The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 21

The carriage rolled into the front drive of Derniere and Alexander pushed the door open, Maisre in his arms, before the horses had come to a stop. Launched himself out of the carriage and started toward the house before his father— Jesus his father— could try to speak to him again. Could try to make him see reason. See sense.

He did not want to see sense. Couldn't even if he tried. They had been lovers. The man who had sat across from him today had been his only lover. The only lover he'd ever taken. The only lover he ever expected to take. It had only been a few weeks together but he had believed that there was something between them.

There would still be something between them if the man he loved hadn't so foolishly opened his mouth.

They'd have never known. Would have been happy. Would have loved each other and been happy and it would never have mattered.

It was Alexander's fault. He should have stayed silent. Should have told his father that of course he knew Rachel Foucette's son George. Nice enough. Friend of Mister Neddy's. No, they hadn't spent much time together. Mister George was from the planter class and Alexander was nothing more than a slave.

When he realized what his father was telling him Alexander should have lied.

It was his fault that they were like this. His fault and his own stupid mouth. Always talking. Always saying the worst things. His own mouth had led to his unhappiness.

"What are you—" Billy Lee met him at the front door. "I thought you and Mister Washington were staying in town until the season started?"

"There has been a change in plans." He pushed past Billy Lee.

"And what are you carrying?" The other man yelped. "Mister Washington doesn't like dogs in the house."

"He'll get over it." Alexander started up the stairs, not breaking his stride.

He turned left instead of right and made his way to the guest suite at the end of the hall. Pushed the door open and saw that while it was clean it was dusty.

"Billy Lee," he called out even as he heard his father's footsteps on the entryway floors. "Ask Daniella to come up and dust the East Rooms. And fresh sheets."

He set Maisre down on the floor and stared at her. "Stay."

She barked and followed closely at his heels as he stalked across the upstairs landing to the room he'd once shared with his lover.

"Why are we opening the—"

"There has been a development," his father said, his voice subdued.

"A development?" Billy Lee asked as Alexander opened the door and let himself inside. Started grabbing his few things into his arms. The book they'd been reading together. His spare change of clothes. A razor and a strop. A comb.

It would only take him one trip to move out of their shared room.

He heard a rip and looked over to see Maisre had her teeth in his father's favorite fireside chair. He should correct her. Slap her nose and break her of the habit of tearing up the furniture.

He didn't bother.

"Come Maisre." He started back across the landing to his own room.

Daniella was already there with a rag and a set of fresh white cotton sheets. "Is it true then?" she whispered.

"Is what true?" He asked as he began to pull blankets off the bed and stripped the sheets as she hurriedly dusted.

"You're Mister Washington's son?" Daniella asked. "The one he thought was called George Jr? The one who was supposed to have died all those years back?"