A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (7 page)

Martin blushed a little, embarrassed and happy. He had never wanted to explain his relationship with Henry to his friend, but he hadn’t had to—Tom wasn’t stupid. Tom had guessed. And Tom had promised he would keep Martin’s secrets—
Henry’s
secrets.

In an excited whisper, Martin said, “
He
apologized to
me
, Tommy! I certainly never expected that would happen!”

“Well, I’m glad he’s sorry. He made you miserable.” Tom scowled at the memory of Martin’s unhappiness.

“He won’t do it again,” Martin said confidently. “He said everything I needed to hear, Tommy. He’s a good person.”

Tom seemed less convinced, but he said, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“You’ll sit with me during the meal, I hope?”

Tom snorted. “That’s what I’m here for.” He squeezed Martin’s hand again. “I’m certainly not going to sit with Jerry!”

Martin lowered his voice. “I’m sorry they’re so hostile. I think they should at least understand you never meant to hurt them.”

Tom sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I
did
hurt them, after all.” He shook his head, as if shaking off the unpleasantness. “Never mind that. Did Mr. Blackwell get you a present?”

At the thought of Henry’s birthday suggestion, Martin felt heat in his cheeks and a tingle in his cock. “He…offered to do something nice for me,” Martin managed.

Tom narrowed his eyes, assessing, and then grinned. “Uh-huh. I’ll bet he did!”

Billy waved Martin over, his arm around Jane’s shoulders.

“Come with me to say hello to Jane,” Martin suggested, giving Tom’s hand a final squeeze.

Martin exchanged pleasantries with Jane and Billy. Jane had not met Tom before and seemed somewhat dazzled by his exquisite face, peering at him with keen interest. Paul came to join them and seemed amused to see his twin bristle at this young interloper who had so captivated his bride. Martin kept an eye on Henry and Mr. Tim and excused himself when they concluded their conversation, hurrying to Henry’s side.

“Hello, Sir,” Martin said fondly, reaching for Henry’s hand before he caught himself and pulled back. “What was that about?”

Henry frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t quite know. He was asking me all these questions about Charles’ phaeton.”

“Mr. Ross’ phaeton, Sir?” This was strange.

“Maybe my father wants one?” Henry shrugged. “I can’t imagine my father driving himself, though.”

“Neither can I,” Martin said. “Come here, Sir. Let me show you where to sit.”

He settled Henry in his own chair, at Mr. Tim’s right hand. Miss Pearl was at Mr. Tim’s left, and the rest of the chairs were unassigned. Martin sat at Henry’s right and Tom claimed the seat next to him.

There was a great deal of food set out, all things Martin loved, and it smelled delicious. Henry suggested he might get his own food, but Martin did not like this idea at all and insisted he sit while Martin fixed him a plate. Tom hurried to help, and together they saw to Henry’s needs most solicitously.

When Martin sat down with his own plate, Henry leaned close and whispered, “It’s
your
birthday, Martin. You don’t need to make a fuss over me.”

“I like doing my job, Sir,” Martin murmured back. “I need you to understand that about me.”

“I know you do,” Henry assured him. “But sometimes I want to make things easier on you.”

Martin thought about this as he picked up his fork. Henry wasn’t trained to be concerned with anyone else’s comfort, but perhaps it was only natural that he would want to demonstrate his regard for Martin through thoughtful gestures, caring acts. That’s what lovers
did
, after all. Martin wasn’t about to let Henry get his own food in the presence of a crowd of fellow slaves, and certainly not under the watchful eye of Mr. Tim, but he could let Henry do more in private. Last night, he’d enjoyed Henry washing him so lovingly. Today, he’d appreciated Henry holding his jacket for him. If Henry wanted to help him with such personal tasks in the future—and if they weren’t in a hurry—surely it wouldn’t be wrong to allow it. It would make Henry happy, after all, and making Henry happy was Martin’s job.

“Did you choose the food?” Henry asked, taking a bite of macaroni. “All our favorites are here.”

“Well, Sir, I did tell Cook what I thought would be especially good. I think everyone likes these foods, though.” For both Henry and himself, Martin had dished out macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, ham, potato croquettes and potato salad, green peas, baked beans, fresh-baked rolls, and applesauce freckled with cinnamon. There were as-yet-untried dishes waiting on the sideboard. “Let me know if you want more of any particular thing, Sir.”

