Alex accepted her ministrations meekly. “No, not really. Only I have told a little fib and I feel absolutely terrible about it.”
Eliza stiffened slightly, then took a sip of her drink to calm herself. “I’m sure it can’t be too serious.”
“No, it’s not. Only I don’t know why I did it, and I feel just awful. You see, I took on a new client today.”
Eliza frowned. “I thought you were in court today. The Gunn case.”
“No, that was the fib. The Gunn case is still scheduled for Monday.”
“I see,” Eliza said, though she didn’t at all.
“The client is a young married woman,” Alex continued. “Her husband—” His voice caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, my darling, I don’t know of a gentle way to say this.”
“It’s all right, Alex.” Eliza squeezed his arm tenderly. “I am aware that not all men hold themselves to a gentleman’s code.”
Alex’s lip curled in a grimace. “Well, this man is as far from a gentleman as Moll Flanders is from a lady. I’m afraid he—he strikes his wife.”
“Oh!” Eliza’s hands flew, not to her mouth but to her stomach, as if this simple act could protect the growing child there from the horrors of the world. “The poor woman!”
“Indeed.” Alex took a moment to pat Eliza’s hand, then, as if that weren’t enough, leaned forward to give her a little kiss. “And, well, it soon emerged that she had neither a place to go to escape the brute, nor money with which to do so. So I took her to Caroline Childress’s inn and ensconced her in a room there. She was so distraught, though, that I didn’t feel it was safe to leave her for some time, lest in a panic she run out into the streets, or perhaps even back to him.”
“I understand completely,” Eliza said. “Only, why did you feel the need to hide it from me? Is she pretty?” She tried to make her voice light, but it sounded awkward to her ears.
Alex seemed about to say something, then stopped and grinned, tiredly but with the first real cheer since he had arrived home. “Why, Mrs. Hamilton! Are you jealous?”
“Jealous? How uncharitable of you, Mr. Hamilton! No, I only thought that, faced with the prospect of, shall we say, an extended period without romantic intimacy, you might find your eyes flitting to other, more beautiful vistas.”
“Oh, you are jealous!” Alex crowed. “How perfectly delightful! No,” he continued quickly, not quite able to wipe the smile from his face. “It has nothing to do with her looks. It’s just that she is unable to pay me anything, and I know we’ve talked about me taking on more lucrative clients so that we can move to a bigger house and raise our children in a manner befitting the Schuyler name. And here I am paying for a room for her out of my own pocket.”
“Out of your own pocket!” Eliza said quickly, then stopped herself. Now who’s being uncharitable? she thought. “How very gentlemanly of you,” she corrected quickly, though her tone didn’t sound very convincing. “This Mrs. . . .”
“Reynolds.”
“This Mrs. Reynolds is lucky that she found a man as chivalrous as you to see her through her time of need. Why, you make young Drayton here look like a proper boor.”
She nodded at Drayton, who was pouring and bowing and clearing and bowing and serving and bowing like some cleverly manipulated marionette.
“Yes, I was going to ask you about him. That shouting thing . . . ,” said Alex.
“It is rather jarring, but the guests are amused by it, and if I’m being honest it saves me the trouble of introductions. I can see why they do it at court.”
Alex smiled. “Whatever my princess wants.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry about fibbing. It was a lapse.”
“Hmph,” Eliza said. “Princess? I don’t see my mother around. That makes me the queen.”
Alex laughed, and she could tell he felt forgiven.
There is nothing to forgive, Eliza said silently, though she wondered if she were trying to convince herself. It was understandable that Alex should feel the need to drop everything and come to this woman’s rescue, after all, but why lie about it? Clearly she had touched some kind of nerve in him. Eliza didn’t think it was something she needed to be jealous of—she knew her husband adored her—but what, then, had so rattled him?
Who was this Mrs. Reynolds? And was she pretty? Eliza felt a little sick at the thought of her husband with another woman without telling her about it. But he did tell her about it, didn’t he? He told her about it just now. There was nothing to worry about. She knew he loved her completely. But they had been married now for several years—she shook the thought from her head irritably. She trusted her husband.
