Miguel’s Spanish accent was pronounced, but his English vocabulary was flawless. Alex often suspected that the accent was part of his disguise, like the articulated wooden appendage—instead of the standard issue peg leg—he wore inside a knee-high leather boot to disguise his missing foot. Alex wouldn’t be surprised to find out the man’s real name was Michael and he had been born in Charleston or Birmingham.
“Do you mean they are not legally married?” Alex asked, after weighing the information Miguel had just presented. “In that case, a formal divorce is un—” He broke off.
“You cannot dissolve what has never been established. Which is not to say that there is not a relationship between James Reynolds and Maria Lewis, as the state still knows her.” Miguel smiled cunningly. “But you’re not interested in Miss Lewis or Mrs. Reynolds, or however you would term her, right? You’re only interested in the husband.”
Alex kept his face impassive. “I’m interested in whatever tells me more about the husband. If that involves information about his wife, or companion—”
“Companion is not quite the word I would use, Señor Hamilton.”
“Señor La Vera, please. Despite the unusual state of her union, she is still a lady. Speak with respect.”
“Begging your pardon, Señor Hamilton, but whatever else Miss Lewis is, she is no lady.”
Such vulgarity made Alex physically recoil. “Señor La Vera!”
“Believe me, Señor Hamilton, it pains me to speak of a member of the fair sex in such a manner. But Miss Lewis’s past, and her liaison with Mr. Reynolds, are the type of thing that you would prevent your own wife even to know about, let alone associate with.”
“I am shocked to hear you speak this way, Señor. You and I both know more than most that a person is neither his ancestry nor his upbringing. Especially in this country. A person is what he makes himself—or herself, in Mrs. Reynolds’s case.”
“You mean Miss Lewis.”
“I mean Mrs. Reynolds! She has been with him since she was sixteen years old!”
“Did she tell you that? If she did, she was lying. She has been with him no more than two years.”
Alex couldn’t help himself. He smashed his fist down on his desk. “How dare you!”
Miguel had fought in half a dozen wars and watched as a surgeon sawed off his own leg. He was not easily ruffled, and his affection for Alex was such that Alex’s blow brought a smile to his face, albeit a rueful one.
“You know me, Señor Hamilton. You know I do not say such things lightly. But I’ve spoken to a dozen and more people who all testify that Miss Lewis is a woman of low morals, and that for the past two years Mr. Reynolds has been her . . . agent, if you will.” He raised his hand to silence Alex before he could interrupt. “You charged me with investigating Mr. Reynolds, but it was very clear that Mrs. Reynolds was the real focus of your interest, so I asked around about her, too. I learned that she was orphaned young and ill-served by her family. I have no doubt that she was forced to become the kind of woman that she is, and that Mr. Reynolds preyed upon her vulnerability to keep her in that position. She is not the first girl he has mistreated in such a manner. But after a two-year liaison you have to ask yourself, why is she only leaving now?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Alex was stunned speechless. Miguel gave Alex a moment before he continued: “People can change, Señor Hamilton. For the better, but also for the worse. By all accounts Miss Lewis was a fine lass. Perhaps one day she will be again. But do not assume that just because she is a woman she is incapable of making plans of her own. You do not know why she left her husband, or why she sought you out. You do not even know if she has really left him.”
Alex laughed. “Now you’re just talking nonsense.”
“Have you ever known me to speak nonsense before?” Miguel didn’t give Alex a chance to reply. “I managed to speak to the vile man. He tried to pretend that he knew where his wife was, but I don’t believe him. But I also spoke to many people who tell me that he many times uses women to swindle honest men. Honest married men,” he added pointedly. “Married men like you, Mr. Hamilton.”
Even as his spine went cold, Alex felt his face flush at this insinuation or warning, he wasn’t sure which. “Did you always know she was my client?”
Miguel considered Alex’s words and offered a genuine smile. “It’s what you pay me for, Señor Hamilton.” He stood up to leave, pulling a thick envelope out of his pocket and tossing it on Alex’s desk. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Reynolds is pure filth. These documents will give you all you need to destroy him. For the good of all of New York, please do so.”
