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
“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
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