I bowed my head over the tiny bonnet I was stitching for my newest sibling, and pretended not to hear them. Because fresh snow had fallen two nights ago and the Albany road was still covered, Papa had sent his own sleigh to the inn where Alexander and Mr. McHenry were to have stopped last night. Even Papa had been unable to keep from teasing me about Alexander’s arrival, telling me that he’d purposefully sent the sleigh to make sure my bridegroom wouldn’t escape before the wedding.
I’d only smiled then, much as I smiled now. My family could say whatever they wished. Nothing would stop Alexander from coming here, and nothing would stop me from being the first to greet him when he did.
Alexander had received his first army commission as a captain in March of 1776. Nearly five years had passed since then, and he’d not taken a single leave of absence from the army. He had labored without pause, and during the time spent as a member of His Excellency’s Family, he had kept the general’s long hours as well, rising before dawn and working late into the night.
Now, in the last week of November 1780, he was finally stepping away from the Family and the army, and I was the reason. No, I shouldn’t say that: we were the reason, Alexander and I together, and our wedding that would bind us forever as one.
His Excellency had grudgingly granted Alexander six weeks’ leave, and when he had ridden from headquarters at Tappan, New York, only one friend from the Family was permitted to accompany him: James McHenry, the general’s secretary, and a surgeon besides. Foreign-born (from Ulster, in Ireland) like Alexander, Mr. McHenry served without rank as a volunteer, which was perhaps why he was spared for our wedding.
I glanced out the frost-edged window for the thousandth time. November days were short, and with the sun already dipping lower into the sky, I prayed they’d be here soon, and safely.
I leaned closer to the window, blowing a small cloud upon the pane, and with my finger traced two overlapping hearts. I smiled at my foolishness, and as I did, I caught sight of the chestnut team and the sleigh behind it, dark and sleek against the white snow.
I dropped my sewing and raced from the room and into the hall. I didn’t wait for a servant, but swung open the heavy front door myself and stepped outside, forgetting the cold. The sleigh was slowly making its way up the hill to our house, the horses weary and laboring, but all I saw was Alexander, standing in the sleigh and waving his hat to me. I laughed with delight, and hurried down the front steps, my skirts bunched to one side so I wouldn’t catch my heel in my hems and trip.
He didn’t wait for the sleigh to stop before he’d clambered over the side and into the snowy drive, and I ran toward him and he ran toward me. He caught me in his arms and swung me off my feet, and then kissed me with all the hunger of a starving man. There’s an old saying that absence is a general cure for love, but from that moment I knew being apart had only made us love each other more.
“My dearest Betsey,” he said, still holding me tightly. “You can’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
“I can, because I missed you that much, too,” I said breathlessly, and kissed him again.
He made a rumbling noise of contentment deep in his chest. “I cannot wait until you’re mine, my love.”
“Nor I.” I’m sure my entire family was watching us from the windows, and reluctantly I disentangled myself from him, though I kept my hand in his. Poor Mr. McHenry had been left standing beside the sleigh, discreetly gazing out at the river and away from us, and I stepped forward to offer him my hand.
“Good day, sir,” I said. “How glad you must be that your journey is done, and I thank you, too, for bringing Alexander to me.”
“Thank you, Miss Schuyler,” he said, bowing. He was a stocky man with a full, intelligent face and an agreeable manner that made him welcome in any company. “Truth be told, I do not believe I could have kept him away even if I wished it.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Alexander agreed, and the two men laughed, making me suspect that there’d been much discussion between them on that very topic. “Come, McHenry, we must pay our respects to the general and his lady wife.”
“I’m sure you both wish to warm yourselves, too,” I said, turning to lead them up the steps.
But Alexander hung back, gazing up at the house’s tall brick façade. It was an imposing house, and sizable, too: larger than any other in Albany, larger than most in New York and Philadelphia as well. I’d lived there all my life and thought of it as my home and nothing more, but I realized how different a prospect it must be for him.
“Do you recall the first time I was here?” he said. “The last time, too. I was exhausted and spent from riding from Valley Forge in five days, and then being compelled to attend General Gates, and coax him into sharing his troops with His Excellency.”
“Is that where you were?” I asked curiously. “I recall that you were most secretive about your mission.”
“An old secret that has lost all its power,” he said. “But I was impressed that you didn’t pry, the way most women would have. Reticence is a rare quality in any mortal, and yours left its impression upon me.”
“I should hope I possessed more qualities than keeping silent,” I said wryly, amused that that was what he’d remembered of our first conversation.
“You were only quiet when it was appropriate, as any good soldier’s daughter knows to be,” he said seriously, still looking up at the house. “As I recall, you spoke freely of things that mattered, and I liked that, too. I never thought then that I’d return here now, and in these circumstances.”
His humor was difficult to read, but then I was accustomed to that with Alexander. I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, leaning against him with reassuring fondness.
“You do realize that by marrying me, you’re becoming one of us,” I said. “You must consider us your family now, and this your home.”
He smiled crookedly, but at the house, not at me. “It’s been many years since I could call any one place home.”