* * *
• • •
THE SCENE FLASHED through Alex’s mind as he shook Maria’s hand.
“I was just reading,” she said, setting her book aside. “I get so bored in my room, especially with no visitors.” If there was an accusation in her words, she kept it out of her tone. With a small gesture, she indicated the seat opposite hers. “Won’t you join me?”
Alex looked at her sweet, open face. Could she really be the swindler Miguel said she was? Could she really be trying to swindle him? No, he decided. She was a woman alone in the world, a woman in a position not unlike the one his mother had found herself in—and his mother was innocent and deserved a better life. So did Maria Reynolds. She deserved his trust, and if he was honest, he was lonely.
Miguel had said she was false, but Alex couldn’t believe that to be true. It would be like blaming his mother for her woes, and he could never, would never, be so disloyal as to think that of the woman who had raised and loved and yes—admittedly—failed him.
“Mr. Hamilton?” she prodded.
“I’d love to,” he said at last.
19
Match Point
The Mount Pleasant Ballroom
New York, New York
August 1785
While unbeknownst to her, Alex was in the company of a strange woman not his wife, Eliza was at the Beekman estate preparing for a ball.
She didn’t know at what point the evening turned into a party. First Elias and Amy Van Huysman showed up, then Frederick and Constance Swanson, then a half dozen other guests whose names rang a bell, but whom Eliza had never met.
Even before the first guests arrived, though, Eliza knew something was afoot, because Betty Van Rensselaer had hooked her arm through Drayton’s and was hustling him upstairs. Eliza had indeed hoped for Betty to see Drayton as a suitor, but this seemed rather . . . rushed.
“Betty? Where are you taking my footman?” she said, trailing after them.
“Footman?” Betty called without slowing. “What footman? I see only Drayton Pendleton, elegant, eligible bachelor from the wilds of . . . Kentucky, is it?”
“Ohio, madam,” Drayton said uncertainly. “And it’s Pennington, not Pendleton.”
“Ohio! Even better! Half the people here will have never even heard of it, and no one will have been there! Ohio!”
“Begging your pardon, madam, but I don’t—”
“And there’ll be none of this ‘madam’ business tonight. Tonight we are all equals. Nay, you are our superior, for rumor has it that the Pendletons’ Ohio holdings are as big as the New York estates of Livingston and Van Rensselaer combined!”
“Betty, what are you going on about?” Eliza said as she followed them down the second-floor hallway. She was only just showing, but she felt a half step slower than normal. “Drayton has been driving all day. I’m sure he’s quite tired and would like to get a bite to eat and rest.”
“Food he’ll have a-plenty, and none of that servant’s grub, either. As for rest, alas, there’ll be no rest for anyone tonight. Tonight we dance!”
She threw open a door and pushed Drayton into what appeared to be a man’s bedroom. “Out of that uniform, my good man!”
; “Miss Van Rensselaer!” he protested.
“There’s a wash basin and towel. Feel free to avail yourself of it. And don’t stint on the lavender water. We can’t have you smelling of horse.” She pulled the door closed and then, to Eliza’s surprise, locked it.
Eliza took her sister-in-law’s arm. “Betty! What is going on here? Why have you taken Drayton prisoner?”
A hesitant knock came from the other side of the door. “Miss Van Rensselaer? I’m really quite confused.”
Betty smiled wickedly as she dropped the key in her cleavage.
“What’s there to be confused about?” she said in a voice loud enough for Drayton to hear. “Tonight, as per your mistress’s wish, we are doing a little experiment in class mobility. We are going to introduce you to a half dozen eligible bachelorettes and see if your innate charm is enough to woo them despite the—forgive me for being so blunt—the circumstances of your birth. Mr. James Beekman has been kind enough to lend you one of his suits for the evening to help with the charade. You are rather broader in the shoulder than he is, but the fashion is for men to wear their jackets open, so it should be suitable. Suitable!” she repeated. “Oh! I made a pun!”