“I will,” Henry said. “Thank you.” He bumped Martin’s knee with his own.

When Martin went back to refill their plates, several of his colleagues approached and delivered birthday wishes, but also relayed their happiness that his closeness with his master was restored. Martin was a little worried that Henry would overhear and be mortified that everyone knew his business, but Henry was talking with Mr. Tim and seemed quite oblivious.

As Martin finished his second plate of food, Tom touched his thigh under the table.

“Martin.”

“Yes?”

“I have something for you.” Tom reached into his jacket pocket, then held out a closed fist. “Hold out your hand.”

Martin did as he asked, and Tom placed something small and cool on his palm, and closed his fingers over Martin’s a moment before letting go.

It was a vivid blue stone bead, perhaps half an inch in diameter, chased in golden ivy, with a little bail so that it could be hung from a chain or pin. It was obviously real jewelry, something valuable.

“Lapis,” Martin said softly, startled by the expense of the gift. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Tom, but you really shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” Tom insisted, keeping his voice low. “I wanted to. You’re so important to me, Martin. You know I’m not asking for anything more than your friendship. I’m just asking for what you can give me.”

Lapis was for friendship, of course, but it was for special friends, intense connections. It was a grand declaration, not made lightly. It was an honor for Tom to offer this degree of caring and concern to Martin, and he would not insult his friend with further attempts to deflect his gallantry.

“If you’re worried it’s too much, you should show it to Mr. Blackwell,” Tom said. “You can tell him what it means, and if he doesn’t want you to have it, I’ll take it back, all right?”

That seemed fair. “Thank you so much, Tommy. I-I don’t really know what to say.”

“Thank you is enough.” Tom wrapped his fingers around Martin’s wrist and lightly squeezed. “Or if you want to say more, say that we’ll always be close. I want that more than anything.”

Martin smiled at him, his poor, lovely friend. “We will,” he told him. “We definitely will.” He leaned closer to Tom and gave him a brief, loving hug. Tom clung, and Martin pretended he didn’t notice Tom breathing him in.

On Martin’s other side, Henry touched his arm. “What do you have there?” he asked.

Martin turned to face him. “Tommy gave me a present, Sir.”

“Will you show it to me?”

Martin leaned close, his mouth at Henry’s ear. “May I show it to you upstairs, Sir? Later? I don’t want to share it with everyone.”

Henry seemed startled by this, perhaps intrigued. “Uh, sure. I suppose that’s fine.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He dared to touch Henry’s thigh just briefly.

At the conclusion of the meal, there was a flurry of activity as dirty dishes were gathered to be returned to the kitchen. Henry tried to help, but Martin and Tom both insisted he stay put and let slaves take care of things.

During clean-up, Martin always made sure to do a little more than his share. Despite his position in the family hierarchy, he thought it better to be humble and do his part than expect the others to wait on him, and he knew Mr. Tim approved of his attitude. He added plates to the careless stack in a big enamel tub and made as if to lift it, but Jerry elbowed him aside.

“You’re not hauling dishes around on your birthday,” Jerry said in mild chastisement. “Go be with your master.”

“Oh!” Martin was pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, Jerry.”

Jerry hefted the tub with a little grunt. “Everyone likes to see you happy again,” he remarked.

Henry stood with his hand on the back of the chair he’d sat in, and Tom stood beside him, smiling up into his face. Martin felt a pang of anxiety; Tom was very beautiful, and Henry had always looked at him a little longer, and with a little more interest, than he ever had at any of Martin’s other friends.

Tom was saying “…is very happy with you, Sir. I think everyone is well aware of it.”

“Oh, er…” Henry was obviously uncomfortable with the tack this conversation was taking. “We are…I think we’re well-matched.”

“What
are
you talking about?” Martin asked, his tone sharp. He gave Tom a stern glare, but Tom just grinned, sly and foxy.

Tables cleared, it was time for cake. Billy and Paul brought it in on a cart, and Mr. Tim abdicated his throne at the head of the table to make room for it. Johnny turned off the lights as Cook lit the candles, and everyone still seated stood up as Martin went to take his place behind the cake.

