Henry was quite sure that Martin
wanted to get away just as badly as he did.

“The music will start again soon,” Henry said, wishing his
face would not burn so hot. “I should go find a partner.”

Father gave an amused snort and waved him off, but as Henry
was turning away, Mother spoke.

“Henry, darling, before you go…are you enjoying your party?”
Mother sounded tired but not at all sad. She leaned against Pearl’s side,
Pearl’s arm around her back.

“Yes, thank you, ma’am. I’m having a wonderful time,” Henry
told her quite truthfully.

“I’m so glad to know it. Thank your Martin, too. He was such
a help.” She smiled and was beautiful. “Give me a kiss, darling. I’ll be going
upstairs soon.”

Henry kissed her cheek and shook his father’s hand before
heading back to join his friends near the ballroom door. Thinking of Cora
asking about Martin’s present, he sought Jesse in the crush. He had to make
good on his offer.

Jesse stood at the center of a circle of Algonquin boys
telling some sort of story, his expressions fleeting and playful, his hands
moving in dramatic arcs. His tale came to a conclusion as Henry approached, and
all around boys erupted in raucous laughter.

Henry needed to get his attention before he started in on
another anecdote. “Jesse!”

Jesse’s head came up and he smiled.

“Come here, please,” Henry said, waving him over. “Bring
Russ along. I need to talk to you a moment.”

“What about, Sir?” Martin asked, touching his sleeve. “Is
everything all right?”

“It’s about your birthday present,” Henry told him. He
watched as Jesse made his excuses to Louis and Charles and the others and began
weaving his way through the crowd, Russ close behind.

“Oh!” Martin said, breathless and delighted. “Oh, Sir!” He
bounced a little on his toes, unable to contain his excitement.

Jesse squeezed past a gaggle of girls, making his apologies,
and came to stand before Henry. “Hello, Henry. What do you want to talk about?”

“Not here,” Henry said. “Let’s find a quiet place.”

He led the way to the library. The huge room was filled with
a heavy hush, not a hint of party atmosphere. They stood amidst ranked book
stands, every one holding some moldering tome.

“Is this about something serious?” Jesse asked, low and
concerned. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Jesse shrugged. “People sometimes are.” He gave a little
shake of his head and smiled. “What is it, then?”

Henry felt his face grow hot in anticipation of making his request.
“You know Martin’s birthday was the other day, right?”

“Yes, you told me when I came to lunch.” Jesse turned to
smile at Martin, “Belated Happy Birthday, Martin.”

“Yes, Happy Birthday,” Russ said.

“Thank you. Thank you, Sir.” Martin acknowledged their kind
wishes with little nods.

Henry felt slightly impatient; he wanted to say what he had
to say, and he didn’t know if he’d get it out if there were interruptions.

“Well, it was his birthday, but I didn’t have a gift for
him. I mean, I didn’t have anything wrapped. But there’s a thing I want to do
for him, because he’d really love it, but I need your help.”

“My help?” Jesse’s brows came together in a questioning
frown. “Well, whatever it is, Henry, I’m sure I’ll do it. I like you both so
much.”

Henry felt a rush of relief at Jesse’s words. “Good. I’m
glad.” His face grew hotter still, and he fidgeted with the cover of the old
book on the stand at his elbow, pretending interest in the elaborate binding.

“But what is it, Henry? What do you want me to do?”