A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) Read Free Page B

had ever shown much interest in getting to know anything about him.
    Father had been frowning during Cora’s exchange with Henry. “There’s been quite enough chatter for one night. Cora, say goodnight to your brother and your mother.”
    Mother had been asleep during Cora’s entire visit, but Pearl was able to rouse her so that she might receive Cora’s kiss on her cheek.
    “Goodnight,” Henry said, kissing her forehead. “Sleep tight.”
    After Cora left with Nurse, Henry slumped sullenly in his chair, uncomfortable in his starched shirtfront. He was torn between wanting his father to notice how unhappy he was, and worrying that his father would interpret his sulking as indicative of immaturity, and as further proof that he didn’t have the wherewithal to manage a companion slave. Finally, long after Henry had become convinced that the slave auction would pass him by, Father rattled his paper, dropped it low, and looked at Henry. He cleared his throat. “Henry. Son.”
    “Yes, sir?”
    Father looked at him a few moments more, his scrutiny most uncomfortable. “About the auction tomorrow,” he remarked.
    “Yes, sir?” Hope surged in Henry’s breast, and he took pains not to seem too eager.
    “I believe you’re ready to take on the responsibility of a companion,” Father said.
    “Yes, sir.” Henry did his best to contain his excitement but his delight was unmistakable. “I’m in agreement with you, sir.”
    “Viewing starts early,” Father said. “You’ll need your sleep.” He turned back to his paper.
    Timothy came around from behind Father’s chair and approached Henry. “Shall I help you get ready for bed, Sir?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    In his bedroom, Henry stood and let Timothy undress him. As Timothy knelt to untie his boots, Henry had the thought that tomorrow someone else would be providing him this service, some as-yet-unknown boy who would be his own property. The idea was thrilling and overwhelming. Once in bed, Henry felt sure he would never fall asleep, so high was his nervous excitement, and when he did fall to sleep, he had confusing dreams that made him wake blushing.

    Wednesday morning, Henry was awakened early and chose his outfit carefully: a bottle-green serge suit, a waistcoat striped in green and black, a crisp white shirt, and a paisley tie anchored with a malachite pin. He stood before the mirror while Timothy helped him to dress, trying on different serious expressions as Timothy fastened his cuffs. He didn’t want to look too eager, or too interested. It wouldn’t do for any potential slave to think him unsophisticated.
    He thought he cut a rather fine figure in his green suit: tall and lean and well-proportioned, with olive skin, black hair, and eyes the rich brown of strong coffee. He looked older than his years and was frequently mistaken for an adult, at least until he opened his mouth or was overtaken by one of his unfortunate fits of embarrassment. He had his mother’s fine features, but rendered in a more solid, manly fashion: high cheekbones, straight nose, sculpted lips. His sort of beauty implied a sensitivity that observers often credited as evidence of intelligence, though in truth Henry was no smarter than a gentleman need be.
    As Timothy bent to tie his boots, Henry looked down upon the crown of his balding head fondly. Timothy had been such an important part of his upbringing. Today Henry hoped and expected to meet the boy who would become his own Timothy.
    Timothy straightened upright with a grimace, his hand supporting his back. He smiled at Henry in the mirror. “It’s a big day for you, Sir.”
    “For both of us,” Henry remarked, smoothing the front of his waistcoat over his stomach and turning to look at himself from one side and then the other. “From now on, you won’t have to look after me anymore.”
    “I will always look after you, Sir,” Timothy said fondly, patting Henry’s shoulder.
    Henry was touched. He forgot sometimes that he