Martin had been a part of other household birthday celebrations, so he had known what his own would be like, but he was unexpectedly emotional, his throat tight. This was his first birthday party, his first birthday cake, and he wanted to remember it forever. This was his family, the people who loved him, and that most certainly included Henry.

He smiled at them all through the warm glow of the candles, and dared to look right at Henry, his smile growing both wide and shy. He ducked his head and took a deep breath.

“Ready, everyone?” Mr. Tim clapped his hands briskly.

“
1, 2, 3…Happy Birthday!”
Everyone said it together, loud and joyous.

Martin blew as everyone applauded him. The candles had been placed close enough together he was able to blow them all out, though he was breathless and lightheaded at the end. Billy and Paul thumped him on the back, and Mr. Tim shook his hand as Cook and Ruby began to cut and serve the cake.

Cook handed Martin the first piece of cake and he took it to Henry.

“No, the first piece is
yours
, Martin,” Little Bob said, aware that Martin had not had a birthday before and perhaps didn’t understand the protocol.

“Mr. Blackwell is my special guest,” Martin explained. “I’m sure Cook will give me another piece.”

She did. It was a very delicious cake, rich chocolate with chocolate buttercream and raspberry curd between the layers. Martin stood between Henry and Tom and savored every bite. A birthday cake just for him! So different from Cake Day back at Ganymede! He had not anticipated how happy this would make him.

Even though many of the slaves had already wished him Happy Birthday at breakfast, most came by to offer the sentiment again. Martin’s cheek was kissed, his hand shaken, his back patted. When Jerry and Arthur came around, they pointedly ignored Tom, but Jerry was friendly and effusive with Martin, as always. Arthur was a little standoffish, as he objected to Martin’s continued association with Tom. Everyone was deferential to Henry, of course, but they were relaxed and easy with him. It was wonderful that Martin would be able to include Henry in life below stairs for special occasions.

After the cake was eaten, there was another burst of activity as the plates were collected and the remains of the decimated cake were returned to the kitchen.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Billy said. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday, Martin.” He nudged him with his elbow and winked. He turned to Henry and said, “Good evening, Sir. It’s always nice when you visit our world.”

“Oh!” Henry was clearly surprised and pleased both. “Thank you, Billy. I-I wouldn’t have missed Martin’s birthday.”

Billy smiled at him and patted his arm. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Sir.” He turned and exited briskly from the mess.

“I have to go, too,” Tom said, reaching for Martin’s hand. “I need to dress Mr. Caldwell for his dinner.”

Martin let himself be pulled into a one-armed hug and kissed Tom’s cheek. “Thank you for being here, Tommy. It really was a lovely surprise. And thank you for the present. It means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me, too,” Tom said, showing Martin a rueful, crooked smile. He returned Martin’s kiss, his landing rather close to the corner of Martin’s mouth, and turned for the door with a little backwards wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Blackwell, Sir.”

“Goodnight, Tom.” Henry watched Tom go with a sort of surly avidity, and Martin didn’t know what to make of Henry’s regard. If he wanted Tom, it didn’t seem as though he was
happy
about it.

Nearly everyone had left the mess. Mr. Tim stood talking with Dora, holding her hand in a very courtly manner; they were charming together, and seeing a well-established couple still so in love was inspirational. He tried not to think about where he and Henry would be in twenty years, because so much could change in that amount of time, but he hoped they’d always care for each other as they did now.

Mr. Tim let go Dora’s hand and smiled fondly at her back as she exited the room. “Martin,” he said, beckoning. “Martin, I have something for you.”

He turned to Henry. “I’ll just be a minute, Sir.”

Henry shrugged, smiling. “Take your time. I’ll be here.” He perched on the back of his chair, arms crossed, settling in to wait.

“You have something for me, Mr. Tim?” Martin crossed around the end of the table to stand before Mr. Tim.

“Mr. Blackwell would like to wish you a Happy Birthday,” Mr. Tim said. He reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope with
Martin
scrawled on it in Mr. Blackwell’s sprawling hand, and held it out for Martin to take.

“Oh! Thank you!” Martin took it and looked at it. “Should I open it?”

Mr. Tim chuckled. “You may.”

It was a twenty-dollar bill.

Martin blinked at it, crisp between his fingers. “I-I don’t know what to say. It’s so kind of him!” It was excessive, to be honest.