Just then Drayton took up his post at the door. “Miss Elizabeth Van Rensselaer and Mrs. Cornelius Jantzen.”
He stepped aside to reveal a pale blond girl of perhaps sixteen and a rather rotund matron of about sixty swaddled in widow’s weeds.
“Elizabeth Van Rensselaer?” Alex turned to her. “Stephen’s sister?”
“Her parents have sent her down for the season,” Eliza nodded.
Alex groaned. “Please don’t tell me she’s staying with us.”
“Ha!” Eliza said. “I gather Stephen has purchased a ‘city place,’ as he calls it, on Mulberry Street. It has six bedrooms and a ballroom large enough to contain our entire house. It is we who should be staying with them. But I will be seeing a fair bit of her. Peggy has asked that I chaperone her.”
“Isn’t that Mrs. Jantzen’s job? And is that the same Mrs. Jantzen who accompanied you to Morristown all those years ago, when I so gallantly rescued you from a wrecked carriage?”
“You mean ruined my favorite frock and insinuated that I snuck into your hayloft at my parents’ party?” Eliza teased, to Alex’s consternation. “And yes, that is the same Mrs. Jantzen. Widowed now, the poor thing, so we must try to be accommodating. But still. She is a bit much for any young girl to have to deal with for six months.”
“So it’s Eliza Hamilton to the rescue again, is it?”
“What can I say?” Eliza said. “It’s a calling.”
“I sense there’s more to this than a mere ‘calling,’” Alex said, “but I’ll get to the bottom of it later. Let’s go greet our guests.”
“Perhaps,” Eliza said coyly as they made their way across the room. “By the way,” she added. “You still haven’t told me if she’s pretty.”
“If who’s pretty?” Alex said, eyes wide in feigned innocence.
Eliza snapped her fan open and waved it coquettishly in front of her face and décolletage. “Just remember, it’ll be a year before I am again your blushing bride, as they say. Indeed, I’ve heard sometimes the recovery takes as long as two.”
“You will always be my blushing bride, no matter what,” said Alex softly. “You have never been more beautiful.” He lowered his face to hers and kissed her tenderly.
Eliza gave in to the deepening kiss, hiding them behind her fan, as Alex drew her even more tightly to him. So many couples lost their spark once children entered into the picture, yet to her he was still the dashing young soldier she first fell in love with, and she fervently hoped what he said was true. That she would always be his blushing bride.
“We’ll see if you’re still singing the same tune in a few weeks,” she teased, pulling away to catch her breath.
In answer, Alex kept the fan firmly in place to kiss his wife again.
10
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Romance
The Hamilton Town House, Rear Parlor
New York, New York
July 1785
When they had finally stopped kissing, Alex and Eliza attended to their guests. Alex entertained the menfolk with stories of his latest victory over Aaron Burr in court, and when he once again caught up with his wife, she was looping her arm through Betty Van Rensselaer’s. Claiming that Betty m
ust be exhausted from her travels, Eliza pulled her into the rear parlor, which was less crowded than the front—people always wanted to be near the door to spot new arrivals and claim any celebrity guest as their own.
“Drayton,” Eliza called to the footman as they went. “Do please bring a decanter of Miss Van Rensselaer’s brother’s honey wine for her to drink.”
“Drayton,” Betty called in a mocking voice. “Do please don’t bring a decanter of Miss Van Rensselaer’s brother’s honey wine for her to drink. Miss Van Rensselaer has drunk more of her brother’s honey wine than is safe for any human being to consume. I fear if I have another drop I shall turn into a honeybee!”
“Oh, I see,” Eliza said, and motioned for Drayton to wait. “What would you like to drink then?”
Betty turned to Alex with a wicked grin. “I have heard that the Marquis de Lafayette often sends you some of the cognacs and wines he produces on his estate in France. Perhaps you have a bottle on hand?”
