The First Bloom of Winter, page 8
“By the by, Aster, I must enquire as to your level of sexual experience.”
Holden’s mouth opened and closed in rapid succession, shock overwhelming his ability to even make an indignant protest at the invasive query. His horrified astonishment was disturbed only when Richard shuffled his feet, making the floor boards creak. “I b-beg your pardon?” he choked, his humiliation increasing as his voice cracked in an unmanly squeak.
Leslie’s lips pursed impatiently. “I asked if you have any experience in sexual matters.”
Unable to pretend he’d misheard this time, Holden dropped his gaze to his hands, which were once again gripping each other tightly in his lap as though afraid to let go. “Um, hardly any, I suppose,” he replied, prefacing his response with a shrug.
“Hmmm. And by ‘hardly any’ I gather you mean you’re a virgin, no matter what else you might have accomplished in that arena.”
Suddenly his encounters with Tommy, which he had thought so daring at the time, seemed like nothing more than the innocuous play of naive children. Holden shrugged again, unable to contradict the assessment.
“I see,” Leslie said dryly. “Well, innocence has its charms, but I find it is more acceptable in theory than in reality. We shall have to see to it.”
Before Holden could ask what the devil Leslie meant by that, the door separating the office from the foyer opened. Sebastian stepped into the room, his gaze immediately finding his employer.
“Sir, the new shipment of china has arrived. You will need to inspect it before I sign off on the sales receipt.”
Leslie nodded and moved to follow when Sebastian quit the room as abruptly as he’d appeared. He closed the blue-colored door behind him without further comment on the uncomfortable topic of Holden’s virginity or his mysterious plans to address it. Holden stared in resentment at the painted wood separating him from the answers he so urgently wanted to demand.
“It’s to be Aster, then, is it?”
Holden started at the sound of Richard’s voice, having quite forgotten in his consternation that he was not alone. “What?” he asked dimly.
“Your new name is Aster,” Richard repeated. “What’s it mean?”
Holden sighed. “I don’t know. Mr. Leslie failed to enlighten me on that point.” He was relieved at the return of his voice to its normal pitch, no doubt thanks to the straightforwardness of Richard’s address that prompted him to respond likewise.
“Hmmm.” Richard gazed down at him thoughtfully. “So, who’s the girl?”
“What girl?” he asked.
The corner of Richard’s mouth lifted in a smile, transforming his countenance to such a startling degree, Holden feared his ability to speak might be impaired anew. Never had he witnessed a person shift so quickly from dour to breathtaking. Transfixed as he was at the alteration, he realized only belatedly that Richard had begun speaking again.
“—girl you’re missing. I figured you was thinking about some fal yer sweet on, and that’s why you was getting all red in the face.”
Holden huffed in ironic amusement. “No, there’s no ‘fal,’” he answered, using the low vernacular in kind. Though he hadn’t consciously intended it, his phrasing instantly set Richard down the correct path.
“Ah,” Richard said, nodding sagely. “So it’s other boys, then. That’s good. It will make things a lot easier on you.”
Holden stared at Richard, both shocked at his insight and vexed at his presumption. “How would you know?” he sniped, deciding the latter emotion provided far safer grounds of support, though it meant confirming the speculation. Richard’s smile softened, threatening to deflate Holden’s sails completely.
“Well,” Richard began, rolling his shoulders beneath his coarse woolen jacket in a way Holden found most distracting, “I suppose I know what it’s like not to abhor the touch of another bloke, if you catch my meaning.”
Holden did, of course, and gaped at the astonishing revelation. “You do?” he breathed. “Is… is that why you’re here? You were caught, er, doing something you shouldn’t have?” He felt embarrassed at his nosiness, but he couldn’t help but inquire. Could it be that he’d found an unexpected kindred spirit in this awful place?
Richard shrugged again. “I’m here ’cause Mr. Leslie is a decent man who saved me from rotting in jail.”