I wondered exactly how many years that had been; most likely at least a dozen, before his mother had died, though from what he’d told me they’d lived in such squalid circumstances as to hardly qualify as a home. I didn’t want him to be making comparisons again between those circumstances and the ones in which I’d been raised, comparisons that achieved nothing but to darken his mood.
“Come,” I said softly, leading him forward. “I’m sure my parents are waiting inside, and then you will meet all the rest of my family.”
We were a considerable number to meet, even without Angelica and Mr. Carter and their children, who would join us at the end of the week. Alexander had already met my sister Peggy, a year younger than I, but this was the first time he’d encountered my brothers, John, who was fifteen, Philip, twelve, and Rensselaer, seven, and my youngest sister, Cornelia, who was only four. Yet he met them all with great aplomb and charm, including Cornelia, who was notoriously shy with strangers. Even Papa’s dogs liked him. Best of all was seeing how warmly my parents greeted him, as if he truly were another son.
He and Mr. McHenry (whom Alexander declared I must call Mac) would sleep in my brothers’ bedchamber, with my brothers giving up their beds to sleep on mattresses on the floor, as they often did for guests. This was no hardship for my brothers, who were excited at the prospect of sharing their room with heroic gentlemen from His Excellency’s Family. I could only imagine—though I did not wish to know—what kinds of outlandish tales were told in that room in the evening, but the result was that my brothers considered Alexander the finest fellow they’d ever met.
Things continued well through supper with much merriment, or so I thought. But at the end of the meal, when Mamma and I and my younger siblings rose to leave the table and the wine to the men, Alexander declined.
“If you please, sir,” he said to my father. His tone and expression was serious, even somber. “There are certain important affairs I wish to discuss with Eliza alone as soon as is possible.”
/> At that everyone fell uncomfortably silent, including me. But Papa was quick to offer us the privacy of his library, and we retreated there.
“What has happened, Alexander?” I asked with concern as soon as the door was closed and we were alone together. “Have the British—”
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “Or rather, when I left Tappan, all seemed quiet on the various fronts. Here, sit beside me, so we can speak properly.”
I’d thought we could speak properly as we were, but I did as he bid, sitting in one of Papa’s mahogany chairs while Alexander took the other. It was all too formal, and being in a room that was so much my father’s domain did nothing to put me at ease. Because no one had expected the library to be put to use this evening, the fire had been hastily lit for us and gave off little heat, and the shutters were drawn over the windows. I’d always found Papa’s leather-bound books in their tall cases and his looming secretary desk to be almost forbidding, and by the light of the single candlestick that we’d brought here with us, the entire room felt uncomfortably cold and gloomy.
“Something has happened,” I said, my uncertainty growing. “Is it my letters regarding Major André? If it is, Alexander, then I—”
“No, Betsey,” he said quickly, and took my hand. “Not at all. That particular tragedy has played itself out, and as we agreed in our letters, there’s nothing more for either of us to say. We have heard, however, through our agents that Arnold’s treachery has earned him a far smaller price than he anticipated. He’d expected a princely sum from the Crown in return for his duplicity, but it seems that since he failed to deliver West Point, his financial reward is much reduced. Nor have they given him the command he’d hoped for, either. His new masters know he has betrayal in his blood, and won’t trust him not to do the same again. Such is the curse of a Judas, yes?”
“Nothing he suffers can be punishment enough,” I said vehemently. “I can’t consider what would have become of you if his plot had succeeded.”
“Fortunately, he didn’t succeed,” he said. “Although you will be glad to learn that the pitiful Mrs. Arnold was granted safe passage to cross our lines, and she and her child have been restored to her husband.”
I couldn’t keep back a small sound of irritable disgust at the very thought of Mrs. Arnold.
“You do know by now that she played you all for fools, don’t you?” I said. “I’d not be surprised if she was behind her husband’s deceit from the beginning.”
Alexander frowned. “I didn’t realize you’d so strong an opinion of her.”
“It couldn’t be otherwise,” I said. “At my father’s request, I called upon Mrs. Arnold whilst I was in Philadelphia, and she impressed me then as a false, faithless woman. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she also urged me to encourage you to follow the same course as her husband, and preserve yourself by leaving the American cause—which she predicted was doomed to fail—for the Crown.”
His frown deepened. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Because Papa said that my impressions were mistaken, and that I shouldn’t trouble you with them.” I sighed. “I think he was as cozened by Mrs. Arnold as the rest of you. At least no harm came to you from my silence, or I’d never have forgiven myself.”
“You’re a perceptive woman, Betsey,” he said, clearly taking what I’d said seriously. “A wise wife shall be a wonderful thing. We must always be honest with each other, you and I.”
“Always,” I echoed with conviction of my own. I was proud of Alexander’s honesty and noble spirit, especially in comparison with the duplicitous marriage of General and Mrs. Arnold.
He rose from the chair and took two steps away, his hands clasped tightly behind the back of his waist. While we’d been apart, it had been impossible to remember exactly how handsome he was, and the realization of his manly beauty struck me again with breathtaking force as I watched him pace. But pacing with Alexander was never a good sign, and I braced myself for whatever was coming.