Alex smiled at the girl’s moxie. You certainly couldn’t fault her taste. “Alas, those gifts, precious as they are, seem never to last very long in this household. I always mean to set a bottle aside—”
“—and we always wake up with it beside the bed,” Eliza said with a laugh.
“I can offer you some of the wine General Schuyler makes on his Saratoga estate,” Alex suggested.
“Ugh,” Betty said, then blushed slightly. “Begging your pardon, Eliza, but Peggy is always trying to get us to drink it at Rensselaerswyck. Barker, our butler, can’t even get the servants to imbibe it, let alone the guests.”
Alex covered his smile with his hand. He shared Betty’s opinion of his father-in-law’s wine-making abilities and knew Eliza did as well, but he never would have said it quite so bluntly.
“Footman,” Betty said now, turning to Drayton, “what is Mr. Hamilton’s finest liquor?”
“His name is Drayton,” Eliza said in such a way that made Alex turn sharply to her. Alex knew that Eliza hated to see servants talked down to, but her tone was less critical than . . . personal, almost. It was as if his wife were introducing their footman to their sister-in-law. “Drayton Pennington.”
“Speak up, Pembleton,” Betty said with a wry grin. “I know my brother-in-law is holding out on me.”
Drayton nodded deferentially, though Alex couldn’t tell if he was cowed by the girl’s imperious manner or by the fact that a pretty girl was teasing him in front of a roomful of people. “From what I have seen, Mr. Hamilton esteems his Virginia bourbon above all other libations. It was sent to him by Mr. James Madison from his own estate, Montpelier.”
Alex’s mouth dropped. That bourbon was indeed delectable and was one of his prized possessions. There were only a few bottles left.
“Is that so? Well, then, that’s what I’ll have. Be sure to bring the whole bottle. I don’t want to have to keep calling you. Not for drinks, anyway,” she added, all but winking at the clearly embarrassed boy.
Alex couldn’t tell if she was toying with Drayton or actually flirting with him. He had heard that Betty was headstrong and spoiled but good-natured. It would be just like a rich, pretty princess from the provinces to have a last fling with a handsome New York servant before going back to Albany to marry some first or second cousin fifteen years her elder and settling into a life of tea parties and children. At any rate, before Alex could think of a suitable protest—other than the fact that he wanted it all for himself—Drayton was gone.
“Well, what do you think?” Eliza said, turning back to Betty.
Again that familiar tone, as if some European baronet had just left the room and Eliza wanted to dish about the wax in his mustache or the extent of his vineyards. Alex was starting to wonder what his wife was playing at.
“Oh, the house is lovely,” Betty said after a bit of a pause. “Stephen told me its diminutive size only added to the charm, and he was correct. I wouldn’t mind another log on the fire though. These north-facing rooms do get rather chilly, even in July.”
Eliza smiled, a bit painfully. “Thank you—our tiny little house does suit us, though perhaps we’ll find larger accommodations when baby comes.”
“What baby?” Betty said blankly. She looked around for a moment, then pulled her shawl around her shoulders.
“Didn’t Peggy tell you? I am expecting.”
Betty shrugged. “Maybe? I’ve never quite paid attention to pregnancy. It’s so . . . unsightly, you know.” With her hands, she described a rotund shape, frowning first, then laughing. “The figure never really bounces back either, does it? Even Peggy, who was once nearly as slim as I am, has thickened up since Cathy’s birth. She has this cute little fold of skin below her chin now. I call it her wattle, which I think is quite funny, but she seems to think I am teasing her.”
“She should wear it with pride,” Eliza said, though it seemed to Alex that she sat up a little straighter, as if to smooth out the folds in her skin.
“Mmmm,” Betty cooed in a noncommittal manner.
At that very moment a rattle sounded from the door. Drayton had returned with a bottle and sherry glasses balanced on his tray.
“Oh, Pemberly is back with the whiskey!” Betty said, clapping her hands. “Yay!”
Drayton hesitated but recovered quickly. He set his tray down on a sideboard and began pouring drinks.