“But this is absurd!” Eliza exclaimed. “Even if he does manage to fool everyone, what happens when they learn who he really is?” Eliza could not for the life of her understand how they had reached this pass. She had meant for Betty to take an interest in Drayton herself, not to introduce him to all of society as its most eligible bachelor!
“I thought he was a Pennington,” Betty joked. “Look, Eliza, no one’s going to propose to anyone tonight. And besides, I do not intend to let any of these hussies steal him from me. I am the real prize here, after all. Am I not?”
“I’m not sure prize is the word I’m thinking of right now,” Eliza said drily.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” Drayton’s voice came through the door. “What am I to do?”
“Come on,” Betty cajoled. “If nothing else it will be a night of adventure for him and Emma. And maybe something will come of it.”
“Emma?” Eliza repeated.
“Well, of course. Drayton is my project, and Emma is John’s. You are set on your brother making Emma Trask your new sister-in-law and have been giving me more than a few nudges in Drayton’s direction. Now’s your chance to see if your matchmaking will catch flame. Matchmaking! Catch flame! Oh! I did it again!”
Eliza paused. Well, first she groaned at Betty’s second bad pun, then she paused. She didn’t think it was right to treat Drayton like a plaything, but if it meant that Emma and John could be drawn closer together, it might be worth it. And Betty may have been right: This could be an adventure that her footman would look back on later in life, if not fondly, then at least with amusement. And who knew? Betty was a flesh-and-blood girl, and Drayton possessed of undeniable physical charms. Maybe something would at last spark between them. Betty seemed hung up by Drayton’s station and his uniform. Perhaps if he was dressed as a gentleman she would consider him as such and Eliza’s plan could really take off?
But getting out of his uniform seemed to be exactly what Drayton was worried about. “Mrs. Hamilton?” he called again.
Eliza couldn’t resist the intrigue of such an evening and decided it was worth a try. “If you don’t mind, Drayton, please don the suit Miss Van Rensselaer has provided for you. I gather tonight is going to be a bit of a . . . masquerade.”
“And let’s not forget about you,” Betty said. “Jane’s mother just got back from Paris with the most sumptuous fabrics you’ve ever seen. Jane’s got a dozen new dresses and she’s promised us each one—your adorable Emma will have to put aside her Pilgrim gray for the evening, I’m afraid. I’ve picked out a dress for her that is of a golden hue so rich you could think it had been hammered out by smiths rather than sewn by seamstresses. And there’s some precious metal for you too: the most stunning pink frock with real silver thread in the piping. It’s like that dress you wore in that lovely portrait of you over your fireplace, but the forte version.”
Eliza frowned. “Doesn’t forte mean loud?”
Betty winked. “Just like the evening!” Then she turned and skipped off to her own room to change.
* * *
• • •
THREE HOURS LATER, Betty’s prediction had come true. Jane had impressed a trio of servants into musical duty, and though they weren’t particularly adept at their instruments, they produced a lot of noise and managed to keep (mostly) on tempo. A succession of somewhat strained minuets, more comical than graceful, gave way to livelier jigs and reels, and the Beekmans’ airy ballroom was soon toasty with the heat of bouncing bodies. The dancers were arranged longways, in two facing lines that spanned the length of the room, and partners were passed around liberally.
Before the first hour was up, everyone had danced with everyone else. Emma and John danced elegantly, if a little mechanically—no one would ever accuse her brother of grace on the boards—and at a certain point Eliza was pretty sure that Emma was leading him rather than the other way around. Drayton, however, had clearly had lessons out in Ohio, and he had a natural swagger as well, which had Betty beaming from ear to ear. Eliza was not surprised to discover that Drayton was a good dancer, despite growing up in a cabin in the Ohio wilderness, but it was somewhat more amazing to see Emma bob and bow and twirl, all with a radiant smile on her face. Pru Schlesinger was fond of a good party, and clearly she had not deprived her poor niece of the pleasure of accompanying her out and about.
