Free A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) by Darrah Glass Page A

Henry into his dinner suit and made it to the table just in time. Mr. Blackwell gave Henry a long, disapproving look as Randolph and Paul brought in the soup.
    After the meal, as they entered the family parlor, Martin cleared his throat and self-consciously said, “Mr. Blackwell, Sir? May I speak?”
    Mr. Blackwell, was lowering himself into his chair, but he looked up at Martin and made a noise that Martin chose to interpret as permission.
    “I just wanted to thank you for acknowledging my birthday, Sir. I appreciate how fair you’ve been with me, Sir, and how generous.” He felt unaccountably nervous, but Mr. Tim was smiling at him from behind Mr. Blackwell’s chair, so he felt reasonably sure he hadn’t said anything objectionable.
    “Hmph.” Mr. Blackwell gave him a steady, assessing look. “You’ve been good for Henry,” he said. “Good people deserve rewards.” He turned his attention to the folder of correspondence Timothy had ready for him.
    “Well, thank you, Sir. It’s much appreciated.”
    After Martin’s show of gratitude, Pearl read another chapter of Lord Pelham’s Companion . Henry was sullen and restless for the length of her reading. It was obvious Henry did not enjoy Pelham , but Martin did not understand why. Martin liked the story. It was silly and lively and light, perfect to be read aloud.
    After the chapter, Mr. Blackwell cleared his throat and thanked Pearl, who was very pleased at the praise.
    “Henry.”
    Henry sat up straighter in his wing chair. “Yes, sir?”
    “I wonder if you might like a carriage of your own.”
    Henry was quiet a long, puzzled moment. “Sir?”
    “A carriage, son. For your birthday. Perhaps a phaeton, like the Ross boy has.”
    “Oh.” Henry was quiet again.
    So this was the reason for Mr. Tim’s questions. It was kind of Mr. Blackwell to offer, but Martin felt confident Henry did not want a phaeton. Henry had shown no interest to this point. All of the other young masters wanted their own carriages, but only Charles Ross had one. Simon confessed to dreading riding with his master. He said Mr. Ross was a reckless driver, and he admitted he was sick with nerves every time they took the phaeton out. Henry, at least, would likely be a very sedate driver, but that was only if he even wanted to drive.
    “That’s not an answer, son,” Mr. Blackwell said, his tone verging on irritable.
    “Oh, sorry, I…” Henry gave a little nervous cough. “No thank you, sir. It’s not necessary. I’m not interested in driving myself.”
    Mr. Blackwell cleared his throat again. “Perhaps you’d like Martin to drive you instead,” he said. “That sort of thing is done, if a gentleman so chooses.”
    Martin did rather like the idea of driving a carriage, but it was not a burning desire, so he was not disappointed when Henry replied:
    “No, sir, I wouldn’t be interested in that. But thank you for the offer. It’s very generous.”
    It certainly was! Martin hoped Henry would know better than to tell any of his carriage-coveting friends about his father’s suggestion, because they’d all think he was crazy not to accept the gift. Mr. Briggs would be incensed!
    Mr. Blackwell made some sort of grumbling acknowledgment and then suggested Henry take himself to Hamilton & Sons. “I know you’re fond of clothes.”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.”
    Henry got to his feet and kissed his mother’s cheek, then went to stand before his father, who noted Henry’s shadow across his paperwork and looked up with a hint of impatience.
    “Yes?”
    Henry cleared his throat self-consciously. “Um, I just wanted to say that I…I appreciate all the things you’ve done for me. I really do.”
    Martin felt so proud of him!
    Mr. Blackwell did something with his face that might have been a smile. “Is that so?”
    “Y-yes, sir. You’re very kind. I didn’t always see that before.”
    Mr. Blackwell’s mustache twisted into a more suspicious shape and he