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

narrowed his eyes at Henry. “Did Martin put you up to this?”
    Henry’s face crumpled and his broad shoulders slumped. “No, sir. Of course not.”
    Mr. Blackwell’s expression softened again. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Henry.” He seemed to think about what he might say. “You’re my son. I’ll always treat you kindly.” Another pause. “It’s good that you’ve acknowledged it. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome, sir.”
    Mr. Blackwell handed his papers to Timothy and stood ponderously, creaking and sighing as he rose. When he was upright, he loomed over Henry—it wasn’t just his significant height, but his presence . He offered Henry his hand, and Henry took it with a little hesitation.
    “Good night, son.”
    “Good night, Father.”
    Mr. Blackwell shook Henry’s hand and kept hold of it with his right as he clapped him on the shoulder with his left. Henry was jolted by the impact of these well-meant thumps.
    Mr. Blackwell released him. “Go,” he said, gruff but not at all unkind. “Off to bed.”
    “Thank you, sir. Goodnight, sir.” Henry hurried from the room, and Martin had to trot to keep up with him.
    Inside his bedroom, Henry let out a nervous laugh. “Why am I so scared of him? He is kind to me.” He did not sound entirely convinced by his own words. He stood before the wardrobe, ready for Martin to undress him.
    Martin stroked his hair back from his face and looked into his eyes. “He’s very intimidating, Henry. He scares everyone.”
    “Not Timothy. Not you,” Henry pointed out.
    Martin thought about it as he knelt and untied Henry’s boots. Mr. Blackwell was gruff and impatient, but he’d always been good to his people. But even though Martin had insisted to Henry that Mr. Blackwell would be lenient with them if he learned of their situation, he had worried that Mr. Blackwell would punish or sell him. He’d been terrified.
    “No, me, too,” Martin said. He stood and slipped Henry’s dinner jacket from his shoulders. “But I still have to do my job, so…” He thought a moment as he hung the jacket in the wardrobe. He’d been told some things that he hadn’t thought he should repeat, but maybe they’d help Henry feel more confident.
    “I know you think your father judges you harshly,” Martin said, “but I’ve heard otherwise.” He held out his hands expectantly.
    Henry shrugged his waistcoat into Martin’s waiting grasp. “What have you heard? From who?”
    “Mr. Tim. He’s told me your father thinks you have a good character.”
    Henry snorted in disbelief. “He does not.”
    “He thinks you’re kind and generous. He thinks you’re loyal. He says those are admirable qualities.”
    “Huh.” Henry seemed willing to accept this as possibly true. “What else?” He wadded up his shirt and handed it to Martin.
    “Well, you know he likes that you’re good at math. And he’s glad your Latin grade has improved.”
    “He knows that’s you , though,” Henry pointed out. He kicked off his trousers and let his drawers fall around his ankles.
    “He likes that you accept my help. It shows humility and good judgment.” Martin had not been told this particular thing, but it seemed a reasonable conclusion.
    Martin carried Henry’s laundry into his own room and Henry followed him, lounging naked in the doorway, glorious as a god, while Martin undressed himself.
    “Does he say anything else?”
    Martin thought about whether he should share the next bit, and decided he would. “He’s pleased that you and your sister are both so beautiful.” He let his jacket slip from his shoulders.
    Henry scoffed at this.
    “No, he is. He’s glad you take after your mother’s people. He thinks being handsome will help you in life if you let it.”
    Henry considered this a moment. “Huh. All right. Maybe he doesn’t hate me.”
    Martin snorted. “I’m pretty sure he loves you, Henry.”
    Henry was quiet while he watched Martin hang his jacket in the wardrobe.