Surprise and rejection warred for prominence in Holden’s thoughts. Though he was frightfully curious to learn more concerning this new admission, he simply could not let the first statement pass without comment. “Decent, you say?” He scoffed at the mere notion. “I can’t imagine Mr. Leslie being kind to anyone. Why on earth would you say otherwise?” he pressed, finally allowing his inquisitiveness to win out.
Richard frowned, a shadow passing over his features. “I’ll say only that I owe Mr. Leslie everything. Be assured that I’ll always do my best to help him however he needs. Right now, that includes watching over you, so that’s what I’ll do.”
His harsh, flat tone warned Holden not to pry any further, and Holden wisely took the tacit suggestion to heart. Apparently considering their interview finished, Richard departed without another word, leaving Holden alone in the office to stew at the infernally cryptic natures of his new employer and soon-to-be watchdog.
LESLIE HAD been vague upon Holden’s arrival as to when he would be expected to earn his keep, but on the fifth morning, he informed his newest acquisition that his debut was imminent.
“I will have Mrs. Peabody bring up some tea to your room again while the others are entertaining, Aster, but tomorrow evening, I will expect you to join the others when we begin welcoming guests. Amaryllis informs me he has finished several outfits for you, and Richard will have returned from the errand I sent him on yesterday, so there’ll be no further reason to delay. You will try on your new attire this afternoon so Amaryllis will have time to make any necessary alterations.”
Holden was unable to formulate a response as his heart was stuck firmly in this throat. He resorted to a nod to communicate his understanding. As he had the previous mornings since coming to The Garden, Holden was sharing the breakfast table with Gardenia, Hibiscus, and Peony while Leslie and Amaryllis sat apart. When the latter two finished their meal, they rose from their chairs to depart, but on this occasion, Amaryllis paused by the foursome before leaving the room.
“Come up to my room when you’ve finished. I don’t wish to haul all of that fabric down the stairs and then back up them again.”
“Lazy arse,” Gardenia mumbled loud enough that Amaryllis would have heard it if he’d still been in the room.
Peony frowned at him. “That’s not fair, Gardenia. He was up all last night, even after his last guest left, finishing the sewing.” He shot a look of concern toward the door through which Amaryllis had disappeared. “If he doesn’t stop pushing himself so hard, he’ll be useless for tonight’s proceedings.”
Hibiscus snorted rudely. “He only works so diligently because Leslie asks it of him. Otherwise, I doubt he’d put in so much effort.”
Holden still wondered about the relationship between the prickly redhead and their employer. It was obvious, even to a newcomer such as himself, that they were far closer than their respective positions should warrant. But the knowledge that this would be his last night of relative freedom robbed him of further curiosity as surely as it stole his appetite. He pushed the remaining portion of eggs about his plate for a few moments before finally shoving it away. Gardenia was still focused on his food, but Hibiscus watched him through lowered lashes while Peony’s expression radiated open sympathy.
“I think I’m finished,” Holden announced unnecessarily. “I will go up now so Amaryllis isn’t kept waiting.”
His speech finally diverted Gardenia’s attention from his breakfast. “Wait,” he said around a mouthful before taking a large swallow of cooled tea to wash it down. “I’ll go with you. You said we could practice some more this morning.”
Over the past few days, Holden and Gardenia had gotten into the habit of stealing away in the early hours to work on improving Gardenia’s reading. Holden had come to look forward to their sessions, and on this occasion he was doubly glad for the forthcoming lesson. Being in the garrulous blond’s company was precisely what he needed to get his mind off everything.
After gobbling down the last crumbs of his toast, Gardenia was finally satisfied. Leaving Hibiscus and Peony to their meal, he followed Holden from the dining room, keeping up a steady stream of meaningless chatter the entire time as they crossed the main hall and headed for the stairs.
“I wonder what Amaryllis has come up with for you. I saw some of the fabric the other day when I was helping him work on the broad stitches and such. I’m pretty good at those, but the fancy work he prefers to do himself. Quite the deft hand with a needle is our shrewish little flower.”