When it was her turn to dance with him, Eliza tried to ask Drayton if he was enjoying himself, but his gracefulness came at price: He concentrated so hard on the steps to their quatrain that he was barely able to acknowledge Betty’s “amiability as a partner” as he twirled and turned Eliza around the floor. But when it was time for a second go-round, she begged off. She would never say it aloud, but Eliza was tired already. She didn’t know whether it was the long day traveling or the dancing or the added weight of pregnancy, or some combination, but her feet ached as if she been on them all day.
The boys protested, but she patted her stomach and was left alone, watching the revelry with a sigh. She remembered the first ball when she had met her husband, and how he had annoyed her, only because she was so attracted to him and did not want to admit it. Alex cut such a dashing figure and was a terrible flirt—she had been quite jealous of all the girls who clung to his side like burrs. Like Aaron Burr, she thought, a literal burr on his side as they often clashed in court and traded insults in the press. Eliza always thought they were more like enemies than friends, although Alex assured her it was all in good fun.
She turned back to the present and was pleased to see Betty sweep Drayton back out on the floor, and even more pleased to see John return to Emma. The footman and the houseguest had balked at the onset of the party, but Betty and John were not to be put off, and liberal doses of the Beekmans’ homemade wine, which packed the punch of a good brandy, soon lowered their inhibitions, to Eliza’s delight. Drayton whirled Betty around as though she were weightless. Emma gamboled about like a lamb in a meadow.
It was especially nice to see Emma shed her usual reserve. Her childhood had made her steady but perhaps too serious, and Eliza delighted in seeing her let loose for once and laugh like the girl she was. And why not? She was a beautiful, graceful, poised young woman. Though too withdrawn to ever be the center of a party, she was an amiable conversationalist and even better listener. Tonight, her golden gown was every bit as resplendent as Betty promised, with emerald and turquoise embroidery that only heightened its luster. There hadn’t been time for wigs, much to everyone’s relief (or at least Eliza’s), but one of Jane’s maids had managed to do some simple but lovely plaiting of Emma’s hair, which coiled around her head in elegant loops and bows. A little powder highlighted the porcelain quality of her skin, et voilà: the “poor relation” Mary Murr
ay had turned up her nose at was now as regal as a duchess.
Even the size of her dress didn’t hinder her. For some reason Jane thought that she was going to keep the hooped bustle in fashion, though it had been steadily decreasing in size over the past few years. Emma’s dress, like Eliza’s and Betty’s and Jane’s, was an architectural miracle, half as wide at the hips as Emma was tall, and flaring out into a massive skirt that could have swallowed a card table. Indeed, with so many girls in such large gowns, the footmen had had to bring in extra sofas and armless chairs to accommodate them in the parlors, and even then they had to be widely spaced to allow for the ladies’ spreading skirts. Yet Emma, who rarely wore a corset let alone a bustle, handled it with pure elegance.
If the ladies were exuberant flowers—dahlias and hydrangeas and rhododendrons—the gentlemen were handsome branches on which they leaned. Even so, Drayton stood out from the pack. The suit Betty had selected for him was lovely. It was in a particularly striking robin’s egg blue—pale but iridescent, bringing out the color of his eyes—although whenever Drayton was left alone he seemed to shrink a little into his own skin, as if he were trying to hide. Eliza was afraid this might give away his origins, but all it did was make him look like the rough-and-tumble son of a gentleman who had been impressed into ballroom finery by an older sister, which was almost true.
Eliza sipped some cool lemonade and rested her feet, proud of how well Drayton was doing at the party. He was such a naturally formal boy. Not cold or aloof, but respectful, even deferential, especially where women were concerned. Betty had dragged him off to a couple of chairs in a corner, and he sat with an attentive smile on his face while she went on and on about who knows what. Her hair, perhaps (she kept touching it), or her dress (she kept touching that as well—not to mention the curve around her cleavage). Drayton, poor boy, did all he could do to keep his eyes focused on hers. Being a boy of strong moral fiber, he succeeded.
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