Alex sighed under his breath. Even the bottle James had brewed his whiskey in was beautiful, exceptionally tall and slim, and blown from translucent heavy crystal. The liquid inside was golden brown—just like the color of Maria Reynolds’s hair—why that occurred to him, he did not know, and he banished the thought quickly.
Drayton placed a glass on his tray and bent forward to offer it to Betty. She didn’t look at it, and her hands remained in her lap. “Eliza, please don’t forget to ask Dradington to stoke the fire.”
Alex could see that Eliza’s smile was forced. “Of course. I’ll be sure to relay the information to Drayton.” She paused. “Don’t you want a drink?”
“Oh, I’d love one!” Betty said, though she made no move to acknowledge Drayton’s presence. The footman continued to bend forward like a clock whose hands have stopped at two thirty. Despite the tray delicately balanced on it, his outstretched arm was absolutely unmoving.
“It’s, um, right there?” Eliza said.
Betty turned and abruptly looked at Drayton as if she had just noticed him for the first time. “What, this?”
Even Drayton was finding it hard to maintain his composure. “Er, yes?” he said, as if he doubted what he had poured in the glass before her.
“But I asked for whiskey, and this is a sherry glass,” Betty said.
Drayton’s mouth dropped open, and his cheeks went red. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Van Rensselaer—”
“No need to apologize, Drayton,” Eliza spoke over him. “The fault is all mine.” She turned to Betty. “I told Drayton that where ladies are concerned, he should always serve brown liquors in sherry glasses. One wouldn’t want them looking like boozing sailors, now would one?”
“Oh, ah, I see,” Betty said, unsure if she had just been insulted or not. “In that case, thank you.” She took the glass from Drayton’s tray and held it in her lap without drinking.
Point to Eliza, Alex thought proudly, then accepted his own glass.
“Wait, why is he getting a sherry glass, too?” Betty asked. “He’s not a lady, as far as I can tell.”
“Wait till you taste the whiskey,” Alex said quickly. “It deserves a belled glass to encapsulate its oaky bouquet.”
Betty sniffed at her glass, then wrinkled her nose. “Smells like whiskey to me,” she said, then tossed her drink back in a single gulp. “Fill ’er up, Pennyworth,” she said, holding out her glass to him.
Alex still couldn’t tell if she was teasing Drayton playfully or if she was just being r
ude. He glanced at Eliza. Her face was equally puzzled, but there was also a sharpness to her eyes, as if she had some a vested interest in knowing which it was.
But he had more pressing concerns. He was quickly realizing that if he was going to get any enjoyment out of this bottle he was going to have to try to keep up with his sister-in-law. “Another for me as well, Drayton.”
Drayton refilled their glasses, then turned to Eliza, who demurred, patting her stomach. “Very good, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”
“I think that’s all for now. Perhaps Miss Van Rensselaer will want a plate in a while, though, so do check back.”
“Of course, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, bowing as he backed out of the room.
As soon as he was gone, Eliza turned to Betty. “Well,” she said in the same excited tone as before. “What do you think?”
“Of the house?” Betty said. “I believe I said it was cozy? Am I imagining that?”
“Not the house,” Eliza said with a smile. “Drayton.”
“Who is that?” Betty asked, apparently serious.
“The footman?” Eliza said. “The one you were so clearly flirting with?”
“I was flirting?” Betty said incredulously. “With the footman?”
“You must admit he is quite handsome,” Eliza said in a leading voice.
“Oh, is he?” Alex said now, feeling a flash of jealousy himself. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Said the man hiding strange women in hotel rooms,” Eliza said sharply, though she kept her gaze directed at Betty.
“There’s nothing strange about Mrs. Reynolds,” Alex said. “You very quickly get used to that third arm she has growing out of her side.” He wagged a finger at Drayton, who was just visible in the front parlor, on the far side of the dining room. “What’s this? What are you cooking up here?”
Eliza took a sip of her drink. “Why, whatever do you mean?” she said, in what Alex thought was supposed to be a Southern accent, though it sounded rather Irish to Alex’s ears.
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