Usually Holden found the bickering feud between Gardenia and Amaryllis an amusing and rather welcoming diversion, seeing as how neither truly exerted any effort to draw blood. Rather, they had almost made a game of their unabashedly mutual aversion. But this morning, he found himself too distracted by other things to appreciate the artistry they put into defaming each other’s characters. He allowed Gardenia’s voice to wash over him as they mounted the stairs and made their way to Amaryllis’s quarters. Amaryllis had the last room down the hall on the right, across from what Holden had learned were Leslie’s quarters. Gardenia took it upon himself to knock once they’d reached the correct door.
“Enter” came the terse response.
Gardenia clucked in disapproval as he opened the door. “Manners, my dear Amaryllis. With that acid tongue of yours, it’s even more important you display them once in a while. After all, you won’t have your looks forever, and then where will you be?”
The expected reply was not forthcoming, and Holden glanced at Amaryllis questioningly as Gardenia’s baiting earned nothing beyond an annoyed grunt. Holden noted for the first time that morning the dark circles under Amaryllis’s eyes and realized Peony hadn’t been exaggerating about how hard he had been working. Holden couldn’t repress a surge of concern for him, but the sentiment quickly turned into awe as he saw the items spread across the bed.
“My word,” he breathed.
“Goodness, Amy!” Gardenia’s eyes widened as he examined the collection. “You’ve outdone yourself this time.”
Amaryllis shrugged. “Well, Leslie said he wanted something special for his newest flower, so I could hardly disappoint.”
Holden noted the hint of envy in Amaryllis’s tone, but he was far more interested in the sartorial collection. He reached out and reverently lifted a piece of dark blue silk. The smooth fabric ran through his fingers like water as the weight of the garment pulled it from his grasp.
“Go on, then,” Amaryllis said impatiently. “Try it on. That’s why I asked you up here, isn’t it?”
“Oh,” Holden replied inanely. In all honestly, once he laid eyes on the beautiful pieces, he’d quite forgotten they were for him. “Of course. Um, where can I go to change?”
Amaryllis rolled his eyes. “Saints preserve us.”
“Right here will do fine, Aster,” Gardenia said with a giggle. “There’s no need to be shy. We’re hardly able to retain our modesty for long in this place. Or,” he added, his eyes glinting with interest, “do you have some hideous deformity you don’t want us to know about? Do you? Please let us see!”
Holden twisted away when Gardenia took hold of his shirt and began pulling at it as though to remove it from him forcibly.
“No, I don’t, as you well know.” He slapped the grinning lad’s hand away with a mock frown. In truth, he had grown somewhat accustomed to disrobing in front of Gardenia, who had made it a habit of catching him in the morning right as he was beginning to dress for the day. “It’s just….”
Holden glanced at Amaryllis uncertainly. Having Gardenia see him undressed was one thing, but he was still uncomfortable at the thought of exposing himself to anyone else. He was, however, well aware that any prudishness on his part was less than pointless, considering why he was there in the first place.
“Oh, all right,” he said on a resigned sigh. Feeling overly conscious of the two pairs of eyes watching his every move, Holden removed his clothing as quickly as he could. If only he could divest himself of his infernal blushing as easily. He was beginning to think he should switch roles with Peony. As he usually did, he stopped at his undergarment, but a gusty exhale from Amaryllis informed him of his error.
“No, take those off as well. I don’t want them interfering with the lay of the fabric. Hurry up, will you?” Amaryllis added with an impatient snap of his fingers.
Gardenia shot him a glare and stuck out his tongue, but he said nothing to countermand the order. When he looked back at Holden, he merely offered an encouragingly teasing smile.
Closing his eyes, Holden applied himself to the buttons holding his undergarment closed, working clumsily in his nervousness. All too quickly the task was done. He let the white cotton fall from his shoulders and slide down past his hips until it pooled around his feet. Somehow, he resisted the urge to cover his unmentionable parts with his hands, though he shivered as the morning chill lashed at his bared skin.
“My, my.” Gardenia circled Holden slowly, subjecting him to an embarrassingly thorough visual examination. Even he hadn’t seen quite this much of Holden, usually granting him the reassurance of at least his underclothes. “Aren’t you quite the handsome specimen?”