“I fear I’ve another reason for requesting to speak with you in private,” he said, bitterness in every crisp word. “I have once more been denied promotion,” he said, bitterness in every crisp word. “Both General Greene and Lafayette had advised His Excellency to promote me to adjutant general, and yet again he has seen fit to refuse.”
“Oh, Alexander,” I said sadly. Promotion meant much to him, and he’d hoped that at last the general would agree to part with him from his staff. “I am sorry.”
His back still to me, he nodded, his only acknowledgment of my sympathy.
“But there are other paths than the army, my dear,” he continued. “At Lafayette’s urging, there will be a special envoy—and envoy extraordinaire it will be called—sent to Versailles in the new year, to assist with Mr. Franklin’s duties at the French court. It’s believed another voice is required to remind the French of their obligations toward us in regard to the war, and to urge them forward.”
I listened, bewildered. I’d always believed his future lay with the army exclusively so long as the war was fought, and the law after that. I’d never before heard him take an interest in diplomacy. He swept his arms through the air, warming to his topic.
“You know I’ve been much involved in the plan to raise a loan with the French,” he said, “a loan to cover our country’s expenditures from the war. I am also not without friends in this. Lafayette, Laurens, and General Sullivan have all been vocal for my confirmation.”
“Oh, yes, that would be an excellent opportunity for you,” I said faintly. My first thought was that an envoy at Versailles would be safely removed from the dangers of battle. My second, however, was how far that envoy would also be removed from me. Yet for Alexander’s sake, I would strive to be encouraging. “Who speaks the French language better than you?”
He smiled. “Would Paris agree with you, too, Betsey? How would you fare among the grand ladies of the French court?”
I gasped. It was Angelica, not I, who had always yearned to travel abroad and see more of the glittering world. Such adventures had never been dreams of mine.
“I would go with you anywhere, Alexander,” I said breathlessly, swept along in his enthusiasm. “But to envision me at Versailles!”
“You’d show them the courage and mettle of our American ladies.” He took me by the hand and from the chair, and led me through impromptu steps of a minuet there on my father’s turkey carpet, humming along for accompaniment until I laughed aloud. I supposed this was to show the manner of society we’d encounter at Versailles, but to me it was another example of how bland my life had been this summer without him to leaven it.
He sat again, and this time pulled me across his lap, a favorite place of mine to be. It was also a convenient posture for kissing, and being kissed, and as we indulged in that pleasure, his arm curled neatly around my waist, I was thankful my father couldn’t see what was occurring behind the door to his somber study.
“There is another post open as well,” he said after a bit. “If you’ve no use for the ladies of Versailles, then we could venture to St. Petersburg.”
“St. Petersburg?” I asked, even more shocked than before. “In Russia?”
He nodded, clearly delighting in how many times he could amaze me in a single conversation. It was, of course, easy enough. Beyond being on the other side of the world, I’d only the vaguest idea of where St. Petersburg lay in relation to Albany.
“Congress will shortly be appointing a minister to Russia,” he said. “The post requires a mastery of French, for that’s what they speak at their court. I’m told I’ve been nominated for that as well.”
“I should prefer Versailles,” I said. “At least I know France to be a Christian country, even if it’s Papist.”
“Oh, Russia is Christian, too, though not the variety with which you’re acquainted.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but then his smile softened and his gaze filled with fondness, and being serious no longer mattered.
“I’ve said not a word of this to your father or anyone else, Eliza, besides those who have placed my nominations before Congress,” he said. “You are first in my life now, and I wished you to hear of this first, too.”
I nodded, pleased and touched by his confidence in me. “You can be sure that I will tell no one.”
“Especially not Angelica,” he said. “The last thing I want is for John Carter to go scuttling off to his French accounts with so much as a rumor of that loan.”
I nodded again, my eyes wide. I’d never before been asked to keep momentous international secrets. My own dreams for our future had always been so modest, while in comparison his seemed to be growing grander, and grander still. He was only twenty-five, and these honors to which he aspired would have been heady accomplishments for a gentleman twice his age. I remembered how Kitty Livingston had warned me of Alexander’s ambitions, and Angelica, too, and I could hear their voices in chorus cautioning me again.
Yet I’d always told myself that I’d wanted more than the stolid Dutch husband that had once seemed my lot. When I’d first been dazzled by Alexander, it was his intelligence, his talents, his passions, his daring, that had made me love him just as much as his kindness and devotion. If his ambition led him to Versailles or Saint Petersburg or to the very moon and back, then I would be by his side.
“To be sure,” he said, “neither possibility may come to anything, and instead I’ll be begging you to find contentment in some little cottage beside the Hudson.”
I smiled, for that was a possibility I could easily imagine. “So long as you are there, I’ll be happy.”
I looped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him again. In the distance I could hear Cornelia wailing, no doubt distraught that her nursery maid had come to take her to bed. It must be later than I’d realized.
“We should return to the others,” I whispered. “I don’t want Mamma to come looking for us.”
“There’s one more thing.” He took a deep breath. “You know that I’d discovered an address for my father, and that I’d written to invite him to our wedding. I’d even offered to arrange passage for him on a neutral French vessel so he’ll run no risk of being captured.”
I, Eliza Hamilton Page 17