Holden wanted to feel flattered at the compliment. Though he’d spent most of his days before coming here sitting either in classes or at a desk in his father’s office, he’d long been a fan of rowing. Hours spent indulging his passion had left him respectably fit for a young man of his former station. Mortification, however, quickly overwhelmed any gratitude he might have felt at the approbation. Though Gardenia favored his private area with a relatively brief glance, Holden nonetheless felt himself stir in reaction, thus increasing his already nearly unbearable sense of humiliation.
“Yes, he’s pretty as a picture. Can we please get on with this?”
For once Holden was grateful for Amaryllis’s churlishness. Grabbing the first item that came to hand, he hastily attempted to pull the blue silk over his head. He immediately realized his error when he noticed the garment was more akin to a robe than anything else. Once he’d thrust his arms through the full sleeves, they settled into place neatly. As he smoothed it down, he looked around for the remainder of the ensemble—in particular, the trousers—before he realized that there was no more of it to be had. Holden flushed hotly as he understood that he was essentially wearing a dress.
“What is this?” he asked, his tone rising indignantly. “These are ladies’ clothes!”
“Obviously,” Amaryllis sneered. “You didn’t think our customers would prefer to see us in trousers and waistcoat, did you?”
Holden hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected sense of Amaryllis’s explanation. He hadn’t really thought about it much—and rather on purpose at that—but he supposed, no matter his predilection, a man might not want a blatant reminder that he was paying money to bugger one of his own sex. Perhaps enabling their guests to maintain the illusion they were soliciting prostitutes of the mundane sort allowed them to preserve some impression that they hadn’t fallen completely into disgrace. Still, it chafed his pride to no small degree to be wearing something so utterly feminine.
“You’ll get used to the idea in time,” Gardenia said reassuringly. “Besides, you really do look stunning in that.” He grabbed Holden’s arm and dragged him over to the wardrobe that was nearly identical to the one in Holden’s room. After pulling it open to reveal the interior mirror, he positioned Holden in front of it. “See?”
Holden was completely unprepared for the image that greeted him. He had never had any great regard for his own appearance. He kept his hair combed, his clothes neat, and his hands free of ink—such was the extent of his concerns. Though he didn’t consider himself a capable judge, he couldn’t deny the truth of Gardenia’s estimation.
The style of the garment was influenced by the Orient in keeping with the theme Leslie seemed to prefer, though it was not Chinese in design. Rather, it seemed Amaryllis had reached farther afield to the secretive country the Americans had invaded only the previous decade. The heavy fabric fell in straight lines from his shoulders to the floor and down his arms past his hands, gaping open at the front. While the cut was simple, the silk was embroidered all over with stylized versions of the flower Leslie had named him after, done in fine, gold thread. Holden marveled at how the embellishment brought out the gold tones hidden in his eyes while the deep blue highlighted the touch of rose in his complexion.
“Let’s see,” Amaryllis said quietly, as though talking mostly to himself. He moved around Holden slowly, studying his handiwork. He tugged at the shoulder seams, nodding his apparent satisfaction with how they lay on Holden’s frame. “Yes, that will do. And now for this.” Amaryllis held up a long piece of chartreuse silk. “Lift your arms,” he ordered. When Holden complied, he wrapped the sash around Holden’s waist before moving behind him. “Gardenia, hold the front closed while I tie this.”
Gardenia did so with a happy expression, taking care to brush his hands against Holden’s ribs as he moved to pull the fabric closed by folding one side over the other. Holden glowered at him to express his disapproval of the stolen liberty, for all the good it did. He merely earned a larger grin for his trouble.
“There, that’s done. Lower your arms, and Gardenia, do stop groping him. You can do that when you’re in your own rooms, not in mine.”
Holden let his arms drop as Amaryllis moved back around to his front. To his surprise, the slippery fabric stayed in place. He looked behind him as far as he could and spied the edge of what appeared to be a bow fashioned of the chartreuse silk. “Where did you learn to make